I’ve flown over Puerto Rico countless times between Miami and home, whether it was during my summers spent in Florida or after I had moved there. This time, the plane I boarded would not fly me over the island but take me there.
Like the way in which they flurry around you as you drive around the savannah – blinding you under the guise of beauty, distracting you from their true intent.
The avenue carries a lot of history and actually speaks of Guyana’s colonial past. It was originally a fresh water reservoir that was home to small fish, water lilies and the country’s national flower, the Victoria Regia. Eventually, the reservoir was infilled and this new strip was named the Queen Victoria Promenade. But today it is the Main Street Avenue – home to old men who pass their time etching away at chunks of wood. These are the men I remember from my childhood. I’m not sure if they’re the same men from those days, but I am sure that men of this trade have always been there.
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