Sunday, all my uncles and aunts, Dad and I got up at 5am for a three day mini vacation to Le Sud (The South) and a little island off the coast of Haiti called Ile a Vache. This would be the first time my aunt and uncle left town since the quake so they NEED to get away; My other uncle was bringing along his new bride who had never been; my other aunt and uncle had only ever travelled as far as Jacmel; and my dad and I had only spent the day on Ile a Vache and knew we wanted to go back to spend a few days there so dad is the one who booked it for everyone. It takes about three hours to drive to Les Cayes and from there it’s a 35 minute boat ride to the island. Leaving at the crack of dawn allows us to avoid the monstrosity of a traffic jam that makes Carrefour infamous these days as it is Grand Central Station for practically every tap-tap in Haiti. Well, leaving at 6:00am sounded like a good idea, but ideas and realities don’t always see eye-to-eye. With two SUV’s full of suitcases, beach bags, ice chests of food and beverages, grumpy old men and their princess wives, getting everyone in the car simultaneously and on the road on time was a bit of a comedic skit in the making. Sooooo, we left an about an hour late, but surprisingly Carrefour wasn’t as nightmarish as we expected. The problem was, my uncle driving the car ahead of my dad’s, decided to take us through a “short-cut” to avoid most of the worst areas…riiiiiiiight. Probably under normal circumstances, the proposed short-cut may have worked had it not been for the plethora of streets completely blocked off by tents and people living in the streets. So much for the short-cut…we would have been better off sitting in the traffic through Carrefour. Oh well.
The drive through the country was just as beautiful as I remember. The luxuriant, green landscape is absolutely breath-taking (the good kind this time), although signs of an earthquake ravaged country keep reminding me of the plight of the people. Tent cities can still be found speckling the landscape. Unfortunately, many of these cities are really tents at all, but instead, are blue tarps pitched in such a way that only a single person could possibly occupy the interior. Aid in the way of providing tents never made it here for one reason or another. :/
The road itself is still in good condition (mind you, in Haitian standards). There are only a couple spots where it has cracked open like an egg or where the hillside butting up to it came tumbling down, now making it a single lane. Other than that, it was smooth sailing into the city of Les Cayes, and onto the boat headed for Abaka Bay, Ile a Vache….Aaaaaaah, if I could only describe the feeling of euphoria as we rounded the western top of the small island and the turquoise bay with its white sand beach came into view! And it only got better when we were greeted with an Abaka bay cocktail of citronade and rum! Oh wait, it gets even better! The owner upgraded Dad and me to a suite…SWEEEET! Somebody please pinch me for I must be dreaming!!! When we had visited last year, they were in the process of completing an extended set of beach front bungalows. The resort already had a cluster of rooms that hugged the steep terrain adjacent the large choucoune (palapa, or open-air, thatched roof gazebo, if you will) that made the front desk. The beach front bungalows were in the typical Caribbean style and brightly painted in yellows, oranges, and teals. Our suite had a kitchenette, dining table and chairs, living area with a pullout sleeper sofa, a large deck out front, king size bed, lots of windows for natural ventilation, ceiling fans and two air conditioner units, mosaic tile bath with a HUGE shower and skylights….REALLY?!?! Oh please, stop it some more!
Lunch was served in the outdoor dining pavilion. Dinner is served in the fancy indoor dining room, painted a deep crimson on some walls and exposed local stone on the others, air conditioned, and has two lounge areas tricked out with leather sofas and a plasma TV that played pirated copies of top American movies. (Who the heck would be crazy enough to sit inside and watch movies when you have Heaven’s playground outside?!?! Well, I found out later.) There’s no choice on the menu…you what they serve you but who the hell cares?!?! Everyone else went back to their rooms but Dad and I sat on the porch chatting and smoking a Cuban. I don’t think I slept so well in a looooooong time that night. The sound of the waves slapping the beach and the ocean breeze rustling the coconut was music to my ears.
The next day, we got up early and I found my aunt and uncle already in the water before breakfast. After breakfast, we decided to make the 25 minute trek to Port Morgan (as in Captain Morgan!); the island’s other resort on the north side of the island. I can’t even begin to tell you how beautiful that hike was. We passed through groves of mango, banana, coconut, greeted by goats, chickens and the island’s children running through barefoot with their shirts full of freshly picked fruit. Just to give you a better picture, there are no roads at all and no cars exist here. We made our way via a time worn and well travelled path about 3 feet wide. The entire island seems almost uninhabited but apparently, there are 18,000 residents…at least for election purposes, we were told. I really don’t see how that was possible, unless the lush vegetation covered up all the residences. Only a few Grande Maisons capped Ile a Vache’s peaks. After going up and over one of the hills, we came upon a village (which we had been directed by a local to look out for to know were on the right path) that could have come out of a fairy tale. It consisted of a few of the typical Haitian provincial two-room “huts” trimmed in Caribbean colors of pinks, blues and turquoise. They had neatly fenced in yards with perfectly manicured gardens. There was even a library that fascinated me and Dad. A local offered us a peek inside and as much as I was dying to see it, I almost felt like it shouldn’t be disturbed by my nosey ass. We reached sort of a plaza area where a girl was playing marbles and a horse grazed nearby. When we finally reached the bay of Port Morgan, I was met with a site that rivaled that of Walt Disney. It seriously looked like an amusement park! And the best part was, there was a freakin’ real life pirate ship (sans real life pirates of course) sitting in the middle of the bay… I’m totally serious!!! Stick a fork in me I’m done! When I die, I want my Heaven to be Ile a Vache!
We stopped and talked to a local who told us how a writer came to Ile a Vache from the U.S. to research for a book. He commissioned the local to build him a boat so they could take it to Miami. The local received a temporary 6 month visa to make the voyage. The man built the boat but they had to wait three months for the winds to change and it took another month to make the journey to Miami. But once they reached Miami, the Haitian was afraid of his visa expiring so he came back to his tiny island. I guess the writer hooked him up with another temporary visa and flew the Haitian to Washington. Now that’s an adventure for a man who has probably never flown in a plane, stayed in a real hotel or even had running (hot) water in his life!
The resort of Port Morgan is perched on the hillside overlooking the bay. By the time we reached the dining pavilion we were parched from making the steep climb in the piercing (but super delicious) Caribbean sunshine. We took a table on the edge with the best view of the bay and I had my first Cola Champagne of my trip…the BEST! We asked to see one of the rooms to check out the accommodations and lucky for us, only the three bedroom villa was available. Even if I could steal that house and take it anywhere I wanted, I would leave it right where it is. Dad and I climbed to the viewing deck on the roof and could take in the 360 degree views. One day we will return with the whole family.
We wanted to see as much of the island as possible so we got a small motor boat to take us back to Abaka Bay. After lunch we jumped back into the water until it was time for our last dinner. Torturous! They are gonna have to pry me off the coconut tree with a crowbar before I’ll leave. ..OK maybe not quite that dramatic. But my aunt and I did throw a tantrum of sorts on the pier getting into the boat to take us back to Les Cayes the following morning. A trip to Abaka Bay is a must for anyone visiting Haiti, except I really don’t want anyone to go because I want to keep it pristine and all to myself. Yeah, that’s right…I said it. Selfish brat I know. ;o)
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
Haiti May 2010 Day 2 & 3
Yesterday was my first full day back in Haiti. I woke up at 5am, which seems to be my normal time while I’m here…can’t figure that one out, but whatever. After eating breakfast, I settled in my usual perch at the dining room window, only this time, I’m not sitting on Mamie’s antique Chinese chest, but rather, at the small round dining table that used to be out in the Treehouse that has temporarily been moved inside while the Threehouse is being worked on. There, I did some writing and took in the view of Port-au-Prince through the mango and coconut trees. The shoreline is noticeably different and the Cathedral no longer exists (there goes that pain in my heart again).
Dad took me, my aunt and uncle downtown to check out the situation. We headed to the Champs de Mars and the National Palace first. The Champs de Mars is like our own National Mall in Washington DC only smaller. There are monuments and a park area in the center. Except now, none of it is visible as it is entirely occupied by a tent city and rows and rows of Port-O-Potty’s (I think I just came up with a new NGO- POP’s for PAP…there are tons of them, but not enough). The National Palace still sits there, slumped over, a UN military tank sits on her front lawn, the grass just barely being maintained. The two outer domes sit cockeyed while the center one is gone altogether exposing the rooms that once existed behind it. The IRS building is nothing but a pile of rubble (oh darn), City Hall was hit by an earthly bomb and the Minister’s office is broken and tattered beyond repair. It’s a breathtaking sight and I don’t mean in a good way either. Imagine the White House of the United States being reduced to a single story of rubble and a spiderweb of twisted metal, or the US Capitol building with a decapitated dome and thousands of people living in tents and cardboard shacks on the National Mall. Americans wouldn’t know what to do with themselves and I imagine the country would fold like a lawn chair. Well, that’s pretty much what The Champs de Mars looks like…and yet life goes on.
We made our way down by the water, where a tenant of ours is a maritime agent. It was from here he made a harrowing trek home on January 12th sans communication with his wife or 5 kids and had to walk THROUGH a crumpled, screaming, burning city of Port-au-Prince and his completely flattened neighborhood of Turgeau only to strike gold when he discovered his entire family and his home were intact. I hope to get his account first hand during my stay here. The entire marina and shipping docks had completely collapsed and vanished into the bay of Port-au-Prince…cranes, containers, roadway, everything…gone. The relief efforts in the last four months have since supplied at least a temporary if not permanent shipping and receiving dock so business for the country is not totally crippled.
Driving through the streets of downtown PAP, it’s difficult to truly assess the progress that’s going on here. By that, I mean the streets has been cleared of rubble for business and there are marchands (merchants) everywhere, conducting business as usual. I noticed right away, though, that the streets are no where nearly as crowded as pre-J12. They are passable this time. Is that because they have cleared out of PAP into the provinces? Are there just fewer people? Dad thinks it’s because everyone is clinging onto their tents and what little they have left for fear of theft. Who knows really? I hope to find an answer before my departure. The one thing that hasn’t been completely cleared are the miles and miles of, old buildings, condemned buildings, destroyed buildings, buildings marked for demolition and not yet touched. During our entire excursion of Downtown, I don’t think I saw a single bulldozer or earth mover. That’s not to say there aren’t any at all, but I just didn’t see one. I did see one former building (now a pile of broken concrete) with a crew of organized Haitians in their bright yellow team shirts and hard hats, picked away at the pile and removing the rubble, one chunk at a time. At this rate, my great-great-great grandkids MIGHT be able to enjoy New PAP. I had a major reality check at the sight of this and it was one of those, “Holy S**t” kind of reality checks.
After coming home for lunch and a break for my weary eyes, my uncle took me on a tour of the streets of Turgeau, my hood. Turgeau is an old neighborhood and has some beautiful old homes. Last year while I was here, I came across a book (at a bookstore that no longer exists) of historical photos of Haiti. One of the photos was of the natural fresh water well from the 1800’s that still sits outside our gate. I hope to God I can find another one of those books while I’m here…it’s a gem! I really hope someone with a better camera than my little Nikon Coolpix took better pictures of the hood than I can to document the evolution of this place. There is not one single home in Turgeau that has not been affected. Every single home either no longer stands at all or is so badly damaged it’s only standing because the cobwebs are keeping it up. There is one street a block down from us that makes a big loop of about 12 or so formerly large, glorious homes. An entirely family once occupied this street. Not one single home remains now. There is also an apartment building belonging to another family whose entire back wall has crumpled, exposing all the units that once stood privately behind it and now stands askew. There are clothes and shoes, book and papers and other belongings strewn everywhere. One of our other satellite family members has a small compound the next block down that used to contain three homes on it around a central quad area. One of the homes was completed last summer during my stay here. Apparently the bottom floor is condemned, but not the second… Yeah, I can’t figure that one out either, but let me know if you find out how that works. The second house is still standing although there are large visible cracks everywhere and walls have separated. The third house belongs to the matriarch and is a large wooden typical Caribbean-style structure painted in turquoise blue with red trim. It looks perfectly untouched!...until you drive around the side and see that the whole back of the house fell off. It literally looks like a dollhouse now.
Oye! I had enough for the day. We went home and got dressed to have dinner at our cousin, JP’s house. It was a fabulous evening of delicious appetizers and main course and we discussed what lessons each of us has walked away with since J12. My lesson was a bit different than everyone else’s …my lesson was that God has a plan and it’s not up to us to decide or control what happens to us. Everyone else said that material things do not matter. I didn’t think of that because I cannot really relate to it. I am still living in a perfectly safe house with all my clothes, trinkets, hot water, electricity and abundance of food. My personal lesson stems from having nothing to go on but my faith that God kept my dad and the rest of family safe. Without communication or news of what’s going on with family on a daily basis, it’s a nail-biting anxiety that takes over, so all you can do is pray and have faith. And it made me realize the different types of “affected” people. I think there are three different types: Those who were in Haiti at the time of the earthquake; those of us who were not in Haiti at the time, but were deeply affected by it because of their personal ties to Haiti (like me); and those who don’t know Haiti from squat with no ties to her at all and only know what they see or hear on CNN and could never fathom such a catastrophe.
At least I was able to temporarily forget the day’s madness in JP’s killer Dry Martini’s.
Dad took me, my aunt and uncle downtown to check out the situation. We headed to the Champs de Mars and the National Palace first. The Champs de Mars is like our own National Mall in Washington DC only smaller. There are monuments and a park area in the center. Except now, none of it is visible as it is entirely occupied by a tent city and rows and rows of Port-O-Potty’s (I think I just came up with a new NGO- POP’s for PAP…there are tons of them, but not enough). The National Palace still sits there, slumped over, a UN military tank sits on her front lawn, the grass just barely being maintained. The two outer domes sit cockeyed while the center one is gone altogether exposing the rooms that once existed behind it. The IRS building is nothing but a pile of rubble (oh darn), City Hall was hit by an earthly bomb and the Minister’s office is broken and tattered beyond repair. It’s a breathtaking sight and I don’t mean in a good way either. Imagine the White House of the United States being reduced to a single story of rubble and a spiderweb of twisted metal, or the US Capitol building with a decapitated dome and thousands of people living in tents and cardboard shacks on the National Mall. Americans wouldn’t know what to do with themselves and I imagine the country would fold like a lawn chair. Well, that’s pretty much what The Champs de Mars looks like…and yet life goes on.
We made our way down by the water, where a tenant of ours is a maritime agent. It was from here he made a harrowing trek home on January 12th sans communication with his wife or 5 kids and had to walk THROUGH a crumpled, screaming, burning city of Port-au-Prince and his completely flattened neighborhood of Turgeau only to strike gold when he discovered his entire family and his home were intact. I hope to get his account first hand during my stay here. The entire marina and shipping docks had completely collapsed and vanished into the bay of Port-au-Prince…cranes, containers, roadway, everything…gone. The relief efforts in the last four months have since supplied at least a temporary if not permanent shipping and receiving dock so business for the country is not totally crippled.
Driving through the streets of downtown PAP, it’s difficult to truly assess the progress that’s going on here. By that, I mean the streets has been cleared of rubble for business and there are marchands (merchants) everywhere, conducting business as usual. I noticed right away, though, that the streets are no where nearly as crowded as pre-J12. They are passable this time. Is that because they have cleared out of PAP into the provinces? Are there just fewer people? Dad thinks it’s because everyone is clinging onto their tents and what little they have left for fear of theft. Who knows really? I hope to find an answer before my departure. The one thing that hasn’t been completely cleared are the miles and miles of, old buildings, condemned buildings, destroyed buildings, buildings marked for demolition and not yet touched. During our entire excursion of Downtown, I don’t think I saw a single bulldozer or earth mover. That’s not to say there aren’t any at all, but I just didn’t see one. I did see one former building (now a pile of broken concrete) with a crew of organized Haitians in their bright yellow team shirts and hard hats, picked away at the pile and removing the rubble, one chunk at a time. At this rate, my great-great-great grandkids MIGHT be able to enjoy New PAP. I had a major reality check at the sight of this and it was one of those, “Holy S**t” kind of reality checks.
After coming home for lunch and a break for my weary eyes, my uncle took me on a tour of the streets of Turgeau, my hood. Turgeau is an old neighborhood and has some beautiful old homes. Last year while I was here, I came across a book (at a bookstore that no longer exists) of historical photos of Haiti. One of the photos was of the natural fresh water well from the 1800’s that still sits outside our gate. I hope to God I can find another one of those books while I’m here…it’s a gem! I really hope someone with a better camera than my little Nikon Coolpix took better pictures of the hood than I can to document the evolution of this place. There is not one single home in Turgeau that has not been affected. Every single home either no longer stands at all or is so badly damaged it’s only standing because the cobwebs are keeping it up. There is one street a block down from us that makes a big loop of about 12 or so formerly large, glorious homes. An entirely family once occupied this street. Not one single home remains now. There is also an apartment building belonging to another family whose entire back wall has crumpled, exposing all the units that once stood privately behind it and now stands askew. There are clothes and shoes, book and papers and other belongings strewn everywhere. One of our other satellite family members has a small compound the next block down that used to contain three homes on it around a central quad area. One of the homes was completed last summer during my stay here. Apparently the bottom floor is condemned, but not the second… Yeah, I can’t figure that one out either, but let me know if you find out how that works. The second house is still standing although there are large visible cracks everywhere and walls have separated. The third house belongs to the matriarch and is a large wooden typical Caribbean-style structure painted in turquoise blue with red trim. It looks perfectly untouched!...until you drive around the side and see that the whole back of the house fell off. It literally looks like a dollhouse now.
Oye! I had enough for the day. We went home and got dressed to have dinner at our cousin, JP’s house. It was a fabulous evening of delicious appetizers and main course and we discussed what lessons each of us has walked away with since J12. My lesson was a bit different than everyone else’s …my lesson was that God has a plan and it’s not up to us to decide or control what happens to us. Everyone else said that material things do not matter. I didn’t think of that because I cannot really relate to it. I am still living in a perfectly safe house with all my clothes, trinkets, hot water, electricity and abundance of food. My personal lesson stems from having nothing to go on but my faith that God kept my dad and the rest of family safe. Without communication or news of what’s going on with family on a daily basis, it’s a nail-biting anxiety that takes over, so all you can do is pray and have faith. And it made me realize the different types of “affected” people. I think there are three different types: Those who were in Haiti at the time of the earthquake; those of us who were not in Haiti at the time, but were deeply affected by it because of their personal ties to Haiti (like me); and those who don’t know Haiti from squat with no ties to her at all and only know what they see or hear on CNN and could never fathom such a catastrophe.
At least I was able to temporarily forget the day’s madness in JP’s killer Dry Martini’s.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Haiti May 1 May 2010
After a loooong day of travel and a quasi-nap on the Miami International Airport floor (that’s a whole other story altogether) I anxiously anticipated my arrival back to Haiti. It has been less than a year since I last left Haiti, but this was my first trip back since the devastating earthquake of January 12, 2010. I thought I had prepared myself for what I might find upon landing but I don’t think anything can ever truly prepare anybody.
The flight from Miami sat me in seat 14B, next to a girl from California (YAY!) who was going to Haiti for 6 weeks to help with a British NGO in Bellvue. She was excited to sit next to someone who was familiar with the country but whom could also communicate with her. She wanted to know where she should go visit while there. I basically told her where NOT to go as that list is much shorter. The flight was not only not packed to the gills and bursting at the seams as usual (maybe because it was a 7am flight?) but there were also many “non-Haitians” travelling to Haiti as well. In hindsight, I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised now. Everyone has their hands in Haiti’s cookie jar. There was even an actress on board, although I cannot for the life of me, think of her name. It will probably come to me at some random time. I was just so happy so many people of the world still care about Haiti...she needs alot of help.
As we were landing we flew over Cite Soleil of which about half looked the same (cinder block and corrugated steel houses) and the other half was an ocean of blue tarps covering the tent city. Once I focused my eyes on the rest of the landscape, I could see large blotches of blue, white and grey tent cities for miles. Upon “parking” the plane at the gate (YES! An actual gate with the hamster tunnel!) I realized I was slightly disappointed at not feeling the slam of the tropical heat when deplaning and walking down the mobile stairs and across the tarmac to the immigration lines in the terminal. It seems each time I come to Haiti now, I am greeted with a new experience…oh boy. The arrival terminal was badly damaged during the quake and is no longer functional so we had to be shuttled to a temporary-but-will-probably-will-end-up-permanent terminal down a bit by where the old boneyard of vintage planes used to be. That entire portion of the airport has been nicely cleaned up. One of the grassy areas now houses a team of giant US military helicopters …they looked like Black Hawks, but what do I know?!?! Anyways, Don’t think I’m not gonna try and catch a ride on one! Other than that, the chaos of post-J12 at the airport seems to have subsided and is somewhat back to normal.
I had told my new friend that I would bet my dad will probably be waiting inside the airport at baggage claim and will take me to La Coquille for lunch (A restaurant in Petionville that serves all-you-can-eat homemade Haitian food for about $5…the BEST!!!). I really wish she would have taken me up on that bet… I could probably make a living off betting what my family members and friends will do.
Driving through Port-au-Prince was….uuuummmm…interesting. I know we hear about the tent cities on the news (well, we used to anyways), but I’m not sure the news reports did them justice. These tent cities to house the displaced victims of January 12th (or Goudougoudou, as it’s locally known, mimicking the sound of the earth trembling) are EVERYWHERE. Anywhere there is a spot of open and somewhat flat land, there is a tent. There are tents in parking lots, there are tents crammed between the wall of the airfield and the busy street of Mais Gate, there are tents perched on top of rubble….you name it, there will be a tent or 100, or 1000. And many of them are identified by the organization that is sponsoring it: The Red Cross from pick-a-country, USAID, etc. Rows of port-o-potties line the streets to keep the sanitary away from the unsanitary which apparently has become a problem in the not-so-organized tent cities. Yet, the streets are teaming with Haitians and it’s business as usual, although it’s not. It’s a strange feeling, a sort of ominous realization of, “This is the new norm?”
The road leading up to our property, Le Clos, is at the very tippy top of Ave Jean Paul II in the neighborhood of Turgeau on the outskirts of PAP. Before J12, it was a very narrow 2 way paved road with large concrete and stone walls enclosing the large homes that stood grandly behind the gates. The street was always crowded with Haitians travelling to and from the natural fresh water well that sits just outside our gate, with “marchands“ selling their mangoes or pharmaceuticals up against the walls, people bathing or washing their clothes in the run-off from the well. But now, the crumbling of most of Turgeau’s large old homes has left Ave jean Paul II an almost impassable 2 way paved road filled with mounds of rubble everywhere…and people travelling to and from the well, marchands selling their mangoes and pharmaceuticals, and people bathing or washing their clothes in the run-off. Two cars passing each other becomes a well choreographed Dance of the Rubble as they inch passed , careful not to sway into each other as they both precariously make their way up and over the remnants of someone’s wall or former home. The gate to our property is almost blocked by the team of water trucks that have come to fill their giant tanks with fresh water for distribution to the tent cities. Once we finally make it through the gates, things are back to normal…yeah, not quite.
The apartments on the right bare the wounds. Construction workers are all over the place in an attempt to get the apartments ready for tenants, who anxiously await their return or new tenants want to get in and get back to work right away. The 500 or so displaced that had been housed on our property in our tent city have since been sent home to begin their own rebuilding process, but a couple tents still remain on the stretch of grass between the apartment driveway and the driveway that leads to our house. My aunt and uncle still occupy one of those tents while their apartment is being fixed. The foundation needed to be dug up and reinforced to prevent the whole building from slipping down the hillside…a bit more work than just patching up cracks. Dad took me through some of the units to show me the progress. The little house on the left shows signs of patched up cracks on the outside. I have yet to venture inside and see the damage, but it’s still standing strong. When we reached our house, I noticed few battle scars on the “USS Mamie Liautaud” right away. A couple superficial cracks here and there, a few missing green roof tiles, and the obvious reconstruction of my favorite room , The Treehouse on Steroids, the only part of the house that suffered severe damage. A new lighter weight, steel roof crowns her top…it still has to grow on me. We entered, as usual, at the back of the house, through the kitchen where I immediately saw her patched up but unpainted wall on the right. It sent a sharp, metaphoric, pain straight to my heart (don’t worry, I’m not actually having a heart attack). The dining room wall also bares these giant patches. It’s paintings have been taken down and moved to my room for safe keeping. The portrait of Mamie sits on the bedroom floor and she stares at me while I’m dressing and sleeping…keeping me in check (Hmph!). There is also a large patch in the living room but, again, only a superficial crack. The house is now a little more crowded as all the furniture from the Treehouse had be moved in. The entrance gallery is now filled with a giant circle of wicker settees and chairs, the bar has a new temporary home in the living room, the curio cabinet that houses all of Mamie’s trinkets now stands as a separation between the hallway and Dad’s office. But the USS Mamie Liautaud still stands.
Later that evening, my aunt and uncle arrived from France and we were joined by my Godfather and his new bride, and my other uncle and his wife, plus a cousin. We enjoyed champagne & wine in celebration of Life and Family. It was a full house once again & Mamie surely is happy.
The flight from Miami sat me in seat 14B, next to a girl from California (YAY!) who was going to Haiti for 6 weeks to help with a British NGO in Bellvue. She was excited to sit next to someone who was familiar with the country but whom could also communicate with her. She wanted to know where she should go visit while there. I basically told her where NOT to go as that list is much shorter. The flight was not only not packed to the gills and bursting at the seams as usual (maybe because it was a 7am flight?) but there were also many “non-Haitians” travelling to Haiti as well. In hindsight, I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised now. Everyone has their hands in Haiti’s cookie jar. There was even an actress on board, although I cannot for the life of me, think of her name. It will probably come to me at some random time. I was just so happy so many people of the world still care about Haiti...she needs alot of help.
As we were landing we flew over Cite Soleil of which about half looked the same (cinder block and corrugated steel houses) and the other half was an ocean of blue tarps covering the tent city. Once I focused my eyes on the rest of the landscape, I could see large blotches of blue, white and grey tent cities for miles. Upon “parking” the plane at the gate (YES! An actual gate with the hamster tunnel!) I realized I was slightly disappointed at not feeling the slam of the tropical heat when deplaning and walking down the mobile stairs and across the tarmac to the immigration lines in the terminal. It seems each time I come to Haiti now, I am greeted with a new experience…oh boy. The arrival terminal was badly damaged during the quake and is no longer functional so we had to be shuttled to a temporary-but-will-probably-will-end-up-permanent terminal down a bit by where the old boneyard of vintage planes used to be. That entire portion of the airport has been nicely cleaned up. One of the grassy areas now houses a team of giant US military helicopters …they looked like Black Hawks, but what do I know?!?! Anyways, Don’t think I’m not gonna try and catch a ride on one! Other than that, the chaos of post-J12 at the airport seems to have subsided and is somewhat back to normal.
I had told my new friend that I would bet my dad will probably be waiting inside the airport at baggage claim and will take me to La Coquille for lunch (A restaurant in Petionville that serves all-you-can-eat homemade Haitian food for about $5…the BEST!!!). I really wish she would have taken me up on that bet… I could probably make a living off betting what my family members and friends will do.
Driving through Port-au-Prince was….uuuummmm…interesting. I know we hear about the tent cities on the news (well, we used to anyways), but I’m not sure the news reports did them justice. These tent cities to house the displaced victims of January 12th (or Goudougoudou, as it’s locally known, mimicking the sound of the earth trembling) are EVERYWHERE. Anywhere there is a spot of open and somewhat flat land, there is a tent. There are tents in parking lots, there are tents crammed between the wall of the airfield and the busy street of Mais Gate, there are tents perched on top of rubble….you name it, there will be a tent or 100, or 1000. And many of them are identified by the organization that is sponsoring it: The Red Cross from pick-a-country, USAID, etc. Rows of port-o-potties line the streets to keep the sanitary away from the unsanitary which apparently has become a problem in the not-so-organized tent cities. Yet, the streets are teaming with Haitians and it’s business as usual, although it’s not. It’s a strange feeling, a sort of ominous realization of, “This is the new norm?”
The road leading up to our property, Le Clos, is at the very tippy top of Ave Jean Paul II in the neighborhood of Turgeau on the outskirts of PAP. Before J12, it was a very narrow 2 way paved road with large concrete and stone walls enclosing the large homes that stood grandly behind the gates. The street was always crowded with Haitians travelling to and from the natural fresh water well that sits just outside our gate, with “marchands“ selling their mangoes or pharmaceuticals up against the walls, people bathing or washing their clothes in the run-off from the well. But now, the crumbling of most of Turgeau’s large old homes has left Ave jean Paul II an almost impassable 2 way paved road filled with mounds of rubble everywhere…and people travelling to and from the well, marchands selling their mangoes and pharmaceuticals, and people bathing or washing their clothes in the run-off. Two cars passing each other becomes a well choreographed Dance of the Rubble as they inch passed , careful not to sway into each other as they both precariously make their way up and over the remnants of someone’s wall or former home. The gate to our property is almost blocked by the team of water trucks that have come to fill their giant tanks with fresh water for distribution to the tent cities. Once we finally make it through the gates, things are back to normal…yeah, not quite.
The apartments on the right bare the wounds. Construction workers are all over the place in an attempt to get the apartments ready for tenants, who anxiously await their return or new tenants want to get in and get back to work right away. The 500 or so displaced that had been housed on our property in our tent city have since been sent home to begin their own rebuilding process, but a couple tents still remain on the stretch of grass between the apartment driveway and the driveway that leads to our house. My aunt and uncle still occupy one of those tents while their apartment is being fixed. The foundation needed to be dug up and reinforced to prevent the whole building from slipping down the hillside…a bit more work than just patching up cracks. Dad took me through some of the units to show me the progress. The little house on the left shows signs of patched up cracks on the outside. I have yet to venture inside and see the damage, but it’s still standing strong. When we reached our house, I noticed few battle scars on the “USS Mamie Liautaud” right away. A couple superficial cracks here and there, a few missing green roof tiles, and the obvious reconstruction of my favorite room , The Treehouse on Steroids, the only part of the house that suffered severe damage. A new lighter weight, steel roof crowns her top…it still has to grow on me. We entered, as usual, at the back of the house, through the kitchen where I immediately saw her patched up but unpainted wall on the right. It sent a sharp, metaphoric, pain straight to my heart (don’t worry, I’m not actually having a heart attack). The dining room wall also bares these giant patches. It’s paintings have been taken down and moved to my room for safe keeping. The portrait of Mamie sits on the bedroom floor and she stares at me while I’m dressing and sleeping…keeping me in check (Hmph!). There is also a large patch in the living room but, again, only a superficial crack. The house is now a little more crowded as all the furniture from the Treehouse had be moved in. The entrance gallery is now filled with a giant circle of wicker settees and chairs, the bar has a new temporary home in the living room, the curio cabinet that houses all of Mamie’s trinkets now stands as a separation between the hallway and Dad’s office. But the USS Mamie Liautaud still stands.
Later that evening, my aunt and uncle arrived from France and we were joined by my Godfather and his new bride, and my other uncle and his wife, plus a cousin. We enjoyed champagne & wine in celebration of Life and Family. It was a full house once again & Mamie surely is happy.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
A Homecoming
Nearly two agonizing months after the earthquake that devastated Haiti, my dad is finally coming home for some Rest & Relaxation. I cannot begin to tell you the joy and relief I am feeling!
I will never forget that Tuesday...I was at work and snuck onto my Blackberry completely unaware of what I would find. Unfortunately, it was NO GOOD NEWS. I saw a post from one of my friends of a major earthquake. I totally thought it was a joke at first but when I refreshed the status updates, my heart sank.
I tried to remain as calm as possible but I have never felt such fear (or panic?) in my life! I tried calling my dad but was unable to get through. I called my brother to inform him and he started trying to contact Dad too. We kept trying all day and night into Wednesday.
Facebook and Twitter kept me abreast of what was going on. It looked like all of Haiti was in rubble. It was an online frenzy of communication all over the globe trying to give/get word. I had spent all day Wednesday trying to get through to Gov.org to get assistance to locate him. Family members and friends I hadn't seen in almost 20 years, came out of the woodwork in an attempt to help! (Angels DO exist!!!)
Then I heard, my cousin who lives in Miami, managed to charter a private plane into Santo Domingo and cross the border... he had a satellite phone with him and went straight to my dad (and his, who lives on the same family compound). Sat phones seemed to be the ONLY form of communication besides Blackberry Messenger. It was a full 24 hours before I heard from my dad.
The phone rang and I KNEW it was him. As soon as I answered I broke down crying. Hearing his voice and calling me his lifelong pet name for me, Tresor, was almost all I could handle. His voice was trembling and sounded like nothing I've ever heard. I thought he was hurt. I demanded to know he was OK. He said he was fine but Haiti is not. He said it was horrible and nothing like anyone can imagine.
Everyone in our camp was fine. The houses and apartments were fine, but the rest of our entire neighborhood is not...it's GONE.
For three weeks, I did not sleep...or barely did. My mom, my brother and myself would wake up at the same time every single day...3:00am. Were we on Haiti time? Communication was close to non-existent, so with all the major aftershocks that were occurring we were constantly on pins and needles not receiving ANY further communication. I was on Facebook and Twitter all hours of the day and night. It was virtually unbearable.
But as the weeks passed and the lines of communication opened up once more, relief (as relieved as one can possibly be in this time) started to set in.
Back in Haiti, all the 350+ displaced victims that my dad and uncles were housing have received their tents and have left to begin the task of rebuilding. The tennis court is no longer being used as a triage center, but is not being used at all as all the tenants have left. The days of a single communal meal are over. Life, for what it is now, is slowly attempting to regain some normalcy. And now my dad is coming home to his family...to rest, to regroup, to receive some much needed moral support, before going back and continuing to rebuild Haiti 2.0.
I'm so excited to have him back.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Roadtrip to Le Sud (And Other Things Haitian)- Part I
First of all, I would like to extend an apology about my last blog (Adapting in Haiti)...a friend told me it could have been taken as an insult to the country and some people may take offense. I would like to make it clear: that was not my intention whatsoever. I was merely trying to bring to light the vast amount of opportunities Haiti has to offer. I LOVE this country!!! So, please do not get your panties in a bunch. The only way Haiti will ever be able to move forward is if they accept a little bit of constructive criticism. Thanks and have a nice day. ;)
That being said, I’ve decided this blog will be broken two parts since there is so much to tell. That way, maybe some of the readers won’t get scared off and will actually read it at their own leisure. Part I is mainly about the roadtrip and the sites along the way. Here it goes:
Last week, while running errands all over town Dad, Mom, Dominic and myself, stopped to pay a visit to a cousin. He had mentioned that he and his wife and some other family and friends were going to Port Salut for the weekend…a seaside town in the South of Haiti towards the western-most tip of the island. I had been to Jacmel before, which is almost directly south of Port-Au-Prince over the mountain range but I had never travelled west of that and the South is supposed to be the most beautiful part of the island. Dad had been allegedly planning a trip to go there but there was still no word confirming such a trip and I was beginning to think the whole place was a figment of someone’s colorful imagination. I’ve been here for 2 months, my son for 1 month and we only have 3 weeks left here! But, this time, something peaked Dad’s interest again and by the end of the day we had reservations for a suite at the same hotel that everyone was staying at, Dan’s Creek. FINALLY…SHEESH! So this place does exist afterall!
We had one full day to get everything together before leaving at 5:00am Friday morning. I kept the packing to a bare minimum (seriously!)…basically only bikinis and cover-ups, a cute sundress for dinner and my suntan lotion…oh, and my inner tube. Dominic and I both got our stuff into one carry-on suitcase and a backpack for 3 days…a freakin’ miracle in my book! Friday morning rolls around. After a virtually sleepless night after hearing something larger than a spider but smaller than a cat rustling somewhere in the dresser next to my bed, I was up and out of bed at 4:00am. Now, getting Dominic up at that time is another story which I will not share because I would like to keep this a happy experience…please read between the lines on that one! At any rate, after having a morning shot of coffee, the four of us jumped into Dad’s trusty SUV and made our way to the planned meeting spot in front of the Teleco closer to downtown. Since there was 9 in our group to start, we caravanned in two cars.
Port-Au-Prince at 5:00am is something to be seen. It feels like you’re somewhere else entirely! There was almost no one on the streets at all save for a lone female jogger. The glow of the rising sun lit an old traditional gingerbread house, seemingly just barely standing. It turned out to be the former house of my grandmother’s cousin which made it all the more interesting. Its brick walls were still standing tall and slightly askew, but the turquoise painted shutters were cracked and warped and the only evidence of the balcony that had once stretched across the front was the empty space and remaining splinters where it had been attached to the façade. Rue Lamartiniere in the Bois-Verna neighborhood is still home to many of these old architectural masterpieces and gems of old. And driving down this road at 5:00am only made it more magical for me. The road through Bois-Verna takes you directly to the Champ de Mars, the main square of Port-Au-Prince that houses the National Palace, the famed statue, Le Neg Marron, and its large plaza that was, helloooooo, surprisingly PACKED with early morning joggers. So that’s where that lone jogger was headed? I had to rub my eyes and pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming! Haitians exercise?!?! Just kidding. I know of a few people who keet active lifestyles but I had NO CLUE there was such an organized activity as joggers in the Champ de Mars. It was an amazing (and beautiful) sight! If I wasn’t so damn lazy now and weighed down by “diri a sos pwa” (White rice with black bean sauce) I might join them one morning…but who am I kidding, really.
After zipping through the empty streets of Port-Au-Prince we came upon the city of Carrefour…the sole reason for having to leave at such an ungodly hour. Carrefour is situated along the water directly west and a wee bit south of PAP. It is the hub and headquarters for almost every tap-tap in Haiti’s grips to take passengers both two-legged and four- to all corners of the country. I think tap-taps should be categorized as one of the wonders of the modern world. They are freakish in nature and are what make Haiti…well…Haiti. (For you Haitian virgins out there, a tap-tap is a truck or bus that has been painted, decorated and bedazzled to rival a carnival ride. They are covered: with every color known to man, reflectors, black and/or neon lights, flashing LED’s (they’re going high tech now!), religious sayings and names (Grace De Jesu!; Mon Dieu) and distorted images of Haiti’s past and present famous like Wyclef (Oh wait, is that one of the BeeGees? Oh, sorry, it’s Jesus…). They manage to somehow fit an Ibiza sized nightclub woth of speakers somewhere and blast music from Kanaval 2009. And I’m not so sure the term “filled to capacity” can apply to a tap-tap. These behemoths reach far beyond capacity. It’s so densely packed inside you can’t see through the windows to the other side. There are hands, arms and legs sticking out of the windows and the roofs of these things literally hold a mountain of suitcases, bags, bundles, barrels, plants, goats, chickens, men, women and children…no seat belts! When a tap-tap comes barreling at you on a narrow country road at 100 kilometers an hour it…uuuhhh…kinda makes your heart stop for a sec. When I was knee-high to a grasshopper, tap-taps used to be tiny little Toyota pick-up trucks that weren’t nearly as scary as they are now. Tap-taps deserve their own blog, I guess.
Anyways, back to Carrefour: It is also home to Napoleon Bonaparte’s sister, Pauline’s, old digs, and Habitation Leclerc, a former hotspot built on the property for the rich and trendy back in the ‘70’s. Unfortunately, like many things once magical in Haiti, Pauline’s haunt is in disrepair. I can only wish that it will one day be restored to her original grandeur…Oh, the stories those old walls must hold!!!
The road we were on used to be within a stone’s throw of the waterfront, but the city as expanded itself over, precariously situated on the piles of “ick” that has collected over the years. We must pray that section never takes a direct hit by a storm of even a moderate nature. But we made it through Carrefour without too much headache as the tap-taps were still loading before hitting Routes Nationale 1 & 2. WHEW! We made it!
Route Nationale #2 took us out of Carrefour along the inner coast of Haiti; the water on the right side of the road. There are many attempts at beach resorts going up along this stretch of road. I hope they all come to pass successfully but they will have to seriously contend with the difficulties of passing through Carrefour’s roads first. That might take a while.
Soon, the densely packed buildings start to thin out and give way to more green and lush scenery. The tangled web of illegal electrical lines is replaced by vines hanging from majestic banyan trees. Coconut trees act like soldiers lining the sides of the road, leading the way to safe passage. The few scatterings of houses in this area become more primitive and are worn more by mere time than by the pollution of the big city. The road curves a little more inland and then I entered a place and time I never knew existed in Haiti. Expansive fields of sugar cane spread on both sides of the road like a blanket made by God himself to cover the land. By this time of the day (about 6:30am) the sun was just peaking over Haiti’s forested mountains and cast the most glorious light on the field of green. Every once in a while an old abandoned mill stood where it has stood for ages; a mill here and there would be in operation with its plumes of smoke rising out of the smoke stack. I hope to witness this same place at the same time during my lifetime and find better words to describe it. I feel like I’m not doing it justice now.
So, we zipped along the road (I hesitate to call it a highway), climbing through the hills, passing villages as the inhabitants awoke to start their full day of hard work to earn what little they can to feed the family that day. Along National #2, there is much less deforestation than in the North so you see Haiti as she was meant to be seen. It’s amazing. I’ve been to Hawaii a few times and I honestly think this is comparable in natural beauty. At one point, we made a stop in a…hmmmm…town?... village?... Speck on the map is more like it, where they are famous for Haiti’s famous treat: Douce Macoss. Colorful, hand-painted signs line the road claiming to have the “Best” or the “Original” Douce Macoss although the treat was sold off a rickety old table or in a thatched roof shack. Somehow, we found a particular driveway cut through the dense trees and shrubs that crowded the road and into a private residence. The main house was an actual concrete structure, painted a dark grey with white accents. A toddler about 2 or 3 years in age sat on the front step, wearing only a striped T-shirt. To the left was a traditional Haitian country house (made of clay?), leaning to one side, painted aqua with a barely-still-pink set of double wooden doors. Hens and roosters seemed to own the place as they ran around all over the yard. While the men went inside to fetch us some Haitian goodies, the rest of us stretched our legs and enjoyed some ham and tomato sandwiches that Carline had prepared for us and drank water. The scent of burning trash and leaves filled our nostrils but I’ve always loved that smell. It will always remind me of Haiti and only adds the ambiance of the place.
Out comes Dad with the Douce Macoss and I think I chomped off half the slab and a bit of his finger. I believe I will have to return to this place before I head Back to California to replenish our current stock and buy some to share (or not) with the folks in Cali. We climb back into our cars and off we go again. The road meanders through the hills and although it has lots of curves it’s nothing crazy nor will it make you car sick. But, man I tell you, when you round the bend and reach the top of the hill and see the countryside ahead, it really takes your breath away. (It kinda reminded me of the many roadtrips I‘ve taken in my past life to Las Vegas: driving that stretch of Highway 15 for close to 300 miles, straight as an arrow, slowly climbing up, up into the desert. Before you reach the peak, you see the glow of the lights in the night sky. The anticipation is mounting in your gut! You finally reach the top and look down to see the Vegas strip all lit up with megawatts of power and sin! MUAAAAHAHAHAHA!!!! Oh wow, I think I just had a moment. Sorry, back to my story…)
One day, I would like to sit perched on top of one of the rocks and just watch the sun rise from behind me, even if only to catch a moment of God’s work.
Cars are much scarcer in these parts. Motorcycles, donkeys and horses are the preferred mode of transportation (besides the tap-taps that coming flying by); small children play along the side of the road as their mothers sweep the front of their yards or does the laundry in the nearby river. An old blind man in dirty linen pants, a tunic shirt with a wide brimmed hat made of straw and a walking stick of bamboo trudges along the side of the road. One would usually only think to see a character like this in a storybook or a painting, but he walks amongst us every day.
Leogane, Petit Goave, St. Michel de Sud, Aquin…just some of the towns we passed before reaching the south coast, now on the left side of the road. Here is where Haiti’s mountains meet the Caribbean Sea, crowned by massive groves of tall coconut trees and banana trees. The local fishermen are out with their nets to catch red snapper, lambi, lobster, crab. There are waves now that the beach is no longer sheltered by the bay like in Port-Au-Prince and the Cote des Arcadins. Off in the distance you see tiny islands with their white sand beaches and lushly covered mounds…oh, how I would love to be “marooned” on one of those!
Three and a half hours into the drive, our caravan reaches Les Cayes, one of Haiti’s larger cities (although a fraction of the size of PAP) and the principle city for “Le Department Sud”. Upon entering the city, you are greeted by a huge gateway that was obviously built to mark the city’s 500th anniversary…noted by the gigantic “500 Ans” crowning the top. Passing under the monument, Route Nationale #2 traverses the outer edge of Les Cayes as you come to a round-about. If you go around and to the left, you will directly into downtown Les Cayes. If you hang a right, it will take you to the outskirts and towards Camp Perrin. Go straight and we will end up in Port Salut…our final destination about another half an hour ahead. Les Cayes reminded me and Dominic of parts of old New Orleans with its rows and rows of “shotgun” structures where one room leads into the next room behind and so on until you come out the back. Tall, narrow, shuttered doorways and alleys connect them; every once in while you catch a fleeting glimpse of a turquoise sea in the background. Many of the buildings stand empty and abandoned as their former inhabitants have moved on to more “metropolitan” cities. There is a section of town where both sides of the road are lined wall to wall with old shipping containers used as stores for the marchands (merchants) selling their vast array of goods.
Continuing on Route Nationale 2, the buildings (shipping containers or otherwise) start to only sprinkle the landscape again as we enter another section of sugar cane, mais and banana fields. On the right side of the road you will come upon the ruins of a once majestic sugar cane plantation house, storied to be the former residence of one of Haiti’s Presidents. Anything that was wood has long since been rotted away, blown away by hurricane or burned. The only thing remaining is the concrete skeleton; a double staircase leads to the front entry. If you look carefully enough you can see one of the interior walls, highlighted by the sun, where the concrete has fallen away to expose the brick underneath. A couple of children in rags now call this their castle as they sit with their feet dangling off the former porch. Some peasants have moved into the “basement” of the house, evident by the fenced in yard and red curtain in the doorway and a piece of rotting plywood to keep the farm animals out. What a playground that would be!
Rte 2 takes us slightly inland and up and around a small mountain. The hills are dotted with crops and provincial homes with a small town here and there.
Finally, we reach Port Salut…it’s barely reaching 9:30am. Port Salut is very small with basically one main road (Rte Nationale 2). Downtown PS has everything a provincial seaside town ought to have: a large church, a pharmacy, a Western Union and a police station…but no modern convenience stores. (There are Western Union locations in Haiti like there are Starbucks in the States. Every town has one so family members who have gone to New York or Miami can wire money back home to their remaining families.) Only a one way road branches off to take you to the main, public beach. It’s under construction with a large dining pavilion going up. The trees grow all the way up to the waterfront so cool shade abounds here where the sun is more intense.
Dan’s Creek is on the left side of RN2 and we have finally made it…Now time for some fun!...
That being said, I’ve decided this blog will be broken two parts since there is so much to tell. That way, maybe some of the readers won’t get scared off and will actually read it at their own leisure. Part I is mainly about the roadtrip and the sites along the way. Here it goes:
Last week, while running errands all over town Dad, Mom, Dominic and myself, stopped to pay a visit to a cousin. He had mentioned that he and his wife and some other family and friends were going to Port Salut for the weekend…a seaside town in the South of Haiti towards the western-most tip of the island. I had been to Jacmel before, which is almost directly south of Port-Au-Prince over the mountain range but I had never travelled west of that and the South is supposed to be the most beautiful part of the island. Dad had been allegedly planning a trip to go there but there was still no word confirming such a trip and I was beginning to think the whole place was a figment of someone’s colorful imagination. I’ve been here for 2 months, my son for 1 month and we only have 3 weeks left here! But, this time, something peaked Dad’s interest again and by the end of the day we had reservations for a suite at the same hotel that everyone was staying at, Dan’s Creek. FINALLY…SHEESH! So this place does exist afterall!
We had one full day to get everything together before leaving at 5:00am Friday morning. I kept the packing to a bare minimum (seriously!)…basically only bikinis and cover-ups, a cute sundress for dinner and my suntan lotion…oh, and my inner tube. Dominic and I both got our stuff into one carry-on suitcase and a backpack for 3 days…a freakin’ miracle in my book! Friday morning rolls around. After a virtually sleepless night after hearing something larger than a spider but smaller than a cat rustling somewhere in the dresser next to my bed, I was up and out of bed at 4:00am. Now, getting Dominic up at that time is another story which I will not share because I would like to keep this a happy experience…please read between the lines on that one! At any rate, after having a morning shot of coffee, the four of us jumped into Dad’s trusty SUV and made our way to the planned meeting spot in front of the Teleco closer to downtown. Since there was 9 in our group to start, we caravanned in two cars.
Port-Au-Prince at 5:00am is something to be seen. It feels like you’re somewhere else entirely! There was almost no one on the streets at all save for a lone female jogger. The glow of the rising sun lit an old traditional gingerbread house, seemingly just barely standing. It turned out to be the former house of my grandmother’s cousin which made it all the more interesting. Its brick walls were still standing tall and slightly askew, but the turquoise painted shutters were cracked and warped and the only evidence of the balcony that had once stretched across the front was the empty space and remaining splinters where it had been attached to the façade. Rue Lamartiniere in the Bois-Verna neighborhood is still home to many of these old architectural masterpieces and gems of old. And driving down this road at 5:00am only made it more magical for me. The road through Bois-Verna takes you directly to the Champ de Mars, the main square of Port-Au-Prince that houses the National Palace, the famed statue, Le Neg Marron, and its large plaza that was, helloooooo, surprisingly PACKED with early morning joggers. So that’s where that lone jogger was headed? I had to rub my eyes and pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming! Haitians exercise?!?! Just kidding. I know of a few people who keet active lifestyles but I had NO CLUE there was such an organized activity as joggers in the Champ de Mars. It was an amazing (and beautiful) sight! If I wasn’t so damn lazy now and weighed down by “diri a sos pwa” (White rice with black bean sauce) I might join them one morning…but who am I kidding, really.
After zipping through the empty streets of Port-Au-Prince we came upon the city of Carrefour…the sole reason for having to leave at such an ungodly hour. Carrefour is situated along the water directly west and a wee bit south of PAP. It is the hub and headquarters for almost every tap-tap in Haiti’s grips to take passengers both two-legged and four- to all corners of the country. I think tap-taps should be categorized as one of the wonders of the modern world. They are freakish in nature and are what make Haiti…well…Haiti. (For you Haitian virgins out there, a tap-tap is a truck or bus that has been painted, decorated and bedazzled to rival a carnival ride. They are covered: with every color known to man, reflectors, black and/or neon lights, flashing LED’s (they’re going high tech now!), religious sayings and names (Grace De Jesu!; Mon Dieu) and distorted images of Haiti’s past and present famous like Wyclef (Oh wait, is that one of the BeeGees? Oh, sorry, it’s Jesus…). They manage to somehow fit an Ibiza sized nightclub woth of speakers somewhere and blast music from Kanaval 2009. And I’m not so sure the term “filled to capacity” can apply to a tap-tap. These behemoths reach far beyond capacity. It’s so densely packed inside you can’t see through the windows to the other side. There are hands, arms and legs sticking out of the windows and the roofs of these things literally hold a mountain of suitcases, bags, bundles, barrels, plants, goats, chickens, men, women and children…no seat belts! When a tap-tap comes barreling at you on a narrow country road at 100 kilometers an hour it…uuuhhh…kinda makes your heart stop for a sec. When I was knee-high to a grasshopper, tap-taps used to be tiny little Toyota pick-up trucks that weren’t nearly as scary as they are now. Tap-taps deserve their own blog, I guess.
Anyways, back to Carrefour: It is also home to Napoleon Bonaparte’s sister, Pauline’s, old digs, and Habitation Leclerc, a former hotspot built on the property for the rich and trendy back in the ‘70’s. Unfortunately, like many things once magical in Haiti, Pauline’s haunt is in disrepair. I can only wish that it will one day be restored to her original grandeur…Oh, the stories those old walls must hold!!!
The road we were on used to be within a stone’s throw of the waterfront, but the city as expanded itself over, precariously situated on the piles of “ick” that has collected over the years. We must pray that section never takes a direct hit by a storm of even a moderate nature. But we made it through Carrefour without too much headache as the tap-taps were still loading before hitting Routes Nationale 1 & 2. WHEW! We made it!
Route Nationale #2 took us out of Carrefour along the inner coast of Haiti; the water on the right side of the road. There are many attempts at beach resorts going up along this stretch of road. I hope they all come to pass successfully but they will have to seriously contend with the difficulties of passing through Carrefour’s roads first. That might take a while.
Soon, the densely packed buildings start to thin out and give way to more green and lush scenery. The tangled web of illegal electrical lines is replaced by vines hanging from majestic banyan trees. Coconut trees act like soldiers lining the sides of the road, leading the way to safe passage. The few scatterings of houses in this area become more primitive and are worn more by mere time than by the pollution of the big city. The road curves a little more inland and then I entered a place and time I never knew existed in Haiti. Expansive fields of sugar cane spread on both sides of the road like a blanket made by God himself to cover the land. By this time of the day (about 6:30am) the sun was just peaking over Haiti’s forested mountains and cast the most glorious light on the field of green. Every once in a while an old abandoned mill stood where it has stood for ages; a mill here and there would be in operation with its plumes of smoke rising out of the smoke stack. I hope to witness this same place at the same time during my lifetime and find better words to describe it. I feel like I’m not doing it justice now.
So, we zipped along the road (I hesitate to call it a highway), climbing through the hills, passing villages as the inhabitants awoke to start their full day of hard work to earn what little they can to feed the family that day. Along National #2, there is much less deforestation than in the North so you see Haiti as she was meant to be seen. It’s amazing. I’ve been to Hawaii a few times and I honestly think this is comparable in natural beauty. At one point, we made a stop in a…hmmmm…town?... village?... Speck on the map is more like it, where they are famous for Haiti’s famous treat: Douce Macoss. Colorful, hand-painted signs line the road claiming to have the “Best” or the “Original” Douce Macoss although the treat was sold off a rickety old table or in a thatched roof shack. Somehow, we found a particular driveway cut through the dense trees and shrubs that crowded the road and into a private residence. The main house was an actual concrete structure, painted a dark grey with white accents. A toddler about 2 or 3 years in age sat on the front step, wearing only a striped T-shirt. To the left was a traditional Haitian country house (made of clay?), leaning to one side, painted aqua with a barely-still-pink set of double wooden doors. Hens and roosters seemed to own the place as they ran around all over the yard. While the men went inside to fetch us some Haitian goodies, the rest of us stretched our legs and enjoyed some ham and tomato sandwiches that Carline had prepared for us and drank water. The scent of burning trash and leaves filled our nostrils but I’ve always loved that smell. It will always remind me of Haiti and only adds the ambiance of the place.
Out comes Dad with the Douce Macoss and I think I chomped off half the slab and a bit of his finger. I believe I will have to return to this place before I head Back to California to replenish our current stock and buy some to share (or not) with the folks in Cali. We climb back into our cars and off we go again. The road meanders through the hills and although it has lots of curves it’s nothing crazy nor will it make you car sick. But, man I tell you, when you round the bend and reach the top of the hill and see the countryside ahead, it really takes your breath away. (It kinda reminded me of the many roadtrips I‘ve taken in my past life to Las Vegas: driving that stretch of Highway 15 for close to 300 miles, straight as an arrow, slowly climbing up, up into the desert. Before you reach the peak, you see the glow of the lights in the night sky. The anticipation is mounting in your gut! You finally reach the top and look down to see the Vegas strip all lit up with megawatts of power and sin! MUAAAAHAHAHAHA!!!! Oh wow, I think I just had a moment. Sorry, back to my story…)
One day, I would like to sit perched on top of one of the rocks and just watch the sun rise from behind me, even if only to catch a moment of God’s work.
Cars are much scarcer in these parts. Motorcycles, donkeys and horses are the preferred mode of transportation (besides the tap-taps that coming flying by); small children play along the side of the road as their mothers sweep the front of their yards or does the laundry in the nearby river. An old blind man in dirty linen pants, a tunic shirt with a wide brimmed hat made of straw and a walking stick of bamboo trudges along the side of the road. One would usually only think to see a character like this in a storybook or a painting, but he walks amongst us every day.
Leogane, Petit Goave, St. Michel de Sud, Aquin…just some of the towns we passed before reaching the south coast, now on the left side of the road. Here is where Haiti’s mountains meet the Caribbean Sea, crowned by massive groves of tall coconut trees and banana trees. The local fishermen are out with their nets to catch red snapper, lambi, lobster, crab. There are waves now that the beach is no longer sheltered by the bay like in Port-Au-Prince and the Cote des Arcadins. Off in the distance you see tiny islands with their white sand beaches and lushly covered mounds…oh, how I would love to be “marooned” on one of those!
Three and a half hours into the drive, our caravan reaches Les Cayes, one of Haiti’s larger cities (although a fraction of the size of PAP) and the principle city for “Le Department Sud”. Upon entering the city, you are greeted by a huge gateway that was obviously built to mark the city’s 500th anniversary…noted by the gigantic “500 Ans” crowning the top. Passing under the monument, Route Nationale #2 traverses the outer edge of Les Cayes as you come to a round-about. If you go around and to the left, you will directly into downtown Les Cayes. If you hang a right, it will take you to the outskirts and towards Camp Perrin. Go straight and we will end up in Port Salut…our final destination about another half an hour ahead. Les Cayes reminded me and Dominic of parts of old New Orleans with its rows and rows of “shotgun” structures where one room leads into the next room behind and so on until you come out the back. Tall, narrow, shuttered doorways and alleys connect them; every once in while you catch a fleeting glimpse of a turquoise sea in the background. Many of the buildings stand empty and abandoned as their former inhabitants have moved on to more “metropolitan” cities. There is a section of town where both sides of the road are lined wall to wall with old shipping containers used as stores for the marchands (merchants) selling their vast array of goods.
Continuing on Route Nationale 2, the buildings (shipping containers or otherwise) start to only sprinkle the landscape again as we enter another section of sugar cane, mais and banana fields. On the right side of the road you will come upon the ruins of a once majestic sugar cane plantation house, storied to be the former residence of one of Haiti’s Presidents. Anything that was wood has long since been rotted away, blown away by hurricane or burned. The only thing remaining is the concrete skeleton; a double staircase leads to the front entry. If you look carefully enough you can see one of the interior walls, highlighted by the sun, where the concrete has fallen away to expose the brick underneath. A couple of children in rags now call this their castle as they sit with their feet dangling off the former porch. Some peasants have moved into the “basement” of the house, evident by the fenced in yard and red curtain in the doorway and a piece of rotting plywood to keep the farm animals out. What a playground that would be!
Rte 2 takes us slightly inland and up and around a small mountain. The hills are dotted with crops and provincial homes with a small town here and there.
Finally, we reach Port Salut…it’s barely reaching 9:30am. Port Salut is very small with basically one main road (Rte Nationale 2). Downtown PS has everything a provincial seaside town ought to have: a large church, a pharmacy, a Western Union and a police station…but no modern convenience stores. (There are Western Union locations in Haiti like there are Starbucks in the States. Every town has one so family members who have gone to New York or Miami can wire money back home to their remaining families.) Only a one way road branches off to take you to the main, public beach. It’s under construction with a large dining pavilion going up. The trees grow all the way up to the waterfront so cool shade abounds here where the sun is more intense.
Dan’s Creek is on the left side of RN2 and we have finally made it…Now time for some fun!...
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Adapting in Haiti...The Last 3 Weeks.
Yes, there is more to Haiti than Bingo Night (Really?!?! SAY IT ISN’T SO!!!) And I know I haven’t blogged for a while…my son, mom and brother arrived last week so we’ve been kind of busy. But their arrival has conjured up more thoughts and new perspectives on life in Haiti. Since I have been here, I have done a lot of…let’s say…socializing. That’s what people in Haiti do…socialize…a lot! But my intention in this activity is to gather up as many names and contacts as possible and to get the buzz on what’s going on here. I think I’ve been pretty damn successful! I always try and make it a point to observe, analyze, break down into a million bits and reconstruct every possible business scenario I come across and see if there is another way…another road. That map now looks like New York City’s subway lines. There is soooooo much to do here!
But I’ll just give a little taste of what I have experienced thus far:
I attended a dance "spectacular"…invited by my cousin to see her teenage daughter perform. The storyline was based on a children's book but adapted to coincide with the story of a girl returning to Haiti after living in the States (oh, great...a story about me!)...the diaspora. The different acts provided us with classical ballet, jazz, modern dance, hip-hop and lots of kids, and some mature dancers. THAT was an experience in itself. But typically, when we go to the ballet or the opera in the States, it’s usually a formal affair where you’re dressed to the nines and on your absolute best behavior. In Haiti, you’re dressed to the nines but…you fill in the blank for the rest. It’s kind of like a school assembly filled with wily first graders who can’t keep still and not talk. Or a bunch of high school teenagers in class during an important History lesson gossiping about the cheerleader and the quarterback. I had to concentrate to keep myself focused on the ballet and not the people around me trying to get “the scoop”. And the company who did the sound and lights…well they get an A for Effort. But again, I’m from L.A.; Movieland, birthplace of musicians and concerts, plays, theaters, etc. My standards are probably unusually high. But I’m pretty sure there is a way to make sure the lights don’t blow out ALL the power halfway through the show. I’m just sayin’. (Business opportunity!)
I tried sushi in Haiti…it was…interesting. But, hey, I’m a sushi snob from California where we have a sushi restaurant on virtually every corner so I have a slightly uber-biased opinion on what sushi should be. Although, I must say I had more of an issue with the service (or lack thereof) at the restaurant. Had the service been stellar the sushi probably would have miraculously tasted better. If Dad hadn’t been the one demanding the service, we probably would still be sitting there, two weeks later, waiting for our drinks. It boggles my mind that the service at some restaurants isn’t a least GOOD if not spectacular. Don’t they realize that you get more sugar with honey? They would get bigger tips if they put just a teensy tiny bit of effort into their jobs. Oh, and at this place, if you paid the bill in Gourdes vs. US dollars (which we did because, Hi, we’re in Haiti) they charged you an extra 12%! WTF is that all about?!?! HELLOOOOOO!!! Hospitality training? Business opportunity!
Which brings me to another observation about dining out…the majority of restaurants here only serve Haitian food! Apparently, the local consensus is that the restaurants are for people who want to dine outside their own homes, a change of scenery if you will. But the majority of the places still serve local food. How about trying a little variety (with excellent service)? WOW what a concept! Now, I don’t mind eating Haitian food every meal of every day because I get so little of it in California but Haiti definitely could use a little more variety…the new places always bring a big crowd and if it’s done right it could put your place on the map for a long time! There is a Chinese place called Chez Woo that I’m half curious, half scared to try, but I’m sure someone will double-dog dare me and you will find me one afternoon chowing down on chicken chow mein and dumplings. There is one “authentically” Thai restaurant. And when I mean “authentic” I mean it’s owned and operated by an actual Thai person…not a Haitian who worked in a Thai kitchen in Miami. Haven’t made it there yet either, but a friend found it and tried it out…that’s all I’ll say about that. An Indian restaurant? I don’t know of one. A Mexican restaurant? I haven’t seen one yet either. Mmmmmm …mole, chile verde, tamales… Anywho, I think there is definitely an avenue to explore. Business opportunity!
I’ve gone to a couple different beaches finally, after my dad made me wait until my son arrived. Dominic fell in love with them and now knows why Mom doesn’t go into the water at the beaches in California unless she’s deep sea fishing way out in the middle of the ocean. The water here is crystal clear and warm. You can actually see your feet in the water and the fishies swimming all around. Dominic got in the water and never came out…same as me. I’m like a lizard who found its spot on a rock in the warm sun. It’s heaven. Needless to say, Dominic said he will only live in Haiti if we have a house on the beach and live there 24/7. I’ll have to start working on that! Maybe I can develop my own mini community with a top rated school, a market, a park, and a theater. Hmmmmm…business opportunity!
Anyway, the beaches are great because they are like private resorts. You don’t have throngs of people packing the place to the point there aren’t any spots of sand available…unlike Huntington Beach or Santa Monica Beach during a summer holiday. The beaches here are small and have tables under palapas and lounge chairs and you have someone serving you drinks and food, fresh crab and lobster pulled directly out of the ocean…can’t get any fresher than that! There is always a local fisherman waiting for your command to go fetch you fresh oysters and will crack them open and prepare them with lemon juice right in front of you…$2 American for a dozen. And local artisans & marchands will cruise by selling their goods: jewelry made from shells and local stone, stone and wooden sculptures, hand-carved boxes. So far, I’ve lugged home a necklace/bracelet/earring set, two more pairs of shell earrings and a giant conch shell. My brother picked up some paintings and tons of jewelry for his fiancée.
The best gig is to know someone who has a beach house, with toys and stuff. I’m hoping to make an overnight trip to the beach this weekend with Dominic and some friends. I’ll keep you posted on how that turns out!
Last weekend, the whole family went to the mountains for the weekend. Dad made reservations at this popular place called The Lodge, high up in the mountains of Furcy. It was built by an American who fell in love with Haiti. We timed our trip so we would stop in Kenscoff along the way and have lunch at Le Florville, a local hot spot. As we made our way up the mountain, just before reaching Kenscoff, we saw the sign for Le Montcel, another hotel that we have heard about but never actually made it to. It’s known for its eco-friendly facilities and top-notch service. The sign for it has always been there, but for some reason, it jumped up and bit us on the ass this time. So, we made a game time decision to drive there and have lunch instead. We quickly learned that it’s always good to stick to the original plan (But I like being spontaneous!). The road up there, if you can call it a road, made the road to Saut D’eau look like Cali’s famed Pacific Coast Highway. At one point, you feel like you’re not even in Haiti anymore until you round the next hill and find yourself staring directly at Port-au-Prince, the bay and the airport way down below. An hour later, we reached Le Montcel. It looked deserted but there was a man at the gate who charged us our fair ($6 U.S. each person) and directed us towards Le Chateau, the main building. The setting was beautiful with tennis courts, soccer fields, gazebos and arbors, gardens of wild flowers, and farm animals grazing against pine forests. But once we reached Le Chateau, we realized there was a huge catch: the Hotel is now only open on weekends, Saturday and Sunday, and the crew was just barely arriving…which means there was no food. Shiiiiit. Then, a couple of French men, living in the DR and vacationing in Haiti, arrived. They were charged $30 U.S. each (how the hell did that happen??!) only to find out, there is no food. So we asked for a drink instead (rhum and coke for me!) since we were starving…poor Dominic was about to die and when that kid gets hungry, look out! So now, NO ONE was in a good me (except for me and my rhum and coke) and we decided to ditch that place and drive the hour back to the main road and eat at Le Florville like we were supposed to.
Finally, at 5pm, we were eating at Le Florville. This was my first time being there in about 13 years. This used to be one of my hangouts when I was a teen and is still going strong. I’ve seen Sweet Mickey perform here and he still has his shows here on Sunday nights…playing all his classic stuff. Aaaaahhhh…good times!
After dinner, we continued up the mountain to Furcy until we reach The Lodge. It’s absolutely beautiful: A cluster of log cabins with green roofs and lots of windows with views. Dominic, my brother and I, shared a room that had two twins and a queen sized beds in it. Clean and comfortable! Mom and Dad took a 2 room suite just off the main dining courtyard. Unfortunately, we were soooo exhausted from the day’s adventures that we all fell asleep around 7:30! The night air was so cool and fresh, quiet and peaceful, seriously, I slept for 13 hours! I haven’t done that since I was 17! The next morning we enjoyed a breakfast buffet out in the courtyard and then worked it off by taking a hike down to a local cascade (waterfall), guided by the cutest local boy, named Aris, who was 10 years old but the size of a 5 year old. He was so tiny, I wanted to put him in my pocket and bring him home to Cali and turn him into the next champion thoroughbred horse jockey. But Aris was an excellent guide who taught us about the local plant life and picked wild raspberries for us to munch on. Upon our return to The Lodge, we had a drink (rhum punch for me this time), took a nap and then had lunch before heading home. I would like to make another trip there before I return to Cali.
So all in all, this place is crazy…but you just have to laugh and love it and take Haiti for who she is. So many things make NO SENSE but if you go into it knowing that, it makes it much easier to stomach. Just go with the flow and you’ll be fine. Know what to expect and you won’t have any problems. Haiti isn’t for everyone, but EVERYONE should taste it. And for those entrepreneurs out there who are curious about Haiti, or thinking about investing here, I would highly recommend jumping on it because Haiti is ready and waiting for you. I think now is the time.
But I’ll just give a little taste of what I have experienced thus far:
I attended a dance "spectacular"…invited by my cousin to see her teenage daughter perform. The storyline was based on a children's book but adapted to coincide with the story of a girl returning to Haiti after living in the States (oh, great...a story about me!)...the diaspora. The different acts provided us with classical ballet, jazz, modern dance, hip-hop and lots of kids, and some mature dancers. THAT was an experience in itself. But typically, when we go to the ballet or the opera in the States, it’s usually a formal affair where you’re dressed to the nines and on your absolute best behavior. In Haiti, you’re dressed to the nines but…you fill in the blank for the rest. It’s kind of like a school assembly filled with wily first graders who can’t keep still and not talk. Or a bunch of high school teenagers in class during an important History lesson gossiping about the cheerleader and the quarterback. I had to concentrate to keep myself focused on the ballet and not the people around me trying to get “the scoop”. And the company who did the sound and lights…well they get an A for Effort. But again, I’m from L.A.; Movieland, birthplace of musicians and concerts, plays, theaters, etc. My standards are probably unusually high. But I’m pretty sure there is a way to make sure the lights don’t blow out ALL the power halfway through the show. I’m just sayin’. (Business opportunity!)
I tried sushi in Haiti…it was…interesting. But, hey, I’m a sushi snob from California where we have a sushi restaurant on virtually every corner so I have a slightly uber-biased opinion on what sushi should be. Although, I must say I had more of an issue with the service (or lack thereof) at the restaurant. Had the service been stellar the sushi probably would have miraculously tasted better. If Dad hadn’t been the one demanding the service, we probably would still be sitting there, two weeks later, waiting for our drinks. It boggles my mind that the service at some restaurants isn’t a least GOOD if not spectacular. Don’t they realize that you get more sugar with honey? They would get bigger tips if they put just a teensy tiny bit of effort into their jobs. Oh, and at this place, if you paid the bill in Gourdes vs. US dollars (which we did because, Hi, we’re in Haiti) they charged you an extra 12%! WTF is that all about?!?! HELLOOOOOO!!! Hospitality training? Business opportunity!
Which brings me to another observation about dining out…the majority of restaurants here only serve Haitian food! Apparently, the local consensus is that the restaurants are for people who want to dine outside their own homes, a change of scenery if you will. But the majority of the places still serve local food. How about trying a little variety (with excellent service)? WOW what a concept! Now, I don’t mind eating Haitian food every meal of every day because I get so little of it in California but Haiti definitely could use a little more variety…the new places always bring a big crowd and if it’s done right it could put your place on the map for a long time! There is a Chinese place called Chez Woo that I’m half curious, half scared to try, but I’m sure someone will double-dog dare me and you will find me one afternoon chowing down on chicken chow mein and dumplings. There is one “authentically” Thai restaurant. And when I mean “authentic” I mean it’s owned and operated by an actual Thai person…not a Haitian who worked in a Thai kitchen in Miami. Haven’t made it there yet either, but a friend found it and tried it out…that’s all I’ll say about that. An Indian restaurant? I don’t know of one. A Mexican restaurant? I haven’t seen one yet either. Mmmmmm …mole, chile verde, tamales… Anywho, I think there is definitely an avenue to explore. Business opportunity!
I’ve gone to a couple different beaches finally, after my dad made me wait until my son arrived. Dominic fell in love with them and now knows why Mom doesn’t go into the water at the beaches in California unless she’s deep sea fishing way out in the middle of the ocean. The water here is crystal clear and warm. You can actually see your feet in the water and the fishies swimming all around. Dominic got in the water and never came out…same as me. I’m like a lizard who found its spot on a rock in the warm sun. It’s heaven. Needless to say, Dominic said he will only live in Haiti if we have a house on the beach and live there 24/7. I’ll have to start working on that! Maybe I can develop my own mini community with a top rated school, a market, a park, and a theater. Hmmmmm…business opportunity!
Anyway, the beaches are great because they are like private resorts. You don’t have throngs of people packing the place to the point there aren’t any spots of sand available…unlike Huntington Beach or Santa Monica Beach during a summer holiday. The beaches here are small and have tables under palapas and lounge chairs and you have someone serving you drinks and food, fresh crab and lobster pulled directly out of the ocean…can’t get any fresher than that! There is always a local fisherman waiting for your command to go fetch you fresh oysters and will crack them open and prepare them with lemon juice right in front of you…$2 American for a dozen. And local artisans & marchands will cruise by selling their goods: jewelry made from shells and local stone, stone and wooden sculptures, hand-carved boxes. So far, I’ve lugged home a necklace/bracelet/earring set, two more pairs of shell earrings and a giant conch shell. My brother picked up some paintings and tons of jewelry for his fiancée.
The best gig is to know someone who has a beach house, with toys and stuff. I’m hoping to make an overnight trip to the beach this weekend with Dominic and some friends. I’ll keep you posted on how that turns out!
Last weekend, the whole family went to the mountains for the weekend. Dad made reservations at this popular place called The Lodge, high up in the mountains of Furcy. It was built by an American who fell in love with Haiti. We timed our trip so we would stop in Kenscoff along the way and have lunch at Le Florville, a local hot spot. As we made our way up the mountain, just before reaching Kenscoff, we saw the sign for Le Montcel, another hotel that we have heard about but never actually made it to. It’s known for its eco-friendly facilities and top-notch service. The sign for it has always been there, but for some reason, it jumped up and bit us on the ass this time. So, we made a game time decision to drive there and have lunch instead. We quickly learned that it’s always good to stick to the original plan (But I like being spontaneous!). The road up there, if you can call it a road, made the road to Saut D’eau look like Cali’s famed Pacific Coast Highway. At one point, you feel like you’re not even in Haiti anymore until you round the next hill and find yourself staring directly at Port-au-Prince, the bay and the airport way down below. An hour later, we reached Le Montcel. It looked deserted but there was a man at the gate who charged us our fair ($6 U.S. each person) and directed us towards Le Chateau, the main building. The setting was beautiful with tennis courts, soccer fields, gazebos and arbors, gardens of wild flowers, and farm animals grazing against pine forests. But once we reached Le Chateau, we realized there was a huge catch: the Hotel is now only open on weekends, Saturday and Sunday, and the crew was just barely arriving…which means there was no food. Shiiiiit. Then, a couple of French men, living in the DR and vacationing in Haiti, arrived. They were charged $30 U.S. each (how the hell did that happen??!) only to find out, there is no food. So we asked for a drink instead (rhum and coke for me!) since we were starving…poor Dominic was about to die and when that kid gets hungry, look out! So now, NO ONE was in a good me (except for me and my rhum and coke) and we decided to ditch that place and drive the hour back to the main road and eat at Le Florville like we were supposed to.
Finally, at 5pm, we were eating at Le Florville. This was my first time being there in about 13 years. This used to be one of my hangouts when I was a teen and is still going strong. I’ve seen Sweet Mickey perform here and he still has his shows here on Sunday nights…playing all his classic stuff. Aaaaahhhh…good times!
After dinner, we continued up the mountain to Furcy until we reach The Lodge. It’s absolutely beautiful: A cluster of log cabins with green roofs and lots of windows with views. Dominic, my brother and I, shared a room that had two twins and a queen sized beds in it. Clean and comfortable! Mom and Dad took a 2 room suite just off the main dining courtyard. Unfortunately, we were soooo exhausted from the day’s adventures that we all fell asleep around 7:30! The night air was so cool and fresh, quiet and peaceful, seriously, I slept for 13 hours! I haven’t done that since I was 17! The next morning we enjoyed a breakfast buffet out in the courtyard and then worked it off by taking a hike down to a local cascade (waterfall), guided by the cutest local boy, named Aris, who was 10 years old but the size of a 5 year old. He was so tiny, I wanted to put him in my pocket and bring him home to Cali and turn him into the next champion thoroughbred horse jockey. But Aris was an excellent guide who taught us about the local plant life and picked wild raspberries for us to munch on. Upon our return to The Lodge, we had a drink (rhum punch for me this time), took a nap and then had lunch before heading home. I would like to make another trip there before I return to Cali.
So all in all, this place is crazy…but you just have to laugh and love it and take Haiti for who she is. So many things make NO SENSE but if you go into it knowing that, it makes it much easier to stomach. Just go with the flow and you’ll be fine. Know what to expect and you won’t have any problems. Haiti isn’t for everyone, but EVERYONE should taste it. And for those entrepreneurs out there who are curious about Haiti, or thinking about investing here, I would highly recommend jumping on it because Haiti is ready and waiting for you. I think now is the time.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Bingo Night III: Tribute to MJ or A Girl & The Beer Chug...Pick One
As my third Bingo Night approached, I found myself daydreaming about what was going to happen that night and what I should wear (it’s a California thing). It is official: I am now utterly and completely obsessed with Bingo Night! I realized that when I found out Gilou probably wasn’t going to go this week...he was tuckered out. I kind of can’t blame him really, but the way I see it, after a few rhum and cokes and some jokes from Kako, who gives a shit? And you sweat so damn much you probably shed a few pounds of water weight… can’t get any better than that! I always try and see the positive side to things. Anyway, I understand where he’s coming from: Gilou is out so now I had to find a replacement partner in crime! But who? Who would be willing to drive aaaalllll the way to my house in Turgeau to pick me up, take me to Bingo and then safely bring me all the way back home before heading aaaalllll the way back to their own home??? I’m totally out of the way for everybody! That’s when I realized if I couldn’t make it to Bingo because I didn’t have a ride, I would DIE…like I said, completely obsessed. Especially since this week was going to be a special Bingo paying tribute to our lost King of Pop, Michael Jackson. (I will never forget that day! Blog to come soon) I absolutely had to make it this week!!!
Well, lucky for me, everyone in Haiti is soooooo unusually nice and friendly and chivalrous and willing to drive me places… anywhere I want to go! I am never left for want in Haiti. I quickly found a ride from a friend of mine, Tonton, whom has been part of our group when we go out and has been my tour guide/bodyguard for the past couple outings…I knew not to rely on a stranger, although the thought did cross my mind and although driving solo to Bingo isn’t a big deal, driving home solo afterwards is, so that’s out too. Tonton is cool people and we get along great because we’re both Americanized I guess…me more than him but whatever. So, cool, I’m back in business and on my way to Bingo! Tonton made a good call by wanting to get there extra early since it gets so packed so quickly. But on our way there, his cell phone was blowing up like Krakatoa with people wanting him to save them a seat. Honestly, the best thing you can do is say you’ll try but there’s no way in hell you can guarantee anyone a saved a seat. The rule of “you snooze, you lose” reigns supreme at Bingo Night. Tonton made that perfectly clear.
When we arrived we were able to find front row parking…yeah, crazy early. And as we walked in, I was amazed that I was actually arriving while there was still sunlight! It looked so different! We make our way to our usual spot: The jwilavi.com table and there were two of our crew already seated. We took our seats, ordered a Prestige and some fried chicken wings, relaxed and waited for Insanity to arrive…which didn’t take long.
Sweet Mickey comes out sporting an afro wig and announces Kako’s entrance who comes out sporting a geri curl wig, pilot sunglasses and a white glove on his left hand…classic. Bingo gets under way! Keep in mind, my Kreyol is virtually non-existant; shitty at best, if you will, so unfortunately I miss a lot of what is said (but, I’m not there for the jokes anyways so who cares?), so the next thing I know, Kako is calling out to the crowd asking for “Mrs. Kobe Bryant” (that would be me) and all I heard my friends frantically saying to me was “It’s for beer, it’s for beer!!!” Whaaaaa? That’s all you gotta say! So, up on the runway from the heavens to the stage I go! There’s one other girl up there already from New York. Hmmmmm, interesting: New York & California. But they want one more and they picked one from England. Nice. Now we’re global! She makes her way to the stage, all glowy and angelic and proper in her crisp white jeans and off-white silk chiffon blouse. (I have on khaki linen cargo shorts, a white tank top layered under a blue linen tunic and New York had on a tank top and jeans…totally casual) Leave it to an Englander to make us look sloppy. Kako once again says he will speak slowly so we can understand and then offers to make England some tea (oh great, it’s Pick-on-the-Foreigners week). I don’t know why, but I thought that was the funniest thing ever. I think I chuckled to myself but in actuality, I probably tossed out a loud snort.
What’s the contest, you ask? We have to chug a can of beer…SHUT THE FRONT DOOR! Bitches take a seat ‘cause Mama got this one in the bag! OK, I have to admit, I was a wee bit nervous about the competition from New York because I’ve seen some of those New York women throw down. But as far as England goes, she looked like she’s never even drank a beer in her life…but who knows, isn’t England famous for their pubs? I was ready for some healthy competition…and I’m not referring to the beer. We are each handed a can of oh-so-delicious Prestige beer and the countdown begins: One, Two, Three, GO!
The next few moments are kind of a blur but I could feel beer trickling down the sides of my mouth and into my shirt… nice. But I did my best to swallow as much beer as I possibly could. As my head was thrown all the way back, beer pouring down my esophagus, I was thinking to myself, “I am Valerie, Haitian American Princess, up on a stage in a fairytale land, chugging beer in front of hundreds of people, family and friends”... Oh shut up, I was really thinking, “Oooh shit!” and I started cracking up and almost choked on my beer. I looked on either side of me and saw England to my left and New York to my right still drinking. I better get a move on! So I threw my head back once more and continued…until the last drop dripped. DONE! I turned the can upside down and slammed it onto the stage as instructed, then threw my hands straight up in the air claiming my victory. The crowd erupted in cheers (I think…at least I keep telling myself they did). I got a High 5 from Kako and then I think I started doing a victory dance….I don’t know, it was all a blur. But I won a Bingo Night license plate, a key chain and a 1000 gourdes gift certificate to Folies Gourmandes Patisserie… yummm, they make a delicious chocolate cake! I know where I’ll be Sunday morning! My parents will be soooo proud! I wonder how I would do against the guys.
The rest of the evening was filled with more fun, laughter, dancing and drinking and we paid homage to Michael Jackson. Almost every contest after my beer chug had something to do with MJ, whether it was your best impersonation, singing to a song or dancing his signature moves. At one point, a young boy was up on stage in black slacks and a coat, white T-shirt, a hat and a sparkly glove doing his MJ thing and the crowd went wild. It’s still hard to believe MJ is dead at such a young age, but it’s good to know his spirit is being kept alive and will continue as such for a very long time. Bingo was the perfect venue.
And upon getting dropped off at my Shangri La in Turgeau, I decided to take a midnight victory lap in my swimming pool under the moon and stars, and reminisce about the evening’s events and what was to come next Tuesday (my brother will be with me!)…it was a great night. <3>
Well, lucky for me, everyone in Haiti is soooooo unusually nice and friendly and chivalrous and willing to drive me places… anywhere I want to go! I am never left for want in Haiti. I quickly found a ride from a friend of mine, Tonton, whom has been part of our group when we go out and has been my tour guide/bodyguard for the past couple outings…I knew not to rely on a stranger, although the thought did cross my mind and although driving solo to Bingo isn’t a big deal, driving home solo afterwards is, so that’s out too. Tonton is cool people and we get along great because we’re both Americanized I guess…me more than him but whatever. So, cool, I’m back in business and on my way to Bingo! Tonton made a good call by wanting to get there extra early since it gets so packed so quickly. But on our way there, his cell phone was blowing up like Krakatoa with people wanting him to save them a seat. Honestly, the best thing you can do is say you’ll try but there’s no way in hell you can guarantee anyone a saved a seat. The rule of “you snooze, you lose” reigns supreme at Bingo Night. Tonton made that perfectly clear.
When we arrived we were able to find front row parking…yeah, crazy early. And as we walked in, I was amazed that I was actually arriving while there was still sunlight! It looked so different! We make our way to our usual spot: The jwilavi.com table and there were two of our crew already seated. We took our seats, ordered a Prestige and some fried chicken wings, relaxed and waited for Insanity to arrive…which didn’t take long.
Sweet Mickey comes out sporting an afro wig and announces Kako’s entrance who comes out sporting a geri curl wig, pilot sunglasses and a white glove on his left hand…classic. Bingo gets under way! Keep in mind, my Kreyol is virtually non-existant; shitty at best, if you will, so unfortunately I miss a lot of what is said (but, I’m not there for the jokes anyways so who cares?), so the next thing I know, Kako is calling out to the crowd asking for “Mrs. Kobe Bryant” (that would be me) and all I heard my friends frantically saying to me was “It’s for beer, it’s for beer!!!” Whaaaaa? That’s all you gotta say! So, up on the runway from the heavens to the stage I go! There’s one other girl up there already from New York. Hmmmmm, interesting: New York & California. But they want one more and they picked one from England. Nice. Now we’re global! She makes her way to the stage, all glowy and angelic and proper in her crisp white jeans and off-white silk chiffon blouse. (I have on khaki linen cargo shorts, a white tank top layered under a blue linen tunic and New York had on a tank top and jeans…totally casual) Leave it to an Englander to make us look sloppy. Kako once again says he will speak slowly so we can understand and then offers to make England some tea (oh great, it’s Pick-on-the-Foreigners week). I don’t know why, but I thought that was the funniest thing ever. I think I chuckled to myself but in actuality, I probably tossed out a loud snort.
What’s the contest, you ask? We have to chug a can of beer…SHUT THE FRONT DOOR! Bitches take a seat ‘cause Mama got this one in the bag! OK, I have to admit, I was a wee bit nervous about the competition from New York because I’ve seen some of those New York women throw down. But as far as England goes, she looked like she’s never even drank a beer in her life…but who knows, isn’t England famous for their pubs? I was ready for some healthy competition…and I’m not referring to the beer. We are each handed a can of oh-so-delicious Prestige beer and the countdown begins: One, Two, Three, GO!
The next few moments are kind of a blur but I could feel beer trickling down the sides of my mouth and into my shirt… nice. But I did my best to swallow as much beer as I possibly could. As my head was thrown all the way back, beer pouring down my esophagus, I was thinking to myself, “I am Valerie, Haitian American Princess, up on a stage in a fairytale land, chugging beer in front of hundreds of people, family and friends”... Oh shut up, I was really thinking, “Oooh shit!” and I started cracking up and almost choked on my beer. I looked on either side of me and saw England to my left and New York to my right still drinking. I better get a move on! So I threw my head back once more and continued…until the last drop dripped. DONE! I turned the can upside down and slammed it onto the stage as instructed, then threw my hands straight up in the air claiming my victory. The crowd erupted in cheers (I think…at least I keep telling myself they did). I got a High 5 from Kako and then I think I started doing a victory dance….I don’t know, it was all a blur. But I won a Bingo Night license plate, a key chain and a 1000 gourdes gift certificate to Folies Gourmandes Patisserie… yummm, they make a delicious chocolate cake! I know where I’ll be Sunday morning! My parents will be soooo proud! I wonder how I would do against the guys.
The rest of the evening was filled with more fun, laughter, dancing and drinking and we paid homage to Michael Jackson. Almost every contest after my beer chug had something to do with MJ, whether it was your best impersonation, singing to a song or dancing his signature moves. At one point, a young boy was up on stage in black slacks and a coat, white T-shirt, a hat and a sparkly glove doing his MJ thing and the crowd went wild. It’s still hard to believe MJ is dead at such a young age, but it’s good to know his spirit is being kept alive and will continue as such for a very long time. Bingo was the perfect venue.
And upon getting dropped off at my Shangri La in Turgeau, I decided to take a midnight victory lap in my swimming pool under the moon and stars, and reminisce about the evening’s events and what was to come next Tuesday (my brother will be with me!)…it was a great night. <3>
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