Andes, Amazon, and Herpetology: Food, Layovers, and Language Barriers

After the Rupununi I retreated back to the hectic city of Georgetown. My Peace Corps Volunteer friend Gabrielle gave me a list of foods and restaurants to try before I left Guyana for good, so my Georgetown mission became centered around one thing: feasting. This idea gained even more traction when I offhandedly mentioned an upcoming 24-hour layover in Suriname to my soon-to-be graduate school advisor. His message to me: Suriname has the BEST food in the world. And finally, I had roughly five days to kill in Belém, Brazil before my next assignment in the field. My Brazilian labmate Julia told me I HAD to try all the food at the market. Thus, I have a blog post about food and some side adventures in each place. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I am no connoisseur of world cuisines, so do not judge my palate, nor my restaurant choices. There are also very few pictures of food. I will never be the guy that regularly photographs my meals in public. Sorry (not sorry).

Georgetown, Guyana was my first exposure to a different side of South America, both literally and figuratively. I already covered some of those important factoids a couple posts ago, but I only briefly mentioned the food. Fruit stands, bakeries, creole kitchens, and roti shops are interspersed throughout Georgetown, and each provides a different group of flavors. Among my favorites were the tiny chiquito bananas I found at a fruit stand. They look like your ordinary little yellow banana, until you remove the peel. The flesh is yellow too! Really yellow. And their sweet flavor redefined bananas for me. I know these bananas can be found elsewhere, but that street corner in Georgetown will always hold a special place in my heart for its chiquitos! As for meals, Hot & Spicy Creole Corner had some terrific roasted eggplant (boulanger/baigan choka), callaloo (spinach) rice, and jerk chicken. That was my main experience with Afro-Guyanese food, and it was very tasty! The other big thing in Georgetown was roti, which is a soft and thin flatbread that is used for picking up other foods and putting them in your mouth. Tandoori chicken, chickpeas, pumpkin (!), and rice are among the things you can scoop up and chow on at the local Roti Hut. Not Pizza Hut. Roti Hut.

Georgetown has lots of trees along some streets, and is thus a great place for birding!

Horses find their way into the streets...

Georgetown from above.

With a stomach packed full of roti and pumpkin, I hopped on a plane eastward to Paramaribo, Suriname. Historically Suriname was the Dutch colony of South America, and that heritage is pretty apparent. Most people speak either Dutch or Taki Taki (a creole language), neither of which I had a clue how to interpret. A 24-hour layover hardly justifies weeks of studying on Duolingo, so I entered Paramaribo hungry and linguistically intimidated. Fortunately my Airbnb host had agreed to pick me up from the airport, despite my 2:00 AM arrival time. He took me to my lovley abode where I rested in preparation for Mission "Sure-to-nom."

The next morning I commenced part one of my mission: find a place with good roti (as in Guyana). I found my roti and a Parbo beer downtown and soaked in my new surroundings. Paramaribo was a cleaner and less chaotic version of Georgetown. It also had a Caribbean vibe. Except there was some funny Dutch stuff mixed in. But overall I felt safe to explore the city alone. I borrowed a bike from my Airbnb, which meant I got lost especially far from the city center. It also meant that I had a bike to worry about. I made confusing stops at a pastry shop and a fruit juice stand, while sweating uncontrollably. I rode past an awesome Hindu temple, as well as a famous block where a mosque and synagogue sit side-by-side. My Airbnb host bragged that the imam and the rabbi regularly have social meetings together, as a show of unity and respect. Suriname is super diverse, and they seem to have found peaceful coexistence in their largely unknown little country. Like Guyana, Suriname has a large populations of African and Indian descent. But where Suriname differs is in its influence from the island of Java in Indonesia. Outside of downtown I was told to look for a traditional "Warung" or Javanese restaurant. Apparently their food was to die for. This is where my food journey became difficult...

Cool Hindu temple.

Mosque and synagogue together.

Some chicken, bora, and squash. Plus some soft roti to eat it with!

Palmentuin, a beautiful park full of palms in Paramaribo.

Unfortunately my English-speaking host left town right after I arrived, which left me with a little old woman and a young man with whom I coud not communicate in the slightest. When I returned to the house in the early evening I tried explaining that I hoped to find a good Warung nearby. It took some time before anyone understood me, and it took even longer before I understood them. I felt embarrassed. It is irresponsible to show up in a country and not be able to communicate. Thankfully the young man offered to help me find a Warung. I was grateful. It was 8:00 PM and I had a flight to catch that night. We biked aimlessly for more than an hour. I was helplessly dependent on my host, who seemed unable to get a straight answer from anyone on the street about Javanese restaurants. Or maybe he did not know what I was trying to find. We navigated the narrow streets of a neighborhood that was distinctly different from the rest, and that was when I spotted a sign with the words "Warung Pawiro" in front of a small fenced-in house. Made it! Except this was not a restaurant. It was a takeout place. Oh well! It was almost 10:00 PM. This had to do. The guy at the counter spoke English, so I was able to tell him that I was absolutely certain that I wanted the family platter of food, with a side of Bakabana and Dawet to drink. I made sure my bike buddy got his fill too... OH MY GOD! The food was insanely good. There was rice, noodles, chicken, and the best peanut sauce ever. But the highlights of the meal were as follows: 1) A green bean (called bora in Guyana) dish sprinkled with coconut shavings that were covered in what I believe was cinnamon and brown sugar - I almost died; 2) The aforementioned Bakabana, which is actually fried banana, something no human being can dislike; and 3) The refreshing Dawet: a drink that consists of coconut milk and lemongrass that defies description and somehow tastes better than anything I ever dreamed of. Mission "Sure-to-nom" was a success! I could hardly bike back after nearly eating my weight in Javanese cuisine.

The flight from Paramaribo took me to the final leg of my food adventure: Belém, Brazil. Unlike Georgetown and Paramaribo, Belém is not the capital city of a sleepy little country. It is a city of about 1.4 million people, and the principal city in the Brazilian state of Pará. Belém is best known for its vibrant Ver-O-Peso market, located on the shore of the Baía do Guajará. I figured I could spend a few days cruising the bustling market to search for all the snacks and souvenirs my heart desired. "Sure, they speak Portuguese in Brazil. But it's just like Spanish, and I'm good at Spanish. How hard can it be?" I was not prepared for this challenge. My attempt to order coffee in the airport was the first warning sign. Then the taxi ride, the conversation with the front desk guy at my hostel, and virtually every other interaction I had! Portuguese is hard, and oh so very frustrating! If you know Spanish then you can quickly learn to decipher street signs and menus. Verbal communication is another story. Pronunciation is wacky (if you learned Spanish first). Usually Brazilians understood my questions, but the problem was that I could never interpret their responses. I had a lot to learn. I also needed to be extra careful.

Belém has some skyscrapers.

Belém with some perspective on the proximity to the rainforest (left).

I timidly passed by the displays of baked goods, fruit stands, açaí booths, and various other unfamiliar food options. I was the ultimate gringo. No ability to communicate, goofy jungle field clothes, and visible apprehension. The Ver-O-Peso market is a loud and busy place. You need to know what you are doing. I did not. But I sat down and managed to get a gigantic bowl of açaí in front of me, complete with all the fixings: dry tapioca balls, ice cubes, and a funny powder I will never remember the name of. I also got some fried fish. I did not see any other foreign tourists. The food was good. Maybe I could do this.

Ver-O-Peso Market. I swear it was much busier than it looks. I found the calmest place to take this photo.

In the days to follow I decided to explore Belém. For a country bumpkin like me, big cities are all the same: overwhelming to the senses, but full of exciting unknowns. I saw semi-wild agoutis and captive jaguars at the Museu Paraense Emílio Goeldi (a zoo/museum, a zooseum?), drank coconut water fresh from a machete-chopped coconut at the Praça (Portuguese for plaza) da Republica, and enjoyed a bird's eye view of Belém (and several shorebirds) at the Mangal das Garças (Mangrove of the Herons). I also prioritized trying traditional foods like tacacá and tapioca when the opportunity presented itself. Tacacá is a soup with floating crispy dried shrimp, jambu (leaves that make your mouth numb), tucupi (broth derived from the manioc root), and some yellow peppers, all mixed together. In a wild display of gringo naiveté, I removed the shell and tail from each shrimp as I scooped them up with my funny wooden utensil. Surrounded by snickering Brazilians, I eventually discovered that I was doing it wrong: you eat the whole shrimp! The flavors were unfamiliar, but overall tacacá was really good. Though the mouth-numbing effect of the jambu was unpleasant at first. After tacacá, tapioca was something I knew I should try. I found the Tapioquinha de Mosqueiro's dessert section particularly appetizing. They plopped two plates in front of me, one with a tapioca "tortilla" rolled around some cinnamon deliciousness, the other folded over some guava goodness. I downed them both like a champ and had no regrets. They were both quite good. Unfortunately none of the other options were cheese-free, so I had to just eat the sweet tapiocas.

Nature in the city. I saw an agouti here!

Many birds at the Mangal das Garças.

Inside the butterfly and orchid greenhouse.

Butterfly!

Orchid!

View from the Mangal das Garças to nearby forest islands.

Macaws are awesome and a common sight in Belém!

The tapiocas I tried, which were freaking delicious, yet funny looking.

Parks in Belém are wonderful.

I was generally adventurous with my eating habits in Belém, but I cannot recall much else that I tried. It is especially difficult to remember the names of dishes when you cannot pronounce them! One minor culinary success was that I did manage to understand the local "juice scene." Called "sucos" instead of Spanish "jugos," I encountered many flavors both new and familiar. Acerola and cupuaçu were in the former category, and maracujá (passionfruit) and graviola (soursop/guanabana) were from the latter. If you are a longtime dedicated reader of my oft-silent blog then you might recall my love for guanabana back in Peru. Well, I was reunited with my one true love, and I enjoyed it every chance I got!

In addition to eating and failing to communicate with strangers, I did one truly touristic activity. I went on a boat tour of the Rio Guamá, which borders the southern side of the city. In atypical fashion, I missed the shuttle to the dock by a solid 20 minutes, so I sprinted a bit and caught a taxi just in time to meet my fellow gringos on the boat. As usual, I was sweaty as hell, making me the grossest person on the boat. The tour was an interesting and informative experience, but not my cup of tea. I liked being told which tree bore açaí and which one yielded rubber. The uncomfortable part was when we passed through a river village and interacted with thr locals. It felt like a safari, except with human beings instead of animals. I could go on about this subject forever, but I will spare you. The real highlight of the boat tour came at the end when we reached Ilha de Papagaio (Parrot Island) just before sunset. As we lay in wait by the shore, parrots called Golden-winged Amazons filtered into view. They came from all directions, and it never seemed to end! Apparently (apparrotly) more than 10,000 of them nest on the island because of its lack of predators. It was an impressively loud spectacle. Like Iagu from Aladdin, parrots have hideous "voices," so hearing hundreds of them together is a bit unpleasant. I even took a video to prove it!