Georgetown: A Different Guyana

June 24, 2026

One last breakfast with a companion. To celebrate, there is bacon and eggs. I'm seduced.

We say our goodbyes before I head off to meet my guide for the day. My guide is also called Chris, like my rainforest companion. This Chris, however, is a local guide with an encyclopaedic knowledge of Georgetown and an impressive collection of tourism awards to his name.

Chris's enthusiasm for Georgetown is infectious. In a single day he shows me Georgetown, all while sharing stories about the city and its people.

Before leaving for Guyana, I had sent a speculative message to a cousin asking what she knew about our family's connection to the country. The reply didn't arrive until I was already in Georgetown preparing to head into the rainforest, but when it did, it brought with it a new name: Bertie Bourne, my grandmother's brother and, apparently, a well-known Guyanese photographer.

By the time I returned to Georgetown ten days later, I had a new mission. Alongside seeing the city itself, I wanted to find Regent Street, where my father grew up and where my grandfather once ran a chemist's shop. If I could discover anything about Bertie along the way, so much the better.

Our first stop is the seawall. The wall itself has clearly seen recent investment that both Chris and my sunset guide from the night before were very proud of, with colourful seating and a long pier stretching out into the Atlantic. It should have been one of the city's highlights. Instead, I find myself disappointed. The area around it is littered with rubbish. Bins are provided, but many appear full and overflowing.

I didn't photograph any of it. I could have, but I chose not to. I didn't want to represent Guyana like that, nor did I want it to become my lasting memory of Georgetown.

Rather than the turquoise seas and white sandy beaches often associated with the Caribbean, the coastline here is shaped by vast rivers carrying sediment from deep within the continent, giving the water its muddy hue. It may not look like a postcard beach, but it supports an abundance of wildlife.

There is wildlife everywhere. Egrets fish along the shoreline, kiskadees perch on the railings and ospreys watch from lamp posts. Wild manatees are known to gather offshore at low tide, although I am not fortunate enough to see them. Even here, on the edge of Georgetown, nature is never far away.

Chris takes me to a park in the centre of Georgetown. The park itself is unexpectedly green and peaceful, despite being surrounded by the city.

It is only when we reach the pond that Chris reveals its residents.

Manatees.

This is not something I was expecting.

These manatees are rescue animals and are clearly very familiar with Chris. As soon as he arrives they make a beeline for him, competing enthusiastically for his attention. Armed with handfuls of fresh grass, I am invited to feed them and, to my surprise, scratch their heads.

I have never touched a manatee before and have no idea what to expect. The closest comparison I can make is a wet elephant. Their skin is thick and surprisingly textured, their whiskers stiff and bristly and they take the grass very gently from my hand.

Around us, the trees are alive with birds. Egrets fill almost every available branch and the trees seem almost white with feathers. Many of the youngsters are already climbing onto branches, stretching their wings and practising for the day they finally leave the nest. It is a wonderful wildlife spectacle, but one we do not have time to fully appreciate.

We continue our tour of the city, passing St George's Cathedral. Built almost entirely of wood, it was for many years considered the tallest freestanding wooden structure in the world and remains one of Georgetown's most recognisable landmarks. Today it is a National Monument and the seat of the Bishop of Guyana.

It is a shame that we are unable to go inside. Like so many popular places, access has become more restricted after visitors failed to show the respect expected during services and other events. Having since seen photographs of the interior, I feel I missed something rather special.

Instead, I have to admire it from the outside, trying to photograph it between the traffic, cables and surrounding buildings. Part of me feels a building of such significance deserves a grander setting, with space to breathe and be appreciated. Instead, it has been absorbed into the fabric of modern Georgetown, swallowed by a busy city that continues to evolve around it.

We also stop at the 1823 Monument, commemorating the Demerara Rebellion, one of the largest enslaved uprisings in the British Caribbean.

As someone exploring family connections in Guyana, it feels important to pause here. The rebellion is an important part of the country's history and, in a small way, part of my own story too.

We don't linger long, but some places do not require lengthy explanations. Simply standing there is enough.

From there we head to the National Museum.

Museums are never my first stop on a city tour. I'd much rather wander the streets with a local guide and hear about the city and its people. There is a great deal of fascinating information here, much of which I absorbed enthusiastically at the time and have since forgotten completely.

There is a whole floor of glass cases filled with stuffed wildlife. Having seen many of these creatures in the wild only days before, it feels a little odd. Some of the specimens are a little strange, but all have been carefully placed within small dioramas designed to recreate their natural habitats.

As a photographer, I am totally fascinated by old cameras. I have one in my gallery, so to see such a beautiful example in person is a real treat. With all the clever things my own kit can do, I am in awe of anyone, family or otherwise, who was able to create beautiful images using something that demanded so much skill and patience.

Before returning to Georgetown, I had learned about my great-uncle Bertie Bourne, a photographer whose name was previously unknown to me. Chris had done some homework and knew the museum housed a camera from ACME Photo Studios, one of Georgetown's earliest photographic businesses. The studio stood on Regent Street, the same street where my father grew up and where my grandfather once ran a chemist's shop.

Whether Bertie ever used this particular camera, I have no idea.

I read every word about the camera and the photographs it might have taken, as if doing so could somehow bring me closer to the person behind the lens. I felt quite honoured to be related to Bertie.

Finally, we drive along Regent Street.

This is the part of Georgetown I have been most curious about. My father grew up here and my grandfather ran a chemist's shop somewhere along this road. Before travelling to Guyana, I had hoped to find my father's city, although I had no idea what to expect.

Today, Regent Street is a busy commercial thoroughfare lined with shops, traffic and people going about their daily lives. Many of the buildings have seen better days, and I find myself wondering how much my father would have recognised.

The one building I do know he would have known is the old ACME photographic studio on the corner of Regent Road and Croal Street. Earlier in the day I had seen a camera from ACME in the museum. As we pass the building, it feels like another small thread connecting my family to the city around me.

It isn't grand or particularly remarkable, it is simply an old wooden building on a busy street corner, quietly surviving while the city changes around it.

It was a wonderful tour, full of monuments, memorials and stories that deserve far more space than I can give them here. My day in Georgetown was fascinating and unforgettable, but I can only share so many stories in one blog.

Of course, Georgetown is more than monuments, museums and family history.

At one point we stop at a roadside coconut stall. We are the only customers at the time, although judging by the lorry full of empty coconuts behind us, business has been brisk. It doesn't take long for the conversation to turn to photography.

One young man is fascinated by the large lens attached to my camera and wants to know whether it prints photographs instantly like a Polaroid. Sadly, it does not. I take his portrait instead and promise to share it via Chris.

Despite the warnings I had received before travelling, moments like this had become a familiar part of my time in Guyana. People were curious, friendly and generous with their time.

Guyana is changing rapidly. New wealth from the oil industry is beginning to transform the country and nowhere is that more apparent than in Georgetown. Yet beyond the new developments and investment, it is the people I meet that leave the strongest impression.

One of the places that stays with me is the Umana Yana, a traditional meeting place built in the style of the Wai-Wai people of southern Guyana.

After ten days in the Rupununi, there is something strangely familiar about it. The sweeping thatched roof and open structure remind me of many of the buildings I had stayed in throughout the savannah. Rather than feeling like a museum piece or tourist attraction, it feels connected to the Guyana I had come to know over the previous two weeks.

It demands awe and silence when you enter it.

The building sits in the middle of Georgetown, surrounded by traffic, hotels and the bustle of a modern capital city. Yet standing inside, it feels a world away.

Throughout my time in Guyana I had become increasingly aware of the deep connection between the country's indigenous communities and the landscape. What surprised me was finding that connection acknowledged so prominently in the capital itself.

For me, it was a fitting reminder that there is far more to Guyana than its colonial history, its cities or its new-found oil wealth.