Guyana - Leaving the Rupununi

June 12, 2026

Very early start. Up at four for tea, a banana scone and one last jam roll. They are rather like cinnamon rolls, but filled with jam instead, and absolutely delicious. It is hard to believe that only ten days ago the savannah seemed vast, unfamiliar and just a little intimidating.

Before dawn, we climb into the minivan and begin the journey to Lethem. The roads are quiet and the landscape is still half asleep. As daylight gradually appears, I find myself scanning the grasslands as best I can, cameras at the ready, hoping for one final Giant Anteater sighting. No such luck.

The journey provides one last opportunity to enjoy the scenery. The savannah stretches away beneath a wide sky, interrupted occasionally by rivers, bridges and small settlements. It is hard to believe that in just a few hours I will be back in Georgetown.

Lethem Airport is the smallest airport I have ever travelled through. The terminal building sits across the road from the runway and would not look out of place amongst the other storefronts in town. Check-in consists of a man with a printed passenger list, a set of scales and a pencil. Luggage is weighed, passengers are weighed with their hand luggage and calculations are made. On a small aircraft, every kilogram matters.

A serious-looking woman in uniform carries out the security checks in a small side room before sending us back through the main building, where hand luggage is x-rayed through a hole in the side of the wall. There, a young man armed with a security wand conducts the final check before allowing us into the departure lounge and gate.

The aircraft eventually arrives and looks as though it has seen a few adventures of its own. We are given seat numbers as we board and I discover that, like the journey out, there is just a single seat on either side of the aisle. There are no overhead lockers and, despite my best efforts, there is absolutely no way I am fitting my camera bag beneath the seat in front. Instead, it remains wedged between my legs for the duration of the flight.

I am glad that the weather was clear on the flight into the Rupununi because today it is completely overcast. The countryside I have spent the last ten days exploring remains hidden beneath a blanket of cloud. Every now and then there is a glimpse through a gap, just enough to remind me what lies below, but not enough to properly see it. I find myself peering out of the window far more often than I should, hoping for one last look.

Less than two hours after leaving Lethem, we are descending towards Georgetown. The rivers, forests and savannahs that had dominated the trip are suddenly replaced by roads, buildings and traffic. It is still Guyana, but it already feels like a very different country.

The contrast becomes even more apparent on the drive to the hotel. After days spent travelling along quiet rivers and almost deserted roads, I find myself surrounded by traffic lights, multiple lanes of traffic and a seemingly endless stream of vehicles. Guyana's population is still under a million people, yet Georgetown feels remarkably busy.

The roads are already crowded with cars and parking spaces seem to be in short supply, resulting in vehicles lining many of the streets. Red lights and stop signs appear to be treated more as suggestions than rules, while lane discipline seems largely optional. Driving is accompanied by hands out of windows and liberal use of the horn. After the relative tranquillity of the Rupununi, it comes as something of a culture shock.

After a final lunch together, it is time to start saying goodbye.

Over the previous ten days we had shared boats, trails, wildlife sightings, early starts and more memorable moments than I could possibly list. Nature doesn't always cooperate, but Guyana had been remarkably generous with its wildlife. What had begun as a group of strangers had become a wonderful collection of travelling companions, each with their own stories, experiences and reasons for being in Guyana. They had been endlessly supportive, generous with their knowledge and great company throughout the trip.

One of those companions was Connor Kelleher, one of Ireland's leading bat experts. on the night drifts, while the rest of us were scanning the riverbanks, Connor was often holding up his phone. The app he used could record bat calls beyond human hearing and identify the species. More than once he would announce a bat overhead that none of us even knew was there. If someone found a spider, he was usually the first one there too, armed with an abundance of stories and a wonderfully wicked sense of humour.

As the sun set one evening, Connor set up mist nets and caught three bats, two insectivores and a nectar feeder. Before long, half the camp had gathered around to learn more about them. Staff and guests alike were captivated.

Then there was Colin Stafford-Johnson, wildlife filmmaker and presenter. It was one of his BBC wildlife projects that first brought him to Guyana and, years later, his enthusiasm for the country remains as strong as ever. Throughout the trip he somehow managed to be organiser, guide, storyteller, teacher and keeper of the timetable, all while making it look effortless.

In truth, every member of the group brought something different to the adventure. Conversations over breakfast, on boats and around the dinner table were every bit as memorable as some of the wildlife encounters. Everyone had stories to tell, experiences to share and a genuine curiosity about the world around them.

I felt incredibly fortunate to spend time in such company. What had begun as a group of strangers had become a collection of friends, and saying goodbye at the hotel that afternoon was far harder than I expected.

Some of these images were kindly shared by members of the group

There were hugs, promises to stay in touch and the exchange of yet more photographs. Most of the group would be heading home later that day, while Christina and I still had a little more of Guyana left to explore. The WhatsApp group remains active and photographs continue to appear, proof that perhaps we weren't quite ready for the adventure to end either.

Christina joins me on the sunset cruise along the Demerara River. Definitely nicer with two.

It is an overcast evening and, while it doesn't actually rain, there is little chance of seeing the sunset we'd hoped for. I totally understand that weather and wildlife don't always get the email. It doesn't matter, there is plenty to see.

Our guide proves to be both knowledgeable and enthusiastic, and before long I am paying far more attention to the river around us than the grey sky above.

One of the biggest surprises is the amount of birdlife. As evening approaches, trees along the river begin to fill with egrets coming in to roost. Before long they are joined by scarlet ibis, whose flashes of red quickly claim the highest branches. Above them all, hawks occupy the very top of the trees, seemingly unwilling to share the best vantage points with anyone.

After spending days searching for wildlife in the rainforest and savannah, I had not expected to find so much of it on the edge of Georgetown.

As fascinating as the wildlife was, the river also offered a very different perspective on Georgetown itself.

We pass beneath the new Demerara Harbour Bridge, only a few months old and already a significant part of the city's landscape. Nearby stands its predecessor, originally designed to last just ten years but still in service more than fifty years later. It is due to be dismantled and relocated, a reminder perhaps that things do not always change as quickly as intended.

The river is far busier than any waterway I had travelled on during the previous ten days. Tankers and contailying electricity to the country sits along the riverbank looking remarkably futuristic, as though it belongs in a science-fiction film rather than on the Demerara River.

In the distance, river taxis cross constantly between the banks, heading towards the market. From the water, Georgetown appears busy and crowded. The roads had already felt chaotic compared with the quiet tracks of the Rupununi, and the river seemed to follow much the same rules.

The guide explains how dredging is helping accommodate larger vessels and points out areas where mangroves have been replanted. Together with the sea wall, they form part of the city's protection against the Atlantic. It is easy to forget that much of Guyana's coastal population lives below sea level.

As we sat talking over dinner later that evening, it became clear that people had very different views about the changes taking place in Guyana. Some spoke enthusiastically about the opportunities and prosperity that oil was bringing. Others worried about the environmental impact and the influence of large foreign companies.

As a visitor, I was simply trying to understand a country changing at a remarkable pace.

This morning I had been searching the savannah for Giant Anteaters. By evening I was watching container ships and power barges on the Demerara River. It had been quite a day.

Yet my time in Guyana was not over. My father was born and raised in Georgetown and one of the reasons for making this journey was to see something of the city he once called home. Over the next couple of days I would have the opportunity to explore Georgetown itself and discover another side of Guyana.