January 2022: My three-day trip to Suriname was planned with the primary goal of visiting the French territory of French Guiana. Since there are no direct flights from the USA to French Guiana, the most practical route was through Suriname. Having taken me 44 years to finally reach this country, I couldn’t leave it as a blank space on my map—especially knowing how difficult it would be to return to this remote part of the world. The urge to check off this elusive destination was strong, and I was eager to experience Suriname’s unique cultural blend while also crossing into French Guiana for a truly memorable adventure.
About French Guiana and Pappillon
French Guiana, a French territory in the northeastern corner of South America, stands out as the only French-speaking region on the continent. Unlike its neighbors, which speak Spanish or Portuguese, its history is deeply tied to France’s colonial ambitions. The French first attempted to settle the area in the 1600s, but each wave of colonists faced disaster, largely due to the region’s unforgiving equatorial jungles. Despite these early failures, plantations were eventually established using enslaved Africans. However, the colony remained largely unsuccessful and struggled to sustain itself.
It wasn’t until the 1850s, under Napoleon’s regime, that France found a strategic use for the territory. With slavery abolished in mainland France, French Guiana became a dumping ground for prisoners—both political exiles and former enslaved people. The colony soon gained infamy for its brutal prison camps, where forced labor was the norm, and few inmates survived the harsh conditions.
The most notorious of these prisons was on Devil’s Island, a small, isolated landmass off the coast near Saint Laurent on the Maroni River. Surrounded by dense jungle and treacherous waters, the prisons were considered inescapable. The most famous story to emerge from this dark history is that of Henri Charrière, better known as “Papillon.” Charrière, a Frenchman imprisoned on Devil’s Island, claimed to have escaped multiple times, eventually chronicling his daring journey in a best-selling memoir. While his story captivated the world, some historians question whether his escapes were exaggerated or even fictionalized for dramatic effect.

Map of French Guiana

Shipwreck
Arriving in Saint Laurent, French Guiana, by boat from the Amerindian village of Galibi in Suriname, you wasted no time stepping onto shore, eager to explore before any French immigration officials could intervene. The town, built around the infamous Camp de la Transportation prison, felt like a portal to the past. Looming in the background, the imposing prison—once home to convicts like Henri Charrière, better known as Papillon—stood as a stark reminder of the brutal history that shaped this remote corner of South America.
Saint Laurent exuded an eerie charm, its colonial-era buildings now weathered and half-abandoned, caught in a haunting balance between decay and beauty. Along the banks of the Maroni River, rusting shipwrecks lay scattered, further adding to the ghostly atmosphere. One wreck, overtaken by creeping jungle growth, had begun to transform into its own island—an unsettling testament to nature’s relentless reclamation of the man-made world.
Walking through the ruins of the old prison was a sobering experience, knowing its grim history of suffering and escape. It was here that Papillon was once held, where he allegedly plotted his legendary breakouts, cementing the prison’s reputation as both a symbol of French colonial cruelty and the backdrop for one of history’s most daring escape stories.

Shipwreck that formed its own jungle

Black vultures common on the river

Santa Clauss seemed lost
Our first priority was getting inside the prison. Given the COVID restrictions and the fact that it was New Year’s weekend, I wasn’t too optimistic about our chances, but we had to try. The prison, infamous for its brutal conditions, carried a dark history. Most of the prisoners sent here were from France’s colonies—predominantly Black or Arab—a stark reminder of the era’s racial inequalities. White prisoners, when they were sent to Saint Laurent, were often spared the worst of the suffering.
We stood before the massive main gate, a threshold that had seen 70,000 souls pass through, most of whom would never leave. Peering through the bars, we caught glimpses of the cramped quarters, the cell where Papillon allegedly carved his initials, and the shadowed room where the guillotine was once stored—a chilling relic of the executions that took place within these walls.
The prison was closed that day, its giant doors locked. But it wasn’t completely secured. I gave the door a push, and to my surprise, it creaked open slightly. Before I could take a step inside, a guard appeared, intercepting us. He was firm, unwavering, and despite our best efforts to talk our way in, he refused. This was one place, he insisted, where no one was getting in.
Undeterred, I wasn’t ready to give up just yet. If the front entrance was a dead end, perhaps there was another way—a gap in the wall, a forgotten passage. We decided to circle the prison, determined to get closer to the ghosts of its past.

Main entrance to the prison

Inside of the prison

Bank building

Old French villas

Town church

Hall of Justice where prisoners were sorted

Abandoned French buildings

Old beautiful buildings

Crumbling old prison wall
The prison complex was enormous, divided into multiple sections, each with its own chilling history. Surrounding it were striking French colonial buildings—once pristine, now weathered by time. These structures had once supported the prison’s operation, housing those who worked here, many of whom profited from the misery within its walls.
As we wandered the area, we stumbled upon another entrance to the prison. This time, a guard stood watch. Expecting to be turned away again, we were surprised when he allowed us a brief look inside. Stepping through the gate, we found ourselves in a world of decay—crumbling buildings with faded facades, their grandeur now lost to time. Strangely, some of the former prison structures had been repurposed as a home for the elderly, a stark contrast to their grim past.
After leaving the prison grounds, we explored Saint Laurent, where more grand French colonial buildings stood abandoned and boarded up, slowly succumbing to nature. The town felt eerily deserted—perhaps due to the holiday, or perhaps because time itself seemed to have forgotten this place.
As the sun dipped lower, we made our way back to the docks, ready to cross the Maroni River once more into Suriname. Looking back, Saint Laurent felt frozen in time—a place trapped between its colonial past and a present defined by neglect and solitude.

Abandoned Prison buildings

Buildings around town boarded up and closed down

Another section of the prison wall

Saint Laurent, once dubbed little Paris

Residential area with interesting old multi-colored wooden houses