Switi SurinameWritten by Carolyn Proctor
Switi Suriname Read Jetsetters Magazine at www.jetsettersmagazine.com Read this entire feature FREE with photos at http://jetsettersmagazine.com/archive/jetezine/globe02/samerica/suriname/switi/switi.html The Isuzu mini bus approaching stop is lime green and purple, pinstriped and airbrushed with an Asian comic-book heroine, and elaborate lettering in English, "The Thrill is Back." The driver's personal collection of digital/disco/reggae/rap music is so amplified that you feel boom of bass before you see bus coming. How fares are accounted for is a mystery; driver casually throws paper currency of Suriname guilders into a pile onto sun-heated dashboard. This is public transportation system in Paramaribo, capital of Republic of Suriname, South America. A Saramakan Maroon cultural presentation in lobby of Krasnapolsky Hotel in Paramaribo. Switi is Sranan Tongo for anything good. Although Dutch is official language of business and education, Sranan Tongo is common language between different ethnic groups in Suriname (Dutch Guiana until 1975). A simple language of limited vocabulary, in 17th century Sranan was no more than a contact language between first English colonists, African slaves and native Amerindians. Sranan words are therefore English-based. Luckily you needn't learn Dutch or Sranan Tongo to get around Paramaribo easily. All shopkeepers, merchants and medical people speak passable English; it's a required course in high schools. "This is a country of tremendous variety," says a former American Ambassador to Suriname, Dennis Hays. "A country with a future. It has a small, well-educated population." In 1667 English traded Suriname with Dutch for island of New York (the Dutch are still kicking themselves for what they see in retrospect as a bad trade). In seventeenth and eighteenth centuries Suriname flourished as a plantation colony, exporting sugar, coffee and hardwoods to Europe via Netherlands. When slavery was abolished in 1863, indentured workers were imported from India, and later from Indonesia. Today, predominant culture is East Indian/Hindustani, with smaller percentages of Dutch, Javanese, native Amerindians and Maroons, descendents of African slaves. Most people live in coastal capital of Paramaribo. A small city of only a few hundred thousand people, population prides itself on fact that synagogue is so close to mosque that two share a parking lot. In heyday of Dutch colonialism, streets were paved with crushed shells and lined with fragrant orange and tamarind trees. Today, streets are a mixture of cobblestones, tiles, and cement broken by roots of towering, hundred-year-old mahogany trees. They are protected because of Maroon belief that if one old, nearly-dead tree is cut down, its spirit will go about in night creating bad luck. Unfortunately this same belief doesn't seem to apply to commercial logging in rainforest - even tree spirits have their price. The open air Centrale Markt sells sweet potatoes, cucumbers, tomatoes, garlic, peppers, potatoes, avocados, bananas, plantain, pineapples, and pumpkin. Pamplemoes, a football-sized pink grapefruit, is my favorite. Easy to peel, its big buds of sweet juice are fun to pick apart. Local vegetables people eat are amsoi, bitawiri, sopropo, and kowsbanti, a green bean that grows to two feet. A lot of chicken is sold in capital, but in interior people eat tapir, caiman, bush pig, paca, deer, monkeys and toucans. When not drinking kasiri (homemade cassava beer), Surinamers like rum, cognac and locally-produced Parbo beer. French wines are prevalent and cheap. Everyone drinks Coca-Cola and Stroop, a sugary syrup in different flavors to which water is added, not unlike Kool-Aid. The Suriname infrastructure, badly damaged in interior wars of mid-80s, has never fully recovered. Its signs are everywhere: rural power lines that no longer function, rusted generators, paved roads that disappear into jungle. A local businessman tells me that per capita income was $4,000 annually before independence in 1975, and approximately $800 annually today. "In many ways Suriname is frozen in time, but that's part of its charm," says Ambassador Hays. Historic Paramaribo has been designated by UNESCO as one of last remaining wooden structure cities in world. According to Suriname Tourism Development Assessment Guide, "Although many structures are under renovation, many other buildings, open spaces, and objects are now in decay. To date, vision of urban conservation is site specific rather than holistic - a view that has proven to be detrimental to irreplaceable historic fabric. Strengthening link between historic value and economic value will help ensure those historic structures and sites are cherished and preserved."
| | Top Gun Meets Thunder Road at Fleet Week San DiegoWritten by Josh Edelson
Top Gun Meets Thunder RoadRead Jetsetters Magazine at www.jetsettersmagazine.com Read this entire feature FREE with photos at http://www.jetsettersmagazine.com/archive/jetezine/fests/fleet/fleet.html So what kind of ride do you guys want?" Howie inquired over his shoulder over rush of air. "We can do a roller-coaster type ride or we can just cruise around. It's completely up to you. We cater to whatever type of flight you want." Howie's question interrupted me from my daydreaming out canopy window, where my thousand-mile gaze had yet to fall on anything. I shrugged at my buddy next to me. "Hey, show me what you can do. This is your show." When we had reached appropriate altitude, Howie informed me to release tow cable. I pulled lever and with a ka-chunk, we were free from our propeller escort. Howie abruptly plunged into a nose dive, banked hard to right, buzzed nearby mountain top, pulled up, then leveled off, allowing my internal organs to re-establish themselves in their original positions. Me and my big mouth. If you've never experienced thrill of soaring, get up there. I was fortunate to experience it through an invitation from Bret Willat, sky sailor extraordinaire, at his family-owned and operated soaring center, Sky Sailing (www.skysailing.com). Known as one of top soaring centers in United States, Sky Sailing is located at Warner Springs Airport, in Warner Springs, California. It has been owned and operated by Bret and his family (including wife Karen, Shane, Garret and Boyd) since 1979. For past 22 years, Bret has showcased his passion for soaring, and his reputation as one of top sailplane performers in country has landed him in a number of television appearances, including Evening Magazine, 3-2-1 Contact and Hour Magazine. Bret was even featured in an ad for VISA which has been run in a number of national publications. His enthusiasm for flight is matched only by his enthusiasm to promote thrill of soaring. He has flown in over 175 events with one purpose in mind: "To show pure grace and beauty of sailplane." On my day in Warner Springs, I discovered what it is all about. Also known as sky sailing, soaring is more than 100 years old. Wilbur and Orville Wright, pioneers of powered flight, designed, built and flew gliders to gain flight experience that would eventually be used in historic Kittyhawk sorties. After WWI, Germany made huge advances in glider technology, as it was restricted to non-powered aircraft. Today, all test pilots in Armed Forces are required to be competent in sailplanes. One of most famous gliders, in fact, is owned by NASA and frequently launched into space. What is it? The Space Shuttle. Soaring is not reserved for aces and pioneers, however. There are more than 30,000 licensed pilots in United States and more than 150,000 worldwide. Some fly competitively, but most are drawn to freedom and relaxation and soaring offers. There are no engine vibrations, no infants crying in seat next to you, no packaged peanuts. You strap into your seat and slingshot into Zen tranquility on a smooth cushion of air. It comes as no surprise that everyone I met at Sky Sailing had a relaxed, almost detached air to them, as if their Earth-bound duties were merely an intermission from their real calling. "So you guys wanna do zero G's?" Howie asked from up front. I looked at my co-passenger hesitantly, he at me. "Let's do it," I said, part sincerity, part bravado. With that Howie plunged 1,200-pound sailplane into a nosedive, sending our stomachs into our throats and our thoughts into regret. He certainly likes whole nose-dive thing. We looked straight down at ground, 2,000 feet below. Howie then pulled up and we were crushed into our tiny seats under G-force of climb, and as he leveled off at top of his arc, like a smooth roller coaster in sky, I suddenly felt myself lifting out of my seat, my camera on verge of floating out of my hand. Stewardess, where's that airsickness bag?
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