French Guiana

January 16–19, 2013

There are three Guianas on the northeast coast of South America. One of them was formerly known as British Guiana and is now called Guyana, its population speaks English. The second was formerly known as Dutch Guiana and is now called Suriname, its population speaks Dutch. And the third is French Guiana, an overseas department of France.

Some lists of world countries omit French Guiana entirely and consider it simply a part of France. Most people have no idea that the French Republic’s longest border (673 kilometers) is with Brazil (50 kilometers longer than the French—Spanish border).

Some details here are the same as in France and its overseas departments. The same mailboxes for receiving mail.

The same mailboxes for sending mail.

The same speed camera signs.

The same public restrooms in the streets.

The same displays with information for residents.

But the similarities end there. Guiana is the least French of anything French.

The local black population is lazy and couldn’t care less about the appearance of the streets. Most of the workforce is Chinese. Like in neighboring Surinam, the Chinese own almost all the shops and restaurants.

I once decided to compare the slums in various countries of the world. One of the countries was France. Using Street View in Google Maps, I tried to find something horrible in France. I zoomed in on the most provincial towns, I peered into alleys in remote districts—and no matter where I looked, I found only places where I’d gladly spend the rest of my life. Absolutely everything is well kept and thought out, cozy and tidy, down to the back yards of sawmills. It’s a shame I didn’t think of clicking on French Guiana. Here, every corner is a dump.

Cayenne

The capital.

The only interesting feature here is the surprising architecture of the buildings. They vaguely resemble pagodas.

A pedestrian traffic light.

A vehicle light.

Like in Paris, Riga, or Vietnam, there are special traffic signals which indicate that the oncoming traffic has a red light (so you can make your left turn with full certainty).

A fairly stupid monument in the central park.

A trash can.

A street.

A wooden payphone booth.

An aluminum payphone booth.

A pedestrian crosswalk.

A bottle-recycling container.

A monument in the form of giant broken shackles commemorating emancipation from slavery. It’s made of plastic and sounds very funny if you tap on it (like the monuments and manhole covers in Ulyanovsk).

A double mailbox.

A street sign.

The protruding rear of a local woman.

It’s difficult to imagine that this is France.

Kourou

Kourou is located close to the Equator.

And what’s so useful about being close to the Equator?

That’s right, it’s easier to fly into space.

That’s why this place has the highest concentration of Russian inscriptions in all of France.

Do not push during maneuvers. Packing slip No. 5/26, Gross 9.8 T., Net.

Kourou is the site of a spaceport. Various rockets—both European and Russian ones—are launched into space from here.

All sorts of rockets.

Big and small.

Nothing is thrown away. New signs are placed right next to the old ones.

Space technology doesn’t become obsolete.

The roundabouts so beloved in France make exceptions for tricky cases here. If a long rocket needs to pass through, it can go straight rather than through the circle.

Everything in this town is space-themed.

* * *

A mysterious greeting in Russian hangs at the airport.

Merry Directions

Then again, what can you expect from an airport which has no flight information displays and where information about departures is written in marker on white dry erase boards?