As our turboprop plane navigates
a corridor of pufy clouds, Guyana’s
Atlantic coast is exchanged for an
ininite sea of green.
Along with seven others, I’m high above
this one-time British colony, heading deep
into its vast interior. Below, varicose rivers
channel brown water through the jungle.
There are no roads, no towns, no farms.
The only hints of human impact are the
occasional ugly gouges along riverbanks
— the remnants of gold mines. Thankfully,
those man-made scars are a miniscule part
of this colossal, riotous whole.
We’re heading to Rewa, one of Guyana’s
most remote villages, close to the western
border with Brazil. From a dusty airstrip, we
transfer to motorised canoes, then continue
down the Essequibo River to Rewa Eco-
Lodge. We only let our hotel in the Guyanese
capital, Georgetown, a few hours ago but the
modern world already feels very far away.
Built in 2005 and run entirely by the local
Amerindian community, the eco-lodge
accommodation is rustic but comfortable.
In the two days I’m here, I ind four frogs
hiding in my toilet and three lizards on the
walls. One of the other guests is joined in his
cabin by a pink-toed tarantula (as much as
I love wildlife, I’d understand if he kept one
eye open at night). I have no such problems,
the distant, dread calls of howler monkeys
making for a curious lullaby.
For those living this remotely, the Rewa
and Essequibo Rivers are vital transport
networks — essential highways through the
untamed jungle. For us foreigners, they’re
our primary routes for excursions into
the wild.
The following day, we head downriver for
around an hour, powerful engines shooting
us across the smooth surface at an electric
clip. These boats have revolutionised travel
for this community, allowing them to
transport goods and people with far greater
eiciency than their old dug-out canoes.
That’s not to say they’re perfect — ater a bug
hits me on the shoulder with the force of a
paintball, I spend the rest of my journey with
my mouth closed and sunglasses on.
As we race along the river, ringed
kingishers and white-tipped swallows
match our pace, following us like jets
accompanying a jumbo. We also spot yellow-
billed terns and scarlet macaws. Time seems
to slow when the massive wings of a startled
cocoi heron gradually carry it alot. Later,
high in the canopy, we’ll see the great potoo,
which sounds like a tribal leader but is
actually a small, nocturnal, owl-like bird.
This is the sort of environment that can
make a twitcher of the most avian-averse
visitor. There are over 1,000 bird species
in the sprawling, 883,400sq mile area of
northeast South America known as the
Guiana Shield, from the lethal harpy eagle
to hummingbirds so fast and tiny as to
seem imagined. However, on this trip we’re
to meet one of their mortal enemies: the
goliath birdeater spider.
We disembark at what looks, to my
untrained eyes, like a random spot in the
jungle. In fact, half-an-hour’s walk from here,
researchers found a thriving population of
these tarantulas and they have now become
an unlikely visitor attraction. In reality, the
spiders only rarely attempt to eat birds, but
they’re the world’s heaviest arachnid and
generally enjoy life in the jungle unmolested
by any other creature.
We plunge into the green, daylight fading
as the silent river is let behind, humidity
tightening around us like a boa constrictor.
Our guide, Vivian, moves with the switnessPREVIOUS PAGES:
Kaieteur Falls
CLOCKWISE FROM TOP:
A riverside breakfast
at Rewa Eco-Lodge;
Guianan cock-of-the-
rock; goliath birdeater,
a thriving population
of which live in the
Guyanese rainforest104 nationalgeographic.co.uk/travel
GUYANA