The salt air, sea winds and ever-stronger spring tides sweep in from the swirling Atlantic sliding through the thick bushes and around the tall coconut trees that have taken over the long perished plantations. Nature steadily struggles to reclaim this part of the large axe-shaped island.
A splendid beach of pale pink-brown sands made up of the powdered remnants of millions of shells still draw the occasional villagers to this lonely and lovely spot, seeking a weekend jaunt and “bush-cook” past the straggly tree marooned in the line of mudflats mashed by the matching waters of Guyana’s mighty Essequibo River.
Abandoned rice fields and rusting remnants of a now fast-dwindling industry hint that dreams can easily die at Moor Farm, which was previously a bustling British sugar estate and strange new home to some of the free African and later Indian indentured immigrants brought in ships from the vast, teeming far side of the world.