Tourist Tax
It’s our last day. We pass the police station, the lone officer sleeping in the door way, dressed in navy blue short pants. On arriving, the village chief appears holding a document, he has a serious demeanor, and his broad smile was no wear to be found. Without a good morning, he says, “Look here all visitors have to pay!” He keeps on reading, I am on my back foot, and just wondering where this was going. The next words my brain computes, $5,000.00, $500.00, per day. Kenny jumps in starting to negotiate the situation. I don’t know the exchange rate, are these these numbers in US? I don’t have the money. Nobody knew where I was and I could never find my way out of this maze of dirt roads or rivers. The stories that Huuter told us, about breaking bones and getting stuffed with grass. Images of the bloody axe used to kill the duck. The last guests that signed in did not leave alive. We never met the sleeping policeman…All these spooky scenarios started to manifest. I couldn’t focus on the chief’s words. Kenny is negotiating…down to $500.00 Guyanese per day. All I remember saying to Kenny “Wow much is that in US$?” and his reply was “Twenty bucks”…what a relief! An agreement was put in place and slowly his smile resurfaces…
This trip was the real deal. The Amerindians are shy, gentle people but unpredictable. Even if they didn’t show much emotion or outward interaction, with respect I understand they don’t trust people and it’s about ‘today’. The road was just put in over a year ago, and Sunset Bar had just been erected. They seem very hesitant to change and move forward cautiously. Their culture was remarkable to experience.
The whole experience energized the mind. SUP
“ It was a deadly weapon; the arrow point is razor sharp and designed to kill. Yes, everything is real, not the floor show we see at hotels with the clean traditional dress and face paint ”
