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ON FLYING INTO SURINAME AT NIGHT |
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With the aircraft droning on in suspended velveteen darkness people chat, attempt to read, snooze listlessly, a nervous quiet falling over the cabin; then sudden rustlings, flurries of excitement, everyone readying for landing as the plane follows suit, diving unexpectedly. What here, in the middle of jungle? But - like tiny fireflies the dim, flickering fluorescent lights of Paramaribo, sporadic, barely discernable in the all engulfing night, appear, strung out towards Zanderij and the tiny runway that lies amidst rampant uncut elephant grass. Everyone claps when safely down; the heat hitting like hammer-blows before we even reach the opened doors.
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Travelogue