W I L D P L AC E S R I S I N G
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ooking out in the darkness, soft tungsten light pouring from the guesthouse behind us, two travel influencers and I were sitting on a porch in Paruima, a village in the far west of Guyana. One of the elders approached us, a representative of his Arecuna community. We were among the first guests to go on a new four-day hiking itinerary that started and ended at this very spot. He wanted to know what we did – why were we there, in his homeland. I explained that my trade is old fashioned, that I took notes with pen and paper, shot images on a heavy camera, then handed an essay – this essay – over to editors and designers to make it sing. The TikToker went next. He explained that his work was much more instant, there would be quick results and immediate reaction. He made videos with ‘super enthusiasm’ for his followers. This seemed a little ironic to me as we were to spend the time in the wilderness – without electricity, phone signal or Wi-Fi. Our only followers would be a few heroic porters from the village. The light from the lodge was being provided by a diesel generator that had only been turned on so we could charge our batteries for a final time. The influencers had a lot of batteries. The TikToker was at least sincere in his answer, even giving a quick, neat summary of social media as a concept. The YouTuber was next. He was on his phone. He was very often on his phone, neck craned at 45 degrees, refreshing pages with the need of a degenerate. The elder asked him the same question. Guyana is the only Englishspeaking country in South America and rudeness translates as well as any sentence.
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A precarious view of Kamarang Falls. THIS PAGE FROM THE LEFT:
Kaieteur Falls, the world’s highest single-drop falls by volume; Rainbows are near ever-present at Guyana’s great falls.
