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!...
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
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>
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
BINGO NIGHT: Part deux
Disclaimer: I believe I am still drunk from last night. So, please accept this apology beforehand, in the event you notice an unusually large amount of type-o’s, grammatical errors, or ramblings-on about totally unrelated subject matter. It is the Rhum talking that I swore not to drink last night but ended up doubling my usual intake. Thank you.
So, needless to say, my second Bingo Night experience was another success. I could get used to this…seriously. Every country, state, city and town should have a Bingo Night like this. (Kako, slap a patent on it and retire in a year!) And every girl should have a “Gilles” to take them out and show them a good time. The perfect pal! (Maybe I’m on to something: I’ll create a “Gilou Doll” so every girl can have their own. I’ll keep the original.)
Anyway, on Friday, I went with Gilles to a place called Gourmet where he was one of the DJ’s for the night. The place is like a giant U-shaped open balcony with large trees growing up through the floor. There are booths lining the walls but we had an area set up in front of the DJ where we could lounge and rest our dancing feet. I danced until my thighs went up in flames… soooooo much fun. But I must admit, I had a hard time getting used to the differences in party-time between L.A. (*sigh*) and Haiti. And by party time, I literally mean TIME. Back in L.A., the party gets started around 10:00 but only goes until 2:00 (totally lame, I know). But here in Haiti, everyone is just starting to arrive at 11:30 and goes until dawn! I was a complete wreck the next day…but it was well worth it! Lucky for me, since Bingo Night is during the week, the hours are much more manageable for me…I’m getting old, I can see that! But, we had another successful night under our belts and I eagerly awaited the next event: BINGO NIGHT!
Gilles picked me up earlier this time so we could make sure we got better seats (I really didn’t think last week’s seats sucked at all, considering I ended up dancing on the chair anyways, but whatever). We arrived at the perfect time as there were still plenty of seats available…enough time to get cozy with a glass of, well, you, know. I was already beaming with pride because Kako and Thierry had been standing out in front of The Garage and showered me with praise for last week’s Bingo Blog as Gilles and I stopped to say Hello. I’m pretty sure I had a ridiculous grin on my face as I took my seat. I was ready to get this party started!
Soon, the place was packed to the gills. I have this cartoon image in my head of what the place might look like from the outside: hundreds of arms and legs sticking out of every opening. I’m going to have to sketch that out. I couldn’t imagine the place getting any more crowded than last week, yet it was. I almost dreaded my trips to the ladies room because I thought I would never make it back to my dance floor…I mean, my table. Then, Kako comes out on stage (no Sweet Mickey this week) takes the mic and… “Houston, we have a problem”. The mic isn’t working…at all. Kako was talking into the microphone and only about every third syllable was coming through. I honestly thought he was joking at first…doing it on purpose. However, when I saw him unplugging and replugging the mic in his attempts to get it working again, I realized he was serious and wasn’t messing around. My heart sank into my stomach as I wondered, what the hell are we gonna do if Bingo Night can’t get up and running??? I almost panicked. But I should have known better because, you see, it’s Kako we’re talking about here. I’m not sure I remember the last time I recall anyone keeping their cool as well as Kako kept his. It was seamless... flawless. Despite not having a working microphone, he managed to entertain the crowd and keep them rolling. He even produced a megaphone and never skipped a beat. I don’t know, maybe it’s my lack of Kreyol speaking skills that makes me think he’s being funnier than he actually is (it’s all an illusion?); maybe I can "blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-al-cohol". But I don’t think so...the guy is freakin' funny!
Finally, someone comes in with a new microphone and cord (I always keep a spare mic in my car! ... just kidding of course…maybe) and after a quick switch, Kako and Bingo Night were back in business! The numbers were flying, the beer was being chugged; people were dancing and singing; and the hedonism continues! Kako even took a moment to call me out and made me stand up to thank me again…in front of everyone. I was so freaked out. I don’t like being in the spotlight. I can’t help it, I’m shy! …OK, who am I tryin’ to kid? I can’t even type that a straight face.
It was an amazing experience. A little dinky blog, that was meant to be so my family and friends back home could keep tabs of what I was up to and to aim a little sunshine on Haiti, is now being acknowledged in front of hundreds of people in the most vibrant, fun, party-animal setting. I am enjoying my 15 minutes of mini-fame and will never forget it. As I stood up on my chair, I blew a kiss to Kako. I will store that in my “Most memorable moments” memory bank forever. OK, enough of that mushy crap. Back to Bingo!
The night continued without any further glitches. I had even forgotten there had been one at all. The energy that packs this place every Tuesday takes away any weight that’s resting on our shoulders. People of all ages are at the Garage to enjoy Bingo Night. There was a, let’s call her “more mature”, woman who got up on stage, looking all snazzy in her Bingo Night gear, singing to a popular song; lots of 20-somethings and 30-somethings are here (I fall into that range… somewhere); and I think the kids really pack a whole lot of punch to the show too. They are up on stage singing and dancing their hearts out along with everyone else. I must admit, some parts are a little fuzzy (I think I ended up dancing ON the table this time and might have fallen off a chair trying to climb over people at one point) but it was all so much fun. And then at midnight, it was all over. (Que super sad face)
Gilles and I somehow managed to have a small entourage with us on the way home with a couple of his friends tagging along (DAMN! I should have thrown an impromptu pool party…maybe next time) and we said our good-byes before I went inside and fixed myself a “sandwich” of Pimente Mamba and Goyave Jelly…a delicious way to end the perfect evening…stuffing my face.
So, needless to say, my second Bingo Night experience was another success. I could get used to this…seriously. Every country, state, city and town should have a Bingo Night like this. (Kako, slap a patent on it and retire in a year!) And every girl should have a “Gilles” to take them out and show them a good time. The perfect pal! (Maybe I’m on to something: I’ll create a “Gilou Doll” so every girl can have their own. I’ll keep the original.)
Anyway, on Friday, I went with Gilles to a place called Gourmet where he was one of the DJ’s for the night. The place is like a giant U-shaped open balcony with large trees growing up through the floor. There are booths lining the walls but we had an area set up in front of the DJ where we could lounge and rest our dancing feet. I danced until my thighs went up in flames… soooooo much fun. But I must admit, I had a hard time getting used to the differences in party-time between L.A. (*sigh*) and Haiti. And by party time, I literally mean TIME. Back in L.A., the party gets started around 10:00 but only goes until 2:00 (totally lame, I know). But here in Haiti, everyone is just starting to arrive at 11:30 and goes until dawn! I was a complete wreck the next day…but it was well worth it! Lucky for me, since Bingo Night is during the week, the hours are much more manageable for me…I’m getting old, I can see that! But, we had another successful night under our belts and I eagerly awaited the next event: BINGO NIGHT!
Gilles picked me up earlier this time so we could make sure we got better seats (I really didn’t think last week’s seats sucked at all, considering I ended up dancing on the chair anyways, but whatever). We arrived at the perfect time as there were still plenty of seats available…enough time to get cozy with a glass of, well, you, know. I was already beaming with pride because Kako and Thierry had been standing out in front of The Garage and showered me with praise for last week’s Bingo Blog as Gilles and I stopped to say Hello. I’m pretty sure I had a ridiculous grin on my face as I took my seat. I was ready to get this party started!
Soon, the place was packed to the gills. I have this cartoon image in my head of what the place might look like from the outside: hundreds of arms and legs sticking out of every opening. I’m going to have to sketch that out. I couldn’t imagine the place getting any more crowded than last week, yet it was. I almost dreaded my trips to the ladies room because I thought I would never make it back to my dance floor…I mean, my table. Then, Kako comes out on stage (no Sweet Mickey this week) takes the mic and… “Houston, we have a problem”. The mic isn’t working…at all. Kako was talking into the microphone and only about every third syllable was coming through. I honestly thought he was joking at first…doing it on purpose. However, when I saw him unplugging and replugging the mic in his attempts to get it working again, I realized he was serious and wasn’t messing around. My heart sank into my stomach as I wondered, what the hell are we gonna do if Bingo Night can’t get up and running??? I almost panicked. But I should have known better because, you see, it’s Kako we’re talking about here. I’m not sure I remember the last time I recall anyone keeping their cool as well as Kako kept his. It was seamless... flawless. Despite not having a working microphone, he managed to entertain the crowd and keep them rolling. He even produced a megaphone and never skipped a beat. I don’t know, maybe it’s my lack of Kreyol speaking skills that makes me think he’s being funnier than he actually is (it’s all an illusion?); maybe I can "blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-al-cohol". But I don’t think so...the guy is freakin' funny!
Finally, someone comes in with a new microphone and cord (I always keep a spare mic in my car! ... just kidding of course…maybe) and after a quick switch, Kako and Bingo Night were back in business! The numbers were flying, the beer was being chugged; people were dancing and singing; and the hedonism continues! Kako even took a moment to call me out and made me stand up to thank me again…in front of everyone. I was so freaked out. I don’t like being in the spotlight. I can’t help it, I’m shy! …OK, who am I tryin’ to kid? I can’t even type that a straight face.
It was an amazing experience. A little dinky blog, that was meant to be so my family and friends back home could keep tabs of what I was up to and to aim a little sunshine on Haiti, is now being acknowledged in front of hundreds of people in the most vibrant, fun, party-animal setting. I am enjoying my 15 minutes of mini-fame and will never forget it. As I stood up on my chair, I blew a kiss to Kako. I will store that in my “Most memorable moments” memory bank forever. OK, enough of that mushy crap. Back to Bingo!
The night continued without any further glitches. I had even forgotten there had been one at all. The energy that packs this place every Tuesday takes away any weight that’s resting on our shoulders. People of all ages are at the Garage to enjoy Bingo Night. There was a, let’s call her “more mature”, woman who got up on stage, looking all snazzy in her Bingo Night gear, singing to a popular song; lots of 20-somethings and 30-somethings are here (I fall into that range… somewhere); and I think the kids really pack a whole lot of punch to the show too. They are up on stage singing and dancing their hearts out along with everyone else. I must admit, some parts are a little fuzzy (I think I ended up dancing ON the table this time and might have fallen off a chair trying to climb over people at one point) but it was all so much fun. And then at midnight, it was all over. (Que super sad face)
Gilles and I somehow managed to have a small entourage with us on the way home with a couple of his friends tagging along (DAMN! I should have thrown an impromptu pool party…maybe next time) and we said our good-byes before I went inside and fixed myself a “sandwich” of Pimente Mamba and Goyave Jelly…a delicious way to end the perfect evening…stuffing my face.
Where's Waldo? Can you find me in the pic again?
Sunday, June 21, 2009
The Road to Mirebalais
Last Wednesday (yes, the day after Bingo Night) I was up and out of the house by 7:00 am. Dad and I were making the drive out to Mirebalais to handle some property business. Even though it was a business trip, I just wanted to be comfortable so I threw on a tank top, cargo shorts, my converse and my favorite Kangol newsboy cap...and I'm ready to do some business. After picking up my Godfather (Uncle Yvan) and Patrick (security) we were on our way.
Mirebalais is a small town up and over the mountain range northeast of Port-au-Prince. We had to make our way through PAP to get there and at 7:30 am, the streets were already filled and crowded with tap-taps (Haitian taxi's) and marchands selling everything from fried bananas and sugar cane to T.V. antennas and...was that a Rolex watch???? The spirit of Haiti is alive and well.
At some point, we hung a left and circum-navigated the airport, squeezing between it and the infamous Cite Soleil (PLEASE don't get a flat tire now!). Touissant Louverture Airport basically marks the end of Metroplitan Port-au-Prince and is the gateway to the countryside and the beaches. After that, civilization seems to taper off and you almost feel like you're somewhere else entirely different...almost. The second leg took us through what felt like a small desert. The land is much flatter and there are cacti everywhere. One of the pictures I took was reminiscent of a road trip to Vegas...straight roads that seem to go on forever. Off to the left there is a large complex of military housing set against the foothills of the mountains.
After making another left we started making the step and winding climb up the mountainside. Large trucks, called "canter", that haul rocks and sand for construction make their way passed us down the mountain and we passed a few taxi's loaded with Haitians, their bundles, bunches of chickens and whatever else they can tack on. Port-au-Prince was to my right and got smaller and smaller by the minute. Pretty soon, the landscape changed again and we found ourselves in the lush mountains. Goats are wandering all over the place (their so cute, I wanna take one home!). The houses here, if you can call them houses, are virtual huts and are barely standing errect anymore. They lean precariously to the side, clinging to the hillside on which they're perched. Some are the color of the earth, while others still have bright colors of pink, teal, or blue still visible through years of weather and wear. Little kids stand along the side of the road, many with no clothes on. The streams that run through here are crystal clear and look oh so inviting. The locals tend to their laundry and there was a family spending the day together frollicking in the refreshing water. And occassionally there is a roadside cemetary with their above-ground tombs and mausoleums. They probably wouldn't be very visible in all the overgrowth if it weren't for their bright paint. But what struck me right away and the hardest was how many tiny tombs there were in proportion to adult sized tombs. Not too any babies make it to adulthood out here. :/
Surprisingly, the roads are unbelievable smooth and well paved. What the heck is that all about? It's nowhere near the pockmarked roads found in PAP. You would think the messy, untamed roads would be found in the countryside with little population and almost no need for a good road. But, this is Haiti we're talking about here. Whatever rules you have lived by, whatever customs you were conditioned with, whatever lifestyle you were accustomed to...throw them out the window.
Soon, we came upon a brightly colored sign that read: Bienvenue a la ville de Mirebalais (foundee
en 1702). Almost simultaneously, it seemd, the roads went to hell...no more nice, smooth asphalt or pavers. Just bumpy and rocky. The main route into town is lined with banners for festivals passed and pending and the hustle and bustle of rural haitian life. After several blocks (are there really blocks in Haiti? Hmmmm) we reached the town plaza: a large square that is the center of business and social activites. There's even a large "American-style" playground for the kiddies. Of course, there's the main church taking root along the square, watching over its parishioners with a keen eye, and La Mirage Hotel takes its place on the far corner. We pulled into the Commisarant's station to make a phone call to confirm with the judge that we had made it into town and would meet him at his courthouse in Saut D'eau, a neighboring town, at 10:00 am (in about 20 minutes). The gates to the bureau are heavily guarded by U.N. soldiers (why is it soldiers look so damn handsome in their uniforms and artillery?!?!). There are two men standing just outside the gate to the bureau but parked on the left, just inside the gate, is a gigantic tank marked with gigantic U.N. letters and perched on top of the tank is a soldier manning a gigantic gun...no, rifle...no, I think it was a bazooka...waiting.
So, Dad made his phone calls but had to leave a message because the judge never picked up the phone or called back. We had to hope he received the message and would meet us as scheduled. We pulled out of the Commisarant's bureau and headed down the road opposite of where we arrived from. Oh look, the roads are paved again...only this time, not without its battle scars...those pesky potholes. Normally, the road would be fairly straight but you would never know it with all the swerving we had to do. The landscape here was a bit flatter on the right but closeby surrounding mountains reminded you of your altitude. After about 10 minutes we came upon a round-about in the middle of god-knows-where...but shaped more like a triangle. In the center was a well which served as a source of water for the locals. Several men were diligently hard at work beautifying this triangle. We made another left, then a right, and the asphalt ended...again. The road (more like a path), didn't even have broken pavement: it was completely rocky and not flat. Thank goddness for 4-wheel drive! This craziness went on for about 20 minutes and as my innards were shaken like a martini. I expect to return from Haiti with abs of steel. Anyway, the scenery became more and more rural (was that even possible?!?!). Rickety fences made of, well, twigs, marked the entrances to rickety houses...tiny, one room houses where even I (shorty) would have to duck my head to get inside. And with the exception of the occassional motorcycle donkies and horses are the main means of transportation. We must have looked like space aliens in our champagne colored, Korean made SoonYang SUV with fair-skinned passengers.
After passing through the "downtown" section of Saut D'eau, we made a right down another, even narrower and more unkempt path. Runoff rain water or an old flood had clearly divided the road into uneven portions of mud and grass. But the surroundings were lush and beautiful with its array of tropical fruit trees and mahogany. The sun was barely able to shine through and we were covered in shade. We were even greeted with a surprise of a couple modern homes behind well, built-to-last stone walls and iron gates. Someone with money found their Shangri-La out here. Not a bad choice, I must say. After a short drive down this primitive road it ended before diving off into a ravine. On the left was the courthouse of Saut D'eau. A slightly contemporary building of painted white concrete, encapsulated by high walls. One large step brought you to a semi-circular stoop and double doors of painted red steel took you inside to a waiting area. The wall straight ahead was lined with artisan crafted benches of wood. To the right was an office marked "Etat Civil". To the left was a desk with a receptionist and behind her was a hallways and doors marked "Juge Titulare". That's our guy. A couple people were already waiting on the benches by the time we got there but Dad was greeted by Juge Elysee Titulare in the recepetion area. As Dad went into the judge's office, I waited on the bench with my Godfather. A couple minutes went by and Dad came out of the office. "We have to wait", he said, "There are a couple type-o's" and my Uncle Frantz's last name was mispelled, which is kind of funny because two other brother's have the same last name and their names were not mispelled.
Being in the back country also means there's no electricity. So Miss Receptionist had to retype the entire legal sized document...on a typewriter. I don't remember the last time I was one of those!
I passed the time by soaking up the sites and people watching...one of my favorite passtimes. Locals would make their way in and out of the courthouse. But one patron caught my attention. She rode up on a donkey and tied it to a tree outside. She was dressed all in white, crisp and clean: a white ruffled skirt, a white button-up blouse with a white sash around her waist, and a white "bonnet". I knew right away she was a Manbo (a female vodou priestess) which was confirmed when she was addressed as "Manbo" (DAMN, I'm good!). She carried a yellow basket, similar to the hand-held ones you use at the grocery-store. It was filled with stuff but she had it all covered up with a towel. The only thing I could make out was a coffee mug peaking out from one of the corners at the bottom of the basket. What the heck was in there?!?! I was dying to know. What made it even more intriguing was that she neatly placed it under one of the benches in the reception area as she was called to a back room. She didn't take it with her the way a woman would never leave her purse behind. What was in there?!?! Was there rhum? Giant Tarantulas? People's souls? If there hadn't been so many people around, I probably would have stolen a peek...fascinating stuff!
TWO HOURS LATER, the document was finally finished. Yeah, that's right: 2 whole freakin' hours to type ONE page. I was so hungry I almost ate the paper. But it was finally finished, the document signed, mission accomplished. Let's go eat. But where?!?!
Luckily, my Aunt Florence had called and suggested a hotel outside of Mirebalais. This time, Dad drove a little faster over the rocky roads and zipped along the paved one. Another half hour later, we pulled into the Hotel Wozo...an oasis within an oasis. Pink bungalows surrounded a refreshing pool shaped like a chili pepper. Fountains pouring into it made the relaxing sound of trickling water...a much needed welcome after the rough roads. The open-air restaurant was sitting a few steps up high, overlooking the pool and bungalows. We were the only customers there. The hostess, waitress and bartender were gathered around a T.V. watching a soap opera and hadn't even noticed our arrival. They obviously don't get many visitors.
We took a table next to the rail overlooking the pool. I wanted to jump in so badly but I hadn't taken a towel or a change of clothes....I will next time. Instead, I went down and stuck my feet in the pool as we waited for our food after polishing off an ice cold Prestige beer. Their beers are kept ice cold here, and I don't know that I had tasted any better in a loooong time. I ordered my favorite dish (OK, one of them) Griot, which is fried pork. Uncle Yvan ordered Kabrit (goat), Dad ordered chicken and Patrick ordered fish. A side of fried plantains and a simple salad of lettuce and tomatoes and a heaping plate of rice and black beans made for a delicious lunch...well worth the long wait. After lunch, we asked to be shown a couple rooms. We may want to return here with the rest of the family for a weekend getaway. The rooms are small and simple but seem comfortable enough. We'll see. I think I'd rather stay at the beach.
The weather started turning, the skies got dark with large, ominous clouds and the thunder started rolling in. That was our que to hit the road and head home. The drive back through Mirebalais brought strong winds and lightning strikes became visible ahead. Within a half hour, the rain was pouring down in sheets as everyone scrambled for shelter. Haitians don't like the rain. The road was virtually deserted within a short time. The rain came so fast, parts of the road were flooded and almost washed out completely. But we made it safely back up and over the mountains again. The weather was clearer on the front side of the mountains but you could see the rain pouring down over Port-au-Prince in the distance. This time, instead of cutting in front of Cite Soleil, we cut across the backside of the airport through Croix de Bouquets and passed right in front of the old Duvalier compound. It's a beast...almost a fortress with its massive high walls. A quick peek through a partially opened gate revealed the tall grasses of an abandoned lawn. But the place is so big I wasn't able to catch a glimpse of the house itself. The Duvalier compound is a reminder of Haiti's tumultous past...one of them anyways.
And so ends the journey of a long day. I hope to return to Mirebalas soon and spend some more time... snooping; fulfilling my curiosities of a mysterious world...one that's a galaxy apart from my own. Until the next adventure...
Mirebalais is a small town up and over the mountain range northeast of Port-au-Prince. We had to make our way through PAP to get there and at 7:30 am, the streets were already filled and crowded with tap-taps (Haitian taxi's) and marchands selling everything from fried bananas and sugar cane to T.V. antennas and...was that a Rolex watch???? The spirit of Haiti is alive and well.
At some point, we hung a left and circum-navigated the airport, squeezing between it and the infamous Cite Soleil (PLEASE don't get a flat tire now!). Touissant Louverture Airport basically marks the end of Metroplitan Port-au-Prince and is the gateway to the countryside and the beaches. After that, civilization seems to taper off and you almost feel like you're somewhere else entirely different...almost. The second leg took us through what felt like a small desert. The land is much flatter and there are cacti everywhere. One of the pictures I took was reminiscent of a road trip to Vegas...straight roads that seem to go on forever. Off to the left there is a large complex of military housing set against the foothills of the mountains.
After making another left we started making the step and winding climb up the mountainside. Large trucks, called "canter", that haul rocks and sand for construction make their way passed us down the mountain and we passed a few taxi's loaded with Haitians, their bundles, bunches of chickens and whatever else they can tack on. Port-au-Prince was to my right and got smaller and smaller by the minute. Pretty soon, the landscape changed again and we found ourselves in the lush mountains. Goats are wandering all over the place (their so cute, I wanna take one home!). The houses here, if you can call them houses, are virtual huts and are barely standing errect anymore. They lean precariously to the side, clinging to the hillside on which they're perched. Some are the color of the earth, while others still have bright colors of pink, teal, or blue still visible through years of weather and wear. Little kids stand along the side of the road, many with no clothes on. The streams that run through here are crystal clear and look oh so inviting. The locals tend to their laundry and there was a family spending the day together frollicking in the refreshing water. And occassionally there is a roadside cemetary with their above-ground tombs and mausoleums. They probably wouldn't be very visible in all the overgrowth if it weren't for their bright paint. But what struck me right away and the hardest was how many tiny tombs there were in proportion to adult sized tombs. Not too any babies make it to adulthood out here. :/
Surprisingly, the roads are unbelievable smooth and well paved. What the heck is that all about? It's nowhere near the pockmarked roads found in PAP. You would think the messy, untamed roads would be found in the countryside with little population and almost no need for a good road. But, this is Haiti we're talking about here. Whatever rules you have lived by, whatever customs you were conditioned with, whatever lifestyle you were accustomed to...throw them out the window.
Soon, we came upon a brightly colored sign that read: Bienvenue a la ville de Mirebalais (foundee
en 1702). Almost simultaneously, it seemd, the roads went to hell...no more nice, smooth asphalt or pavers. Just bumpy and rocky. The main route into town is lined with banners for festivals passed and pending and the hustle and bustle of rural haitian life. After several blocks (are there really blocks in Haiti? Hmmmm) we reached the town plaza: a large square that is the center of business and social activites. There's even a large "American-style" playground for the kiddies. Of course, there's the main church taking root along the square, watching over its parishioners with a keen eye, and La Mirage Hotel takes its place on the far corner. We pulled into the Commisarant's station to make a phone call to confirm with the judge that we had made it into town and would meet him at his courthouse in Saut D'eau, a neighboring town, at 10:00 am (in about 20 minutes). The gates to the bureau are heavily guarded by U.N. soldiers (why is it soldiers look so damn handsome in their uniforms and artillery?!?!). There are two men standing just outside the gate to the bureau but parked on the left, just inside the gate, is a gigantic tank marked with gigantic U.N. letters and perched on top of the tank is a soldier manning a gigantic gun...no, rifle...no, I think it was a bazooka...waiting.
So, Dad made his phone calls but had to leave a message because the judge never picked up the phone or called back. We had to hope he received the message and would meet us as scheduled. We pulled out of the Commisarant's bureau and headed down the road opposite of where we arrived from. Oh look, the roads are paved again...only this time, not without its battle scars...those pesky potholes. Normally, the road would be fairly straight but you would never know it with all the swerving we had to do. The landscape here was a bit flatter on the right but closeby surrounding mountains reminded you of your altitude. After about 10 minutes we came upon a round-about in the middle of god-knows-where...but shaped more like a triangle. In the center was a well which served as a source of water for the locals. Several men were diligently hard at work beautifying this triangle. We made another left, then a right, and the asphalt ended...again. The road (more like a path), didn't even have broken pavement: it was completely rocky and not flat. Thank goddness for 4-wheel drive! This craziness went on for about 20 minutes and as my innards were shaken like a martini. I expect to return from Haiti with abs of steel. Anyway, the scenery became more and more rural (was that even possible?!?!). Rickety fences made of, well, twigs, marked the entrances to rickety houses...tiny, one room houses where even I (shorty) would have to duck my head to get inside. And with the exception of the occassional motorcycle donkies and horses are the main means of transportation. We must have looked like space aliens in our champagne colored, Korean made SoonYang SUV with fair-skinned passengers.
After passing through the "downtown" section of Saut D'eau, we made a right down another, even narrower and more unkempt path. Runoff rain water or an old flood had clearly divided the road into uneven portions of mud and grass. But the surroundings were lush and beautiful with its array of tropical fruit trees and mahogany. The sun was barely able to shine through and we were covered in shade. We were even greeted with a surprise of a couple modern homes behind well, built-to-last stone walls and iron gates. Someone with money found their Shangri-La out here. Not a bad choice, I must say. After a short drive down this primitive road it ended before diving off into a ravine. On the left was the courthouse of Saut D'eau. A slightly contemporary building of painted white concrete, encapsulated by high walls. One large step brought you to a semi-circular stoop and double doors of painted red steel took you inside to a waiting area. The wall straight ahead was lined with artisan crafted benches of wood. To the right was an office marked "Etat Civil". To the left was a desk with a receptionist and behind her was a hallways and doors marked "Juge Titulare". That's our guy. A couple people were already waiting on the benches by the time we got there but Dad was greeted by Juge Elysee Titulare in the recepetion area. As Dad went into the judge's office, I waited on the bench with my Godfather. A couple minutes went by and Dad came out of the office. "We have to wait", he said, "There are a couple type-o's" and my Uncle Frantz's last name was mispelled, which is kind of funny because two other brother's have the same last name and their names were not mispelled.
Being in the back country also means there's no electricity. So Miss Receptionist had to retype the entire legal sized document...on a typewriter. I don't remember the last time I was one of those!
I passed the time by soaking up the sites and people watching...one of my favorite passtimes. Locals would make their way in and out of the courthouse. But one patron caught my attention. She rode up on a donkey and tied it to a tree outside. She was dressed all in white, crisp and clean: a white ruffled skirt, a white button-up blouse with a white sash around her waist, and a white "bonnet". I knew right away she was a Manbo (a female vodou priestess) which was confirmed when she was addressed as "Manbo" (DAMN, I'm good!). She carried a yellow basket, similar to the hand-held ones you use at the grocery-store. It was filled with stuff but she had it all covered up with a towel. The only thing I could make out was a coffee mug peaking out from one of the corners at the bottom of the basket. What the heck was in there?!?! I was dying to know. What made it even more intriguing was that she neatly placed it under one of the benches in the reception area as she was called to a back room. She didn't take it with her the way a woman would never leave her purse behind. What was in there?!?! Was there rhum? Giant Tarantulas? People's souls? If there hadn't been so many people around, I probably would have stolen a peek...fascinating stuff!
TWO HOURS LATER, the document was finally finished. Yeah, that's right: 2 whole freakin' hours to type ONE page. I was so hungry I almost ate the paper. But it was finally finished, the document signed, mission accomplished. Let's go eat. But where?!?!
Luckily, my Aunt Florence had called and suggested a hotel outside of Mirebalais. This time, Dad drove a little faster over the rocky roads and zipped along the paved one. Another half hour later, we pulled into the Hotel Wozo...an oasis within an oasis. Pink bungalows surrounded a refreshing pool shaped like a chili pepper. Fountains pouring into it made the relaxing sound of trickling water...a much needed welcome after the rough roads. The open-air restaurant was sitting a few steps up high, overlooking the pool and bungalows. We were the only customers there. The hostess, waitress and bartender were gathered around a T.V. watching a soap opera and hadn't even noticed our arrival. They obviously don't get many visitors.
We took a table next to the rail overlooking the pool. I wanted to jump in so badly but I hadn't taken a towel or a change of clothes....I will next time. Instead, I went down and stuck my feet in the pool as we waited for our food after polishing off an ice cold Prestige beer. Their beers are kept ice cold here, and I don't know that I had tasted any better in a loooong time. I ordered my favorite dish (OK, one of them) Griot, which is fried pork. Uncle Yvan ordered Kabrit (goat), Dad ordered chicken and Patrick ordered fish. A side of fried plantains and a simple salad of lettuce and tomatoes and a heaping plate of rice and black beans made for a delicious lunch...well worth the long wait. After lunch, we asked to be shown a couple rooms. We may want to return here with the rest of the family for a weekend getaway. The rooms are small and simple but seem comfortable enough. We'll see. I think I'd rather stay at the beach.
The weather started turning, the skies got dark with large, ominous clouds and the thunder started rolling in. That was our que to hit the road and head home. The drive back through Mirebalais brought strong winds and lightning strikes became visible ahead. Within a half hour, the rain was pouring down in sheets as everyone scrambled for shelter. Haitians don't like the rain. The road was virtually deserted within a short time. The rain came so fast, parts of the road were flooded and almost washed out completely. But we made it safely back up and over the mountains again. The weather was clearer on the front side of the mountains but you could see the rain pouring down over Port-au-Prince in the distance. This time, instead of cutting in front of Cite Soleil, we cut across the backside of the airport through Croix de Bouquets and passed right in front of the old Duvalier compound. It's a beast...almost a fortress with its massive high walls. A quick peek through a partially opened gate revealed the tall grasses of an abandoned lawn. But the place is so big I wasn't able to catch a glimpse of the house itself. The Duvalier compound is a reminder of Haiti's tumultous past...one of them anyways.
And so ends the journey of a long day. I hope to return to Mirebalas soon and spend some more time... snooping; fulfilling my curiosities of a mysterious world...one that's a galaxy apart from my own. Until the next adventure...
Thursday, June 18, 2009
BINGO NIGHT!
I’m sure many of you who know me well would think that there’s no way on God’s green earth that I would ever be seen (alive) at a Church sponsored Bingo game…and you’re so right. However, if that Bingo night wasn’t sponsored by a church or filled with old people and instead consisted of beer bongs and dirty dance moves…I’m totally in.
And so goes Bingo Night in Haiti.
My first “encounter” with Bingo Night happened on (where else?) Facebook. Through many mutual friends, I came into contact with this phenomenon. I was flipping through the photos that had been posted of previous Bingo Nights and thought to myself, “Oh, how cute, they call it Bingo Night just to be playful…looks like fun!” ALL of the pics were filled with confetti, tons of drink cups, and swarms of people in trees, sitting (standing) on walls and lifting their chairs up in the air. It’s hosted by Haiti’s rising star and MC, Kako Bourjolly, and Haiti’s longtime rockstar of ages, Michel Martelly, AKA Sweet Mickey (I’ve been to his concerts in Haiti and Los Angeles). It looked like CRAZY fun! Bingo Night was getting bigger and bigger and, now, there is no such day of the week as Tuesday; it is now known as Bingo Night. Then, as more and more Bingo Night pics were posted on Facebook, I noticed something peculiar: there were actually Bingo cards on the tables! What?!?! They’re actually playing Bingo?!?! I had to see this for myself!
So, one of my friends here in Haiti, Gilles, called me Tuesday afternoon. Gilles is my cousin’s cousin (their moms are sisters). He is about 10 feet tall, is Haiti’s resident DJ of House music and owns a nightclub. You can’t take 2 steps without people recognizing him and greeting him…a celebrity in his own right; a good person to hang out with when you wanna have a good time! Anyways, Gilles calls me and asks me how my Kreyol is coming along. “Uuuuuuhhhh…” I think was my reply. “Why?” I asked. He said he wanted to invite me to Bingo Night but if I don’t understand Kreyol I might not have fun. OK, this guy obviously doesn’t know me very well. What do I always tell people: “I can have fun in a Turkish prison!” I don’t need words to have a good time…I just like to be in the company of people having fun and good vibes…to be in the moment. And if I’m the only one who has good vibes, then I make my own party. I don’t need people to make my good time for me. Like a kid about to throw a tantrum I say, “Gilles, I wanna go to Bingo Night!”
Gilles picks me up at 7:00 pm…early in Haitian standards but since this is Bingo Night and during the workweek, it starts at 8:00 pm so you can get home at 1:00 am instead of 6:00. He had warned me to be “totally casual” and to not dress up because it’s Bingo. Oh shush, I know what to do. I’ve been coming to Haiti enough to know that the standards of casual dress are much different here than back in the States. Sure, jeans and sandals are totally acceptable, but they are jeans and sandals with “sparklies” all over, and instead of T-shirts in the States, you’re wearing a cute tank top or tube top…with all your sparkley jewelry: Haitian casual. So I was ready. Gilles tells me it might not be that great because the place has been packed since 1:00 in the afternoon and although his friends are there already, we might not have seats. Listen, Homeslice, I don’t care if I’m hanging from the ceiling fans…I wanna go!
Bingo Night is held at a place called The Garage in PetionVille. It’s basically a very large thatched roof patio with loooong tables radiating from the semi-circular stage in the corner. After paying admission and receiving our Bingo cards, Gilles and I wound our way around the entrance wall and into the open courtyard that was already filled with “standing room only” revelers… great. But the music is bumpin’ so everyone is already having a good time (and we haven’t even started playing Bingo yet!). The base was turned up so high my feet were getting tickled! So, we squeeze our way through the crowd until we came upon the end of one of the long tables filled of people where the guys were wearing the same T-shirt as Gilles: jwilavi.com. I guess this is our crowd. I am introduced to all his guy and gal pals and no sooner do I take a seat, (one of the guys gave up his seat for me…a gentleman! Imagine that!) I have a fully loaded Rhum and Coke in my hands. Yummmm…I hadn’t had one of those since the last time I was in Haiti. Everyone is sooooo nice! Gilles’ best gal pal, Flo, warns me I better be ready because she will soon be dancing on the table and chairs. Bring it on, Sista.
I’m checkin’ out all the people, and I see my cousin, Laeticia, sitting at a table against the wall. She, and the crowd she’s with, is sponsoring Vieux Labbe, Haiti’s newest Rhum, evident by the matching T-shirts she and her crew are wearing. I want to go say Hi to her but the place was way too packed! We opt for blowing kisses to each other instead. I look around some more and I see some of the Gardere boys who recognize me first and frantically wave their Hellos and blow me some more kisses….I'm always running into family here!
At 8:00 pm Bingo Night was getting under way. Sweet Mickey takes the mic and introduces Kako who made his grand entrance from the back of the room. Oh man, I was so excited I could hardly stand it. Kako finally winds his way through the packed crowd and up onto the stage. Then, to get the crowd going, (What? You mean, no one is wound up already?!?!) Kako and Sweet Mickey toss a GIANT beach ball into the crowd. Talk about a good way to get everyone’s attention! The ball gets tossed all over the place until it collides with one of the ceiling fans and bends it’s blades up so it can’t spin anymore….good thing I wasn’t hanging from that ceiling fan. It’s time to put that bad boy away. But out comes 3 smaller beach balls and it’s a game of modified Hot Potato. All the balls get tossed about until the music stops. One of the balls is discretely marked with an “X”. When the music stops, whoever is holding the marked beach ball is the winner and gets a prize. Great ice breaker…as if they needed one.
“Blah, blah, blah…Kreyol, Kreyol, Kreyol…somethin’, somethin’, somethin’…Bingo Night!” is all I heard. (I’m sorry! I’m still workin’ on my Kreyol!) The first letter/number is called out. Next thing I know, three guys are up on stage beer bong racing!!!!! WTF?!?!
Apparently, in Haitian Bingo, no one actually ever reaches BINGO. And now I can’t even imagine what would happen to you if you did. But here, if you even have the letter/number combo that’s called up, you end up on stage to perform “an act” that has been chosen for you by either Kako, Sweet Mickey, or the crowd. You think I’m kidding, right?
Apparently, in Haitian Bingo, no one actually ever reaches BINGO. And now I can’t even imagine what would happen to you if you did. But here, if you even have the letter/number combo that’s called up, you end up on stage to perform “an act” that has been chosen for you by either Kako, Sweet Mickey, or the crowd. You think I’m kidding, right?
Bingo Night has gotten so popular, it is now fully sponsored by several companies and businesses of Haiti. So there are TONS of prizes to give away: Gift certificates to Royal Market, Jaffa, Champagne (remember that store I mentioned before?), Digicel phone cards, car stereos, dinners at fancy restaurants, motorcycles…the list goes on.
(OK, hold on, Dad just gave me a cocktail of Barbancourt Rhum, sugar, vanilla extract and lime juice that’s kicking my ass and I’m not even halfway through it yet! If my words start to not make sense you’ll know why)
(OK, hold on, Dad just gave me a cocktail of Barbancourt Rhum, sugar, vanilla extract and lime juice that’s kicking my ass and I’m not even halfway through it yet! If my words start to not make sense you’ll know why)
Anywho, the good times keep coming. The next letter/number is pulled from a dried gourd with a Bingo Night bumper sticker plastered on it and the games continue. People go up on stage and do their thing. One group was one guy and three girls who all had the same combo. The three girls had to perform a lap dance on the guy in order to win the prize. I’m not sure what the guy had to do but with three free lap dances, I’m pretty sure he won either way. Here’s where I start to get a little scared: There is NO WAY I would be able to do that. Don’t get me wrong…I can lap dance with the best of them…. Uuuuuuhhhh… scratch that last part, please. Family members, forget you read that part. What I’m saying is, as Valerie Michelle Liautaud, I would not/ could not/ should not be behaving like that. Period. Thank God I’m not up there on stage right now.
So, now, the middle part is kind of a blur. All I know is I’m having the time of my life. Another letter/number are drawn and the next thing I know, my pals are cheering me on. What is going on here? I hear Gilles tell me, “Go up! Go up!”
Freakin’ B12. It was on my card. I made up every excuse I could to protest. Hard to believe, right? But I don’t speak the language. I was going to get boo’d off the stage the second Kako tries to talk to me and I have that retarded dear-in-headlights look on my face. But, all of a sudden, something snapped inside me. “No one is going to boo me! ” I thought. F**k it. You only live once. I’m going up. I think I mentioned earlier how packed this place got. And I do mean packed. There obviously are no fire regulations in regards to Max Capacity in Haiti. How the hell am I going to make my way up on stage? There is absolutely zero wiggle room between the tables and chairs. And then I see it…the runway from the heavens: our looong table making a B-line to the stage…and up I go.
I cautiously make it down the long table, careful not to spill anyone’s drinks. They help me by holding onto a hand as I traverse the wobbly table, step down on a chair that someone freed up for me and up the wooden stairs to the stage… right into Sweet Mickey. By this time, a ton of people were on stage, who also had B12 on their cards. But Sweet Mickey grabbed my hand…here is my chance…”I only speak English!” “OK” he says and hands my hand over to Kako, says something to him in Kreyol and then Kako pulls me over to the side. I’m lost in all the chaos. This could end badly. But one of Gilles friends, Laurie, who also had that dammed B12, pulled me aside again and directed me what was going on. That’s nice. I must have looked like a freakin’ rag doll on stage. In this contest (did I mention it was to win the motorcycle?), since there were so many people, it was guys first, and then the girls. They had to either sing (know the words to the song that was picked by the MC’s or crowd, usually a popular song in Kreyol) or dance (the best you know how…the dirtier the better). Kako and Sweet Mickey weeded through the contestants until the on-stage crowd thinned out. I had found a place at the back of the stage and waited to be picked. Sweet Mickey was offering shots of Rhum in which I practically grabbed the bottle from his hands instead of the glass. I took a huge shot. Finally, it was my time to get this outta the way. They pulled three of us up front for introductions…the other two girls first. Then it’s my turn.
Kako is holding my hand and in a soft voice says, “Allo”.
“Hi”
In English Kako says, “I…will…speak…slooowwwly… so…you…can…understand…me.”
“I understand English. It’s the Kreyol I have an issue with” I retort.
“Where… are… you…from?”
“Los Angeles”. The crowd erupts in cheers and hoots.
“Oooooh…Are…you…a…Lakers...fan?”
“Lakers #1 Baby!” Half the crowd jumps to their feet while the other half boo’s. I half expected to be whacked by an empty, airborn Prestige beer bottle.
“Well…you know…there…are…a lot…of…Orlando…fans…here.”
“Obvisouly.”
“But… Kobe Bryant… is… #1,”
“Hell yeah he is!”…the crowd erupts again.
“Are…you…single?” Kako continues, “If…you…are,…not…for…loooooong!!!”
I don’t even think I had the chance to answer. I noticed a guy in the crowd gesturing as if talking on the phone, mouthing, “Call me!” My face scrunched up, wagged my finger at him and said, “No way!” Oh great…this is going to be a long night.
“Hi”
In English Kako says, “I…will…speak…slooowwwly… so…you…can…understand…me.”
“I understand English. It’s the Kreyol I have an issue with” I retort.
“Where… are… you…from?”
“Los Angeles”. The crowd erupts in cheers and hoots.
“Oooooh…Are…you…a…Lakers...fan?”
“Lakers #1 Baby!” Half the crowd jumps to their feet while the other half boo’s. I half expected to be whacked by an empty, airborn Prestige beer bottle.
“Well…you know…there…are…a lot…of…Orlando…fans…here.”
“Obvisouly.”
“But… Kobe Bryant… is… #1,”
“Hell yeah he is!”…the crowd erupts again.
“Are…you…single?” Kako continues, “If…you…are,…not…for…loooooong!!!”
I don’t even think I had the chance to answer. I noticed a guy in the crowd gesturing as if talking on the phone, mouthing, “Call me!” My face scrunched up, wagged my finger at him and said, “No way!” Oh great…this is going to be a long night.
I get yanked back into ranks and he announces we have to do our best “Single Ladies” by Beyonce dance routine. Oh my goodness.
The music starts and we start doing our thing. I haven’t seen the video in months so I resorted to just being plain silly....but clean. I really didn’t care if I won the stupid motorcycle. What the heck am I gonna do with a motorcycle in Haiti?!?! My main objective was to get me off this stage. Then Kako stops the music. Thank God this is over, I thought to myself. I was wrong.
The music starts and we start doing our thing. I haven’t seen the video in months so I resorted to just being plain silly....but clean. I really didn’t care if I won the stupid motorcycle. What the heck am I gonna do with a motorcycle in Haiti?!?! My main objective was to get me off this stage. Then Kako stops the music. Thank God this is over, I thought to myself. I was wrong.
Kako announces a new song… T-Pain’s “Low” song (She had them Apple Bottom Jeans [Jeans], Boots with the fur, [With fur], The whole crowd was lookin' at her, She hit the floor [She hit the floor], Next thing you know, Shawty got low,low,low, low,low,low,low,low...) Yeah, that one . The crowd wanted to see us get low, low, low, low, low, low low. Shiiiiit. Remember when said earlier that I could not behave a certain way? This is it. This is exactly what I was referring to. But the thought of dancing like a stripper was so asinine, I just started cracking up after giving a half-assed booty-shaking effort. One of the other girls was humping the ground. No thanks. I’m out. Of course, she won that round. So, back I go to my spot with my friends. I made the long trek down the table and was greeted by hugs and high fives. I survived. The next group of girls who had to sing got 50 Cent’s “In Da Club” song (Go,go,go,go,go,go Shawty, It's your Birthday, We're gonna party like it's your Birthday, We gonna sip Bacardi like it's your birthday, And ya know we don't five a f**k it's not birthday...). DAMN! I know ALL those words! I would have totally won! Oh well.
After that I spent the rest of the night dancing on my chair with Flo dancing on her chair beside me. It was a great time. I was even able to get some video of the crowd. I’ll have to figure out a way to post being that I’m still slightly challenged in the technological department.
After that I spent the rest of the night dancing on my chair with Flo dancing on her chair beside me. It was a great time. I was even able to get some video of the crowd. I’ll have to figure out a way to post being that I’m still slightly challenged in the technological department.
Finally, Bingo Night had come to an end at midnight. Everyone was soaking wet in sweat and spilled Rhum. A midnight dip in the pool sounded sooooo inviting. Gilles and I make the walk back to his truck which took awhile from all the people stopping us to greet him again. But we finally make it back to his truck and he brought me safely home. I didn’t take that dip in the pool but I cleaned myself up before crawling into bed and laid there for a couple hours because I was so excited from the evening’s festivities that I was wide awake and daydreaming. I think I finally dozed off around 2:00 am. I had to be up by 6:00 for a trip to the back country with my dad but I didn’t care. I had so much fun I figured any hurt the next day would totally be worth it. And it was.
I look forward to Bingo Night again next week.
I look forward to Bingo Night again next week.
Where's Waldo? Can you find me in the pic?
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
The House in Haiti
Has anyone ever seen the movie, The Shining, with Jack Nicholson?
Don' worry, I'm not turning into an ax swinging nut-job saying, "Heeeeeeere's Johnny!", but I bet I had you going there for a minute. I wanna be the kid who rides his Big-Wheel all throughout the creepy hallways of the big hotel he's stuck in.
My grandmother's house reminds me of a much smaller version of that grand hotel from the movie. And it's not without some of the same creepiness either.
The house was built sometime during the early '30's, probably during the U.S. occupation of Haiti (when is the U.S. not occupying some country or another?!?!). My Great Grandfather, Oswald Brandt, purchased the place soon after and when my grandmother, Mamie, married my grandfather Andre, they were given a portion of the property as a wedding gift. Whether that portion included the actual house is unknown. But through the years, Mamie purchased more and more, bit by bit of the property until she acquired it as it is today...BIG. Mamie permanently moved here around the mid to late '60's after living in various parts of the world.
I remember being a wee tot and visiting Mamie here. My very first trip here was when I was 6 months old so I don't quite remember that trip. It hadn't been remodeled yet so the back half of the house was much different than it is today. But at that time, I couldn't imagine a creepier looking place. It's walls are constructed with one foot thick solid concrete and has support buttresses on the sides (she ain't budgin' in any storm!). A sprawling roof with gingerbread detailing all along the eaves softens the massiveness of her size. Inside, with its 20 foot high vaulted ceilings and giant archways it seemed so vast and cavernous to a shortie like me. 3 matching crystal chandeliers in the living room and dining room looked like they belong in a real haunted house. The electricity was even more spotty back then which only added to the scariness...I remember sitting at the dinner table and watching Atie (Mamie's "Professional Domestic Engineer" from back in the day) push the lever down on the toaster and all the lights going out. Nice. In the living room, Mamie had her TV and an old, crusty leather Lazy-Boy (I know, gross, right?!?!) set inside the alcove by the window with views overlooking downtown Port-Au-Prince. My brother and I used to spend alot of time screaming and crying in front of that TV while we watched Mom and Dad party it up on the family float during Mardi Gras (How could they leave us in this creepy house with this scary old lady we hardly know?!?!). By the way, I don't think she's scary anymore. I grew out of that when I was about 13.
The bedrooms were dark with old warping mahogany plank floors, and there were what seemed like neverending dressing halls with armoires to the sky that lead to the bathrooms which had ball-and-claw foot tubs, old pedestal sinks and Zombie Green paint on the walls. There was also a big "kids' room" that had three beds in there where my cousins and I used to jump from bed to bed. The old kitchen looked more like an ancient commercial kitchen from a hotel or, better yet, a morgue. I used to run through the kitchen out the back door. Kitchens in Haiti aren't treated as "living areas" like they are in the states. When there's company, you will not gather in the kitchen while dinner is being prepared to discuss sports or politics. They are strictly there for functionality...to prepare the food...by others...the PDE's. I think the only room that made me feel "safe" was the side gallery because it's more like being outside.
The stairs leading downstairs (and the downstairs itself) were even scarrier. Concrete steps leading down to the guest bedrooms and library were painted red and uneven. As the steps curve to the right you have to duck your head to avoid hitting it on the ceiling. OK, I don't have to duck, but most adults do. When you reach the bottom you're greated by a loooong hallway with no windows, lined with black and white checkered floor tile leading to the library at the right and a storage closet to the left, with it's large mahogany double doors and a pad lock, lit only by a single light bulb...scary as hell. I must have watched too many scary movies as kid because the image I have in my head coming from that closet is "Mother" sitting in her wheel chair, from Psycho. Even at 34 years old, I still run past that closet. I made Dad open it for me and check for skeletons recently. My brother will be staying in that bedroom down there.
Anyways, my cousin had the place remodeled back in the '80's so it's much different now. There are 2 light and airy bedrooms, instead of 3 dark ones. The old mahogany floors long since torn out and replaced with cream and orange marble. (My cousin Raphael once received a nasty surprise in his butt sliding all over the warped and cracked Mahogany...that was a pretty good sign it was time for those floors to go!) And there's a den that my dad has now set up as an office. The kitchen, although still not a place we "hang out" is lighter and brighter with buttery yellow cabinets...nowhere near resembling a morgue. The bathrooms (recently remodeled again) are tiled in earth-toned ceramic 12x12's & mosaic tiles cover the shower and there are modern vessel sinks set on top of a custom-built wood countertop with a matching mirror and shelves. I just had a new sunflower showerhead installed in my shower and I LOVE IT! It has fixed my issue with "trickling water" when there's no power...I'm a genius!.
The front gallery that has the main entrance gate to the house, the living room, dining room and side gallery have virtually remained untouched in decades, save for a shift in wall paintings and some furniture. The Lazy-Boy has long since been gone...hopefully burned. The mahogany framed french windows still are folded open and closed every morning and night although now with a couple cracked panes. The original tile floor is still there too: golden orange and chocolate brown ceramic tiles in an interlocking square pattern...starting to show their age with cracks and chips. The 3 matching crystal chandeliers are still hanging up high. I think it all adds character to this old place. Mamie's portrait from Spain still hangs in the dining room. I say Good Morning and Good Night to her everyday. Dad and I watch TV and eat every meal out on the side gallery, my favorite room in the house to this day. I call it my "treehouse on steroids" nestled in the treetops. The afternoon breeze blows through here and I enjoy hearing all the sounds of the birds, bats and cicadas...you know, critters. Oh yeah, and the bar is here too. No wonder I love this room so much. Last night there was a storm cell that passed through. Dad and I remained out there in the treehouse, watching CNN until a giant thunder clap made me jump outta my pants.
Alas, it's time for me to get my Rhum suckin' self off the wicker furniture and into the pool! I'm going to finally go down to the Clubhouse at the apartments and check out what classes are going on today: Yoga or water aerobics? Maybe I'll just watch the tennis players play in their shorts. Good exercise for the eyes.
Don' worry, I'm not turning into an ax swinging nut-job saying, "Heeeeeeere's Johnny!", but I bet I had you going there for a minute. I wanna be the kid who rides his Big-Wheel all throughout the creepy hallways of the big hotel he's stuck in.
My grandmother's house reminds me of a much smaller version of that grand hotel from the movie. And it's not without some of the same creepiness either.
The house was built sometime during the early '30's, probably during the U.S. occupation of Haiti (when is the U.S. not occupying some country or another?!?!). My Great Grandfather, Oswald Brandt, purchased the place soon after and when my grandmother, Mamie, married my grandfather Andre, they were given a portion of the property as a wedding gift. Whether that portion included the actual house is unknown. But through the years, Mamie purchased more and more, bit by bit of the property until she acquired it as it is today...BIG. Mamie permanently moved here around the mid to late '60's after living in various parts of the world.
I remember being a wee tot and visiting Mamie here. My very first trip here was when I was 6 months old so I don't quite remember that trip. It hadn't been remodeled yet so the back half of the house was much different than it is today. But at that time, I couldn't imagine a creepier looking place. It's walls are constructed with one foot thick solid concrete and has support buttresses on the sides (she ain't budgin' in any storm!). A sprawling roof with gingerbread detailing all along the eaves softens the massiveness of her size. Inside, with its 20 foot high vaulted ceilings and giant archways it seemed so vast and cavernous to a shortie like me. 3 matching crystal chandeliers in the living room and dining room looked like they belong in a real haunted house. The electricity was even more spotty back then which only added to the scariness...I remember sitting at the dinner table and watching Atie (Mamie's "Professional Domestic Engineer" from back in the day) push the lever down on the toaster and all the lights going out. Nice. In the living room, Mamie had her TV and an old, crusty leather Lazy-Boy (I know, gross, right?!?!) set inside the alcove by the window with views overlooking downtown Port-Au-Prince. My brother and I used to spend alot of time screaming and crying in front of that TV while we watched Mom and Dad party it up on the family float during Mardi Gras (How could they leave us in this creepy house with this scary old lady we hardly know?!?!). By the way, I don't think she's scary anymore. I grew out of that when I was about 13.
The bedrooms were dark with old warping mahogany plank floors, and there were what seemed like neverending dressing halls with armoires to the sky that lead to the bathrooms which had ball-and-claw foot tubs, old pedestal sinks and Zombie Green paint on the walls. There was also a big "kids' room" that had three beds in there where my cousins and I used to jump from bed to bed. The old kitchen looked more like an ancient commercial kitchen from a hotel or, better yet, a morgue. I used to run through the kitchen out the back door. Kitchens in Haiti aren't treated as "living areas" like they are in the states. When there's company, you will not gather in the kitchen while dinner is being prepared to discuss sports or politics. They are strictly there for functionality...to prepare the food...by others...the PDE's. I think the only room that made me feel "safe" was the side gallery because it's more like being outside.
The stairs leading downstairs (and the downstairs itself) were even scarrier. Concrete steps leading down to the guest bedrooms and library were painted red and uneven. As the steps curve to the right you have to duck your head to avoid hitting it on the ceiling. OK, I don't have to duck, but most adults do. When you reach the bottom you're greated by a loooong hallway with no windows, lined with black and white checkered floor tile leading to the library at the right and a storage closet to the left, with it's large mahogany double doors and a pad lock, lit only by a single light bulb...scary as hell. I must have watched too many scary movies as kid because the image I have in my head coming from that closet is "Mother" sitting in her wheel chair, from Psycho. Even at 34 years old, I still run past that closet. I made Dad open it for me and check for skeletons recently. My brother will be staying in that bedroom down there.
Anyways, my cousin had the place remodeled back in the '80's so it's much different now. There are 2 light and airy bedrooms, instead of 3 dark ones. The old mahogany floors long since torn out and replaced with cream and orange marble. (My cousin Raphael once received a nasty surprise in his butt sliding all over the warped and cracked Mahogany...that was a pretty good sign it was time for those floors to go!) And there's a den that my dad has now set up as an office. The kitchen, although still not a place we "hang out" is lighter and brighter with buttery yellow cabinets...nowhere near resembling a morgue. The bathrooms (recently remodeled again) are tiled in earth-toned ceramic 12x12's & mosaic tiles cover the shower and there are modern vessel sinks set on top of a custom-built wood countertop with a matching mirror and shelves. I just had a new sunflower showerhead installed in my shower and I LOVE IT! It has fixed my issue with "trickling water" when there's no power...I'm a genius!.
The front gallery that has the main entrance gate to the house, the living room, dining room and side gallery have virtually remained untouched in decades, save for a shift in wall paintings and some furniture. The Lazy-Boy has long since been gone...hopefully burned. The mahogany framed french windows still are folded open and closed every morning and night although now with a couple cracked panes. The original tile floor is still there too: golden orange and chocolate brown ceramic tiles in an interlocking square pattern...starting to show their age with cracks and chips. The 3 matching crystal chandeliers are still hanging up high. I think it all adds character to this old place. Mamie's portrait from Spain still hangs in the dining room. I say Good Morning and Good Night to her everyday. Dad and I watch TV and eat every meal out on the side gallery, my favorite room in the house to this day. I call it my "treehouse on steroids" nestled in the treetops. The afternoon breeze blows through here and I enjoy hearing all the sounds of the birds, bats and cicadas...you know, critters. Oh yeah, and the bar is here too. No wonder I love this room so much. Last night there was a storm cell that passed through. Dad and I remained out there in the treehouse, watching CNN until a giant thunder clap made me jump outta my pants.
Alas, it's time for me to get my Rhum suckin' self off the wicker furniture and into the pool! I'm going to finally go down to the Clubhouse at the apartments and check out what classes are going on today: Yoga or water aerobics? Maybe I'll just watch the tennis players play in their shorts. Good exercise for the eyes.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Haiti:Week 2 What's Up With the Liquor?
I had an entirely different blog drafted but, after last night's dinner, I decided to scrap it and start over. Nothing major happened...I just came to a realization...an epiphany if you will:
Val has lost her tolerance for liquor in Haiti. Damn.What the hell is up with that?!?!
It all started last Sunday. Dad and I were invited to have lunch at my cousin Sonja's house in Fermathe, a town up in the mountains. She lives in a cozy home surrounded by her pride and joy: her garden. The weather was wet and rainy (and cold!) and we were sopped in by the fog. (see pic above) The invite was for 1:00 pm which means, of course, Dad and I were at Sonja's gate precisely at 1:00 pm. The other guests (real haitians, I suppose) didn't arrive until at least 2 hours later. So in the two hours we were waiting..and waiting and waiting, I drank about 4 or 5 glasses (I must say they were small glasses) of Rhum Sour and had accumulated a pile of toothpicks (from the olives) large enough to build my own log cabin. I had to keep my head from flopping into my fish when lunch (dinner at that point) was finally served. I figured it was a fluke since I was "tired" from the wedding festivities the night before.
Then, Wednesday rolls around and I was invited out with some friends, not of geriatric age this time (FINALLY!) to go to a reggae concert at Les 3 Decks, a restaurant-turned-concert-venue in the mountains. A beautiful place with large decks overlooking the lush mountainsides of Haiti. The courtyard entrance leading to the decks is speckled with several tropical-style playhouses... apparently this is where all the teenagers go to have their first kiss or make it to second base... legend has it...so I heard. Anyway, the headlining band was a group called Y'zrael (They ROCKED!). So, you're probably all thinking, "Oh dang, Val got high", but for those who really know me, you would know I don't smoke the ganja. Never have (OK, I tried it once), never will. I'm just not into it. However, I am into beer...so I drank about 3 (Prestige, of course!). No big deal, right?
Listen, I may not have smoked any weed, but I MUST have gotten a contact high or somethin', 'cause MAN, I felt like crap all the next day! It couldn't possibly have been the 3 beers...that's nothing! I drink 3 beers for breakfast sometimes! OK, I'm just kidding about that part. But there's no way 3 beers would have, could have, knocked me on my booty like that. It must have been all the second-hand happy-smoke, right? That's my story and I'm sticking to it!
So then Saturday comes up. Dad and I have been trying to schedule a lunch or dinner date with my dad's cousin, Evie, whom he hasn't seen in about 30 years. Thanks to me and my healthy Crackbook addiction, we finally get our chance to meet up last night. Dad and I picked up Evie at her dad's house and make our way to Le Jardin de Gerard. The restaurant was formerly Chez Gerard, the crown jewel as far as restaurants go in Haiti, for many years. It was owned by a French chef who fell in love with Haiti during a visit. Chez Gerard had been around for as long as I can remember. My Uncle Clifford used to party with Gerard and promote the restaurant for him. It was a match made in heaven! Anyway, Chez Gerard thrived for years, until his death about 10 years ago. His widow made a go of the ol' place but some things just aren't the same anymore. She sold the restaurant to a renouned chef from Jacmel (a beautiful seaside town in the south of Haiti) and in honor of the original owner, changed the name to Le Jardin de Gerard (Gerard's Garden). It's in the same location in PetionVille: a high stone walled garden with a cozy, rustic bar tucked in one corner. The cobblestone paved dining area meanders throughout the garden with a low patio cover that meanders along with it, surrounded by lush palms, ferns and other indiginous flora and fawna.
It had been raining earlier in the evening so everything was fresh and damp. It gets dark early here so by the time we arrived for our 7:00pm reservation it was already nighttime. But the sky was frequently lit with blankets of lightning and rolling thunder. Mmmmm...mysterious! OK, so I set the scene.
I drank ONE Rhum Sour and attempted to start on a second...but I just couldn't do it! WTF?!?!?
I could tell my words were starting to sound...slower, and I had a perpetual Cheshire Cat smile on my mug. I was DONE. But how could this BE?!?! This is Valerie we're talkin' about here!!!
After we dropped Evie back at her place, I proceeded to protest to Dad. "How come I can only drink ONE cocktail?!?! IT'S NOT FAIR!!!!!!!!!" His explanation basically was that when you ask for a cocktail in Haiti , they give you a cocktail. When you ask for a cocktail in the States, they give you juice (or tonic or whatever) with a "splash" of liquor. So then you have to order 3 or 4 more to feel a buzz. DRINKS IN THE U.S. ARE LAME! Haiti is the perfect place for us broke-ass drinkers...you only need one.
Other news of the week:
Took my first escalator ride in Haiti! Dad took me to Valerio Canez, Haiti's "American Style" department store that has everyting from furniture to electronics to house wares and even cars (Imagine seeing a Kia Sportage 4x4 Diesel in the window at Macy's). I wanted to ride up and down, up and down over and over but being that we were the only people in the whole store, it might have looked a bit inconspicuous.
I finally made it to the American Embassy to register (only to be told that I can now register online from the comforts of my home). It's a behemoth of a compound on the outskirts of town behind the airport...storied to be one of the largest in the world next to Iraq's. Legend also has it there are several underground bunkers there too...what do they plan on doing with those??? Can someone look into that for me please? I'm too lazy. Thanks.
Haven't made it to the beach just yet...the weather hasn't been good enough. It's only been 80 degrees instead of 85 and overcast....too cold for my blood!
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
A Brief History Possibly Explaining the Titanic Phenomenon
I have exciting news (At least, in my own head it is)!!!
I may have a possible explanation for the reoccurring Titanic happenings around here. I was visiting with some friends today who gave me a booklet that has a short story that might explain the "Titanic Craze" around here:
Did you know there was one black man on board the Titanic and it was a Haitian?!?!
SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!!!
His name was Joseph Phillipe Lemercier Laroche, born on May 26, 1889 in Cap-Haitien (North Coast). He came from a fairly well-to-do family and left Haiti at the age of 15 to pursue his studies in engineering in France. While he was there, he met Juliette Lafargue (a white woman) and they married and had two children. However, due to the color of his skin, Joesph was unable to find work in France. So, he decided to return to Haiti, bringing his family with him...aboard the Titanic. They were second class passengers on that fatefull crossing.
When the Titanic hit the iceburg and began to sink, Joseph put his pregnant wife and 2 small kids onto a life boat. They survived, but Joseph did not. His body was never recovered.
Shortly after Christmas 1912, Juliette Laroche gave birth to a baby boy whom she name Joseph Laroche Jr. She never remarried.
I am not sure if this is widespread information around these parts, but it's fascinating to me nonetheless. Now, whenever I hear the music from the movie in Haiti, I will remember the name Joseph Laroche.
I may have a possible explanation for the reoccurring Titanic happenings around here. I was visiting with some friends today who gave me a booklet that has a short story that might explain the "Titanic Craze" around here:
Did you know there was one black man on board the Titanic and it was a Haitian?!?!
SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!!!
His name was Joseph Phillipe Lemercier Laroche, born on May 26, 1889 in Cap-Haitien (North Coast). He came from a fairly well-to-do family and left Haiti at the age of 15 to pursue his studies in engineering in France. While he was there, he met Juliette Lafargue (a white woman) and they married and had two children. However, due to the color of his skin, Joesph was unable to find work in France. So, he decided to return to Haiti, bringing his family with him...aboard the Titanic. They were second class passengers on that fatefull crossing.
When the Titanic hit the iceburg and began to sink, Joseph put his pregnant wife and 2 small kids onto a life boat. They survived, but Joseph did not. His body was never recovered.
Shortly after Christmas 1912, Juliette Laroche gave birth to a baby boy whom she name Joseph Laroche Jr. She never remarried.
I am not sure if this is widespread information around these parts, but it's fascinating to me nonetheless. Now, whenever I hear the music from the movie in Haiti, I will remember the name Joseph Laroche.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Story of a Haitian Wedding
If there is anything in this world I would recommend for anyone to experience in their lifetime, I would have to say one of the top things would be a Haitian wedding.
I think people in general enjoy weddings for the most part. Except for the few of us spinsters out there who may feel a slight *pang* in the heart each time we attend or are involved in one ("Always a bridesmaid, never a bride!"), weddings are happy times! I've attended lots of weddings over the years in my native California, a couple in Las Vegas, one in Louisiana, one in Seattle...all of them truly memorable! But the few weddings I have attended in Haiti are a force to be reckoned with...a phenomenon to behold!
At first, I thought maybe it was fluke...one of those rare freaks of nature that only occur once or twice in one's lifetime. But after the wedding I attended on Saturday, I am now convinced that this is a reality, this is the norm. Haitian weddings deserve their own reality T.V. show! People gotta see this!
So, shortly after our arrival in Haiti, Dad and I received a phone call by a close family friend who invited to his son's wedding once he learned through his brother that we were here. Dad and I gladly excepted!
Then reality struck me that I have NOTHING to wear to a Haitian wedding. Even my magenta tunic dress with matching BCBG pumps and flashy accessories, perfectly suitable wedding attire in the States, doesn't even come near to being suitable in Haiti...confirmed by my dad's reaction: "You can't wear that!"
Shit.
Panic starts to set in. Oh my God...What am I gonna do?!?! None of my good clothes made the stupid flight! You see, Haitian weddings are about the equivalent of a Hollywood Red Carpet event. There's NO room for error. Period. Looking good is a must & no repeats or recylced ANYTHING, otherwise there will be talk of little else.
The pressure is on. I started talking to a couple of people..."Where is a good place to shop for dresses for a wedding?" The answers were Champagne (the name alone sends shivers to my pocket book), Saga, Jaffa...
So, then Dad starts taking me to these places. Bless his heart, I'm sure it was MURDER for him to hang out while I try on dress after dress. He took me to Champagne first (let's get this bad boy outta the way first!) in PetionVille. Upon entering the boutique we are greeted by a young girl. Dad proceeds tells her in French that my luggage didn't make the trip from L.A. and we have to find a dress for a wedding on Saturday. She knew we were attending the Gardere/Bernadel wedding...I'm telling you, news travels around here! She started pulling dress after dress and I was trying the dresses on as fast as she was bringing them to me. Then I checked out the labels...
Nicole Miller, Phoebe Couture...uh ooooh...
Listen, I have no problem dropping some serious mulah on a special event. Really, I don't. But let's recap a couple things: 1) I'm unemployed and have been for too damn long. 2) It's not like the groom is my BFF or childhood playmate or a cousin with whom I'm attached at the hip. 3) I can only wear this dress once! I was having a teeny, tiny heart attack at the amount of money I was about to drop for that fabulous Nicole Miller silk number I just fell in love with. However, this is the wedding of a very close family-friend (family-family I should say). The patriarch of the family and my grandfather were attached at the hip, and raised together. This is the family I would hang out with when I would make my summer trips here growing up. I have always been introduced as their cousin even though, genetically, I am not (I don't think). They are no small peanuts by any means so I needed to get over my ridiculousness and get a dress no matter what!
Alas, this was only the first stop & I shouldn't commit to the first dress just yet...kinda like dating: You gotta test drive a few cars before you buy "the one".
So a couple days later (Friday...the day before the wedding), we hit Saga at another shopping center in PetionVille. I later found out this the place to shop because they have a little of everything (tops, jeans, bathing suits, ball gowns...) at decent prices. Bingo! I found a dress that was perfect and was even fancier than the Nicole Miller and much less pricey. After a quick run across the hall for some shoes at Hype I was all set!
I can't even begin to tell you the relief that came over me.
Holy crap, I haven't even gotten to the wedding part yet!
The day of: An appointment had been made at 10:00 am for a manicurist to come to the house so I can get a mani/pedi...she never shows up. Great. So I do the damn mani/pedi myself. Then, it's time to shower...gotta time it just right so you don't get all nasty before it's time to put the threads on. But there's no power for the water pump at 2:00 pm so the shower is just a trickle. It's time to get a little crafty and use the basin to collect the shower water so I can rinse myself off! See how stressful this can be?!?!
Finally, I get all dolled up without any MAJOR problems. I look good, I feel great! Let's go!
So, Dad and I make the trek up the mountain for the 6:00 pm wedding at the Catholic church in Laboule. It's a cute, small, contemporary-ish church tucked down off the road in a canyon next to a soccer field. At this point, it's 5:45 and Dad & I are the first "wedding people" there. There is still a mass going on inside, (Hmmm...) so Dad and I wait patiently outside taking cover from the light rain that began to come down, listening to the ending of the mass. And would you believe they started playing the same song that the orchestra was playing while the Titanic was sinking?!?! I'm totally not kidding!!! What is up with this country and the dammed Titanic music?!?! (for details on this please read last blog entry)
6:00 pm rolls around, church gets out, and only the groom, his dad and his brothers have arrived.
6:30-ish, the decorations arrive and guests have started trickling in.
6:45-ish the bride arrives.
7:00 pm the wedding begins...an hour late.
You need to know that NOTHING starts on time in Haiti and no one is punctual...except for me and Dad. I think we need to wrap our heads around that still.
I mentioned earlier that the wedding was taking place in a Catholic church...which means it's a Catholic ceremony and not a Vegas-style "Do you & do you" quickie. In the States, a Catholic wedding usually lasts 45 mins to an hour tops, right? So, can someone please tell me how a Haitian Catholic ceremony can last over an hour and a half?!?! Oh yeah, I remember now... because it's a mucical. I have never heard so many songs for a wedding IN MY LIFE! Everything was played from the traditional "Hallelujah" to the wedding fave "Ave Maria" to music from "The Phantom of the Opera". Don't get me wrong, it was a beautiful ceremony and the singers were great! It was just...different. If they cut out all the music it would be a 20 minute cermony!
At one point late in the ceremony I felt like I was in Snow White with her dwarves because all the creatures of the mountain started creeping in...they must have liked all the sweet music that was playing. As I was zoned in on the giant man-eating cockroach that flew in and was dive bombing people (they call them water bugs here...whatever, it's a cockroach!), Dad elbowed me and pointed my attention to the mouse that was running across the rafters overhead. I cannot even tell you how difficult it was to not let out a blood-curdling scream. That would not make the "Nice" section of the local paper.
My back was so tense afterwards I needed either a massage or a bottle of Scotch. Since a masseuse was not available at the wedding, I took the Scotch.
Finally! The ceremony was finished and now it was time to eat, drink and be merry! We wound our way back down the mountain and headed for the Hotel Montana. It's Haiti's BEST. This is where Bill Clinton and his entourage stay when he comes here. It recently received a makeover and is, in my opinion, up there in the ranks of the Beverly Hilton or the Beverly Hills Hotel, only... tropical. Verrrrry classy. Be on the lookout for pics of me and Billy hanging out at the bar. I hope to be spending lots of time there...it's soooo pretty!
The reception was being held on one of the many levels of outdoor party-, deck-, chill- space of the hotel with expansive views of Port-au-Prince. It was absolutely beautiful! Dad and I are the first people there (again) and find our spot at a table. It's open bar...sweet. Plus, we were served champagne the moment we sat down. I think we were on round two of Scotch and one (maybe two) flute(s) of champagne when the wedding party arrived. We saw so many cousins and family members we hadn't seen in decades...some I had never even met at all! I think this is one of my favorite parts about this night because I have been on a hunt to find more relatives, and I met two more Liautaud cousins I had never met before...it was awesome. After a couple drinks, lots of meet n' greet and laughter, it was time to toast. Out comes more bubbly. OYE! Mama needs to eat!
The bride's papa gave a sweet speech and then that was the signal to go eat.
The food! I don't think I have ever seen a spread so magical! There was an outside buffet and an inside buffet. The outside buffet was under a trellis that was festooned with vines and apples. The largest display of breads and cheeses I have ever seen was sprawled out on two tables.
The buffet inside was gigantic. I have never seen so much food except for maybe the Sunday Brunch at the Mission Inn in Riverside (my favorite!). The room was romantically lit with pink, blue and purple filters over the uplights so everything glowed. The tables were not just lined up but seemed almosted sculpted in conjunction with these towers and bowls and platters of endless food. I almost didn't want to touch anything for fear of messing up the display! It was impossible to get even a tiny sampling of everything onto one plate. At any rate, I grabbed one big heaping dish of yummies and returned to the table and proceeded to pig out...daintily of course!
I have mentioned to some people before that one of my favorite memory images of ALL TIME was at my cousin's wedding in Haiti in 1996 at The Ritz. The giant swimming pool was converted into a dancefloor. And I vividly remember standing on the step of one of the terraces looking down at everyone dancing. I swear the floor was bowing under the weight of what seemed like a million people jumping up and down with their hands in the air wearing their best garb: silk chiffon, sequins, crystals, tuxes, suits (jackets on...a Haitian man never removes his suit jacket); as young as 3, as old as 80-something. It was the craziest sight I had ever seen...until this wedding on Saturday.
I wish I had taken my camera on the dancefloor to capture the moment... but that's the problem...a camera wouldn't even do it justice because it only captures a fraction of the moment. I think this is something that needs to be experienced. Even a video camera has limited vision. It was as if everyone left their inhibitions at the door. You almost don't even recognize the people you have known all your life because they have mutated into someone entirely different. The most regal and proper, the best of the best, are acting like 5 year-olds on a serious sugar high bouncing off the walls or 21 year-olds on their first trip to Las Vegas. I didn't know Versace gowns were made to move like that! The uncle of the groom, who has to at least be my dad's age, is getting down on the dancefloor. I think it even made me blush! I have some catching up to do to keep up with these party animals. I haven't seen sooooo many sweaty people since...uuuuhhhh...gee, I don't even know!
Hands in the air, singing, smiling, laughing, hugging and kissing...it was one of the coolest, happiest moments I have ever been caught up in. I hope it's not the last.
Then it's family picture time....no, I didn't put this in the wrong order. Family-picture-time came after sweaty-mess-on-the-dancefloor-time. Nice.
But everyone managed to pull it together and you would never know where they just came from. I was so glad I was there to capture that on camera. It was great to see the Gardere family together again (most of them anyways). It will forever be archived in my family album.
And so the evening ended on that note. Dad and I made our way home close to midnight before we turned into pumkins as the party raged on. We have not quite acclimated to the "party-ness" of these people...yet. You know, I think I just might become a professional Haitian wedding crasher.
As my Grandpa Ralph used to cry out at weddings: "Vive L'amour!"
I think people in general enjoy weddings for the most part. Except for the few of us spinsters out there who may feel a slight *pang* in the heart each time we attend or are involved in one ("Always a bridesmaid, never a bride!"), weddings are happy times! I've attended lots of weddings over the years in my native California, a couple in Las Vegas, one in Louisiana, one in Seattle...all of them truly memorable! But the few weddings I have attended in Haiti are a force to be reckoned with...a phenomenon to behold!
At first, I thought maybe it was fluke...one of those rare freaks of nature that only occur once or twice in one's lifetime. But after the wedding I attended on Saturday, I am now convinced that this is a reality, this is the norm. Haitian weddings deserve their own reality T.V. show! People gotta see this!
So, shortly after our arrival in Haiti, Dad and I received a phone call by a close family friend who invited to his son's wedding once he learned through his brother that we were here. Dad and I gladly excepted!
Then reality struck me that I have NOTHING to wear to a Haitian wedding. Even my magenta tunic dress with matching BCBG pumps and flashy accessories, perfectly suitable wedding attire in the States, doesn't even come near to being suitable in Haiti...confirmed by my dad's reaction: "You can't wear that!"
Shit.
Panic starts to set in. Oh my God...What am I gonna do?!?! None of my good clothes made the stupid flight! You see, Haitian weddings are about the equivalent of a Hollywood Red Carpet event. There's NO room for error. Period. Looking good is a must & no repeats or recylced ANYTHING, otherwise there will be talk of little else.
The pressure is on. I started talking to a couple of people..."Where is a good place to shop for dresses for a wedding?" The answers were Champagne (the name alone sends shivers to my pocket book), Saga, Jaffa...
So, then Dad starts taking me to these places. Bless his heart, I'm sure it was MURDER for him to hang out while I try on dress after dress. He took me to Champagne first (let's get this bad boy outta the way first!) in PetionVille. Upon entering the boutique we are greeted by a young girl. Dad proceeds tells her in French that my luggage didn't make the trip from L.A. and we have to find a dress for a wedding on Saturday. She knew we were attending the Gardere/Bernadel wedding...I'm telling you, news travels around here! She started pulling dress after dress and I was trying the dresses on as fast as she was bringing them to me. Then I checked out the labels...
Nicole Miller, Phoebe Couture...uh ooooh...
Listen, I have no problem dropping some serious mulah on a special event. Really, I don't. But let's recap a couple things: 1) I'm unemployed and have been for too damn long. 2) It's not like the groom is my BFF or childhood playmate or a cousin with whom I'm attached at the hip. 3) I can only wear this dress once! I was having a teeny, tiny heart attack at the amount of money I was about to drop for that fabulous Nicole Miller silk number I just fell in love with. However, this is the wedding of a very close family-friend (family-family I should say). The patriarch of the family and my grandfather were attached at the hip, and raised together. This is the family I would hang out with when I would make my summer trips here growing up. I have always been introduced as their cousin even though, genetically, I am not (I don't think). They are no small peanuts by any means so I needed to get over my ridiculousness and get a dress no matter what!
Alas, this was only the first stop & I shouldn't commit to the first dress just yet...kinda like dating: You gotta test drive a few cars before you buy "the one".
So a couple days later (Friday...the day before the wedding), we hit Saga at another shopping center in PetionVille. I later found out this the place to shop because they have a little of everything (tops, jeans, bathing suits, ball gowns...) at decent prices. Bingo! I found a dress that was perfect and was even fancier than the Nicole Miller and much less pricey. After a quick run across the hall for some shoes at Hype I was all set!
I can't even begin to tell you the relief that came over me.
Holy crap, I haven't even gotten to the wedding part yet!
The day of: An appointment had been made at 10:00 am for a manicurist to come to the house so I can get a mani/pedi...she never shows up. Great. So I do the damn mani/pedi myself. Then, it's time to shower...gotta time it just right so you don't get all nasty before it's time to put the threads on. But there's no power for the water pump at 2:00 pm so the shower is just a trickle. It's time to get a little crafty and use the basin to collect the shower water so I can rinse myself off! See how stressful this can be?!?!
Finally, I get all dolled up without any MAJOR problems. I look good, I feel great! Let's go!
So, Dad and I make the trek up the mountain for the 6:00 pm wedding at the Catholic church in Laboule. It's a cute, small, contemporary-ish church tucked down off the road in a canyon next to a soccer field. At this point, it's 5:45 and Dad & I are the first "wedding people" there. There is still a mass going on inside, (Hmmm...) so Dad and I wait patiently outside taking cover from the light rain that began to come down, listening to the ending of the mass. And would you believe they started playing the same song that the orchestra was playing while the Titanic was sinking?!?! I'm totally not kidding!!! What is up with this country and the dammed Titanic music?!?! (for details on this please read last blog entry)
6:00 pm rolls around, church gets out, and only the groom, his dad and his brothers have arrived.
6:30-ish, the decorations arrive and guests have started trickling in.
6:45-ish the bride arrives.
7:00 pm the wedding begins...an hour late.
You need to know that NOTHING starts on time in Haiti and no one is punctual...except for me and Dad. I think we need to wrap our heads around that still.
I mentioned earlier that the wedding was taking place in a Catholic church...which means it's a Catholic ceremony and not a Vegas-style "Do you & do you" quickie. In the States, a Catholic wedding usually lasts 45 mins to an hour tops, right? So, can someone please tell me how a Haitian Catholic ceremony can last over an hour and a half?!?! Oh yeah, I remember now... because it's a mucical. I have never heard so many songs for a wedding IN MY LIFE! Everything was played from the traditional "Hallelujah" to the wedding fave "Ave Maria" to music from "The Phantom of the Opera". Don't get me wrong, it was a beautiful ceremony and the singers were great! It was just...different. If they cut out all the music it would be a 20 minute cermony!
At one point late in the ceremony I felt like I was in Snow White with her dwarves because all the creatures of the mountain started creeping in...they must have liked all the sweet music that was playing. As I was zoned in on the giant man-eating cockroach that flew in and was dive bombing people (they call them water bugs here...whatever, it's a cockroach!), Dad elbowed me and pointed my attention to the mouse that was running across the rafters overhead. I cannot even tell you how difficult it was to not let out a blood-curdling scream. That would not make the "Nice" section of the local paper.
My back was so tense afterwards I needed either a massage or a bottle of Scotch. Since a masseuse was not available at the wedding, I took the Scotch.
Finally! The ceremony was finished and now it was time to eat, drink and be merry! We wound our way back down the mountain and headed for the Hotel Montana. It's Haiti's BEST. This is where Bill Clinton and his entourage stay when he comes here. It recently received a makeover and is, in my opinion, up there in the ranks of the Beverly Hilton or the Beverly Hills Hotel, only... tropical. Verrrrry classy. Be on the lookout for pics of me and Billy hanging out at the bar. I hope to be spending lots of time there...it's soooo pretty!
The reception was being held on one of the many levels of outdoor party-, deck-, chill- space of the hotel with expansive views of Port-au-Prince. It was absolutely beautiful! Dad and I are the first people there (again) and find our spot at a table. It's open bar...sweet. Plus, we were served champagne the moment we sat down. I think we were on round two of Scotch and one (maybe two) flute(s) of champagne when the wedding party arrived. We saw so many cousins and family members we hadn't seen in decades...some I had never even met at all! I think this is one of my favorite parts about this night because I have been on a hunt to find more relatives, and I met two more Liautaud cousins I had never met before...it was awesome. After a couple drinks, lots of meet n' greet and laughter, it was time to toast. Out comes more bubbly. OYE! Mama needs to eat!
The bride's papa gave a sweet speech and then that was the signal to go eat.
The food! I don't think I have ever seen a spread so magical! There was an outside buffet and an inside buffet. The outside buffet was under a trellis that was festooned with vines and apples. The largest display of breads and cheeses I have ever seen was sprawled out on two tables.
The buffet inside was gigantic. I have never seen so much food except for maybe the Sunday Brunch at the Mission Inn in Riverside (my favorite!). The room was romantically lit with pink, blue and purple filters over the uplights so everything glowed. The tables were not just lined up but seemed almosted sculpted in conjunction with these towers and bowls and platters of endless food. I almost didn't want to touch anything for fear of messing up the display! It was impossible to get even a tiny sampling of everything onto one plate. At any rate, I grabbed one big heaping dish of yummies and returned to the table and proceeded to pig out...daintily of course!
I have mentioned to some people before that one of my favorite memory images of ALL TIME was at my cousin's wedding in Haiti in 1996 at The Ritz. The giant swimming pool was converted into a dancefloor. And I vividly remember standing on the step of one of the terraces looking down at everyone dancing. I swear the floor was bowing under the weight of what seemed like a million people jumping up and down with their hands in the air wearing their best garb: silk chiffon, sequins, crystals, tuxes, suits (jackets on...a Haitian man never removes his suit jacket); as young as 3, as old as 80-something. It was the craziest sight I had ever seen...until this wedding on Saturday.
I wish I had taken my camera on the dancefloor to capture the moment... but that's the problem...a camera wouldn't even do it justice because it only captures a fraction of the moment. I think this is something that needs to be experienced. Even a video camera has limited vision. It was as if everyone left their inhibitions at the door. You almost don't even recognize the people you have known all your life because they have mutated into someone entirely different. The most regal and proper, the best of the best, are acting like 5 year-olds on a serious sugar high bouncing off the walls or 21 year-olds on their first trip to Las Vegas. I didn't know Versace gowns were made to move like that! The uncle of the groom, who has to at least be my dad's age, is getting down on the dancefloor. I think it even made me blush! I have some catching up to do to keep up with these party animals. I haven't seen sooooo many sweaty people since...uuuuhhhh...gee, I don't even know!
Hands in the air, singing, smiling, laughing, hugging and kissing...it was one of the coolest, happiest moments I have ever been caught up in. I hope it's not the last.
Then it's family picture time....no, I didn't put this in the wrong order. Family-picture-time came after sweaty-mess-on-the-dancefloor-time. Nice.
But everyone managed to pull it together and you would never know where they just came from. I was so glad I was there to capture that on camera. It was great to see the Gardere family together again (most of them anyways). It will forever be archived in my family album.
And so the evening ended on that note. Dad and I made our way home close to midnight before we turned into pumkins as the party raged on. We have not quite acclimated to the "party-ness" of these people...yet. You know, I think I just might become a professional Haitian wedding crasher.
As my Grandpa Ralph used to cry out at weddings: "Vive L'amour!"
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