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.

Where's Waldo? Can you find me in the pic again?

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...

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?

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)

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.

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.

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.

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.

Where's Waldo? Can you find me in the pic?

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.

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!

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.

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!"

My First Week in Haiti

If it’s one thing you can count on in Haiti: It’s always an adventure!

So, I have been here for a week now…people keep asking me if I miss L.A. yet (?). I’m starting to feel bad because I’m thinking, “Should I be missing L.A.?” but I don’t…at least, not now. Of course, I miss the people I left behind there, but I will see them again. And I especially don’t miss it after the fiasco at LAX. I really don’t want to get into details because it’ll piss me off all over again and I don’t feel like getting pissed off anymore. Let’s just say I now have to get creative and make chic outfits out of the variety of tank tops and sandals that did make the flight. No worries. The rest of my stuff is being shipped and it’ll be Christmas in June for me soon.

Anywho, since I’ve been here, I have met with old friends and family whom I haven’t seen in over a decade. Everyone looks as fabulous and as chic as ever. They still have their old businesses or have opened new ones and are trucking along. Haitians work hard but play harder…I love that, why do you think I’m here?!?! And everywhere you go you run into or pass by someone you know. It’s funny because I’m not a fan of that at all back in California but it doesn’t faze me one bit here. So far, I am enjoying everyone’s reaction to seeing me back after all this time. I’ll ride that wave for a while.

The weather: Has been toasty warm at a constant 90 degrees. Toss in 150% humidity and you have yourself a sauna in Paradise! I love it though (I think I’m one of a handful of people who does). My skin is nice and moisturized and my hair has curled up even more! Today is the first day we have had rain…it’s now even stickier but I don’t feel it as hot. My dad thinks I’m weird.

State of the Country: OK, so you’re probably dying to know the state of this crazy place called Haiti. It’s the question of the day, right? Well, it has changed some as people had warned me. But as I think about it, what place, city, landscape, village, town doesn’t change after a decade? Houses go up, buildings come down, the population shifts, and there’s always more traffic. That’s pretty much all I can see so far although I haven't ventured outside of Port-Au-Prince just yet. At the Liautaud compound, you can see the squatters' homes up the hill that are creeping onto the property. Once an all green, all forested mountainside is now freckled with cinder-block shanty “huts” (for lack of a better term as they're not really houses). Petion-Ville, which is the place to shop, see and be seen, is now pretty congested. And for those who have never driven here, much less travelled here, just imagine the Bumper Car ride at the County Fair. It mimics Haiti’s roads perfectly. All you have to do is throw in a ton of potholes the size of your car (fall in one and you’ll never get out!). The roads are in BAD shape. Just don’t eat before going out and, ladies, wear a sports bra.
I haven’t quite made it downtown yet, but I hear you can’t make it downtown anyways. I saw a picture in the local newspaper showing one of “Centre Ville’s” major thoroughfares and it is now impossible to get a car through there due to all the marchands (merchants). Anyone who had a shop downtown has been forced to board up their doors & windows and move shop…to Petion-Ville; Hence, the gridlock that exists there now. But there are many more shops and there’s almost nothing you can’t get here now. There's a couple of uber high-end departments stores selling the "basics" like Chopard, Cartier, Lalique, Christofle, etc. I'll be spending more time in those places...drooling. I have visited a couple building supply showrooms (I can't help it!) that sell everything from Delta and Moen fixtures to Bissaza’s FABULOUS mosaic tile. It’s like a candy store for me. One of the managers of a showroom (who is the boyfriend of a close friend) greeted me and Dad with “Ti Kafe”: Espresso served in the traditional demitasse cup and saucer…what hospitality!!! Who does that in the States?!?! Anyways, he stated that Haiti is in major need of Interior Designers. There are people who have a lot of money to spend here…who don’t necessarily have taste or style. I plan on doin’ some covert self promotions in the very near future.

The Food: Yum, Yum, Yummmmmm…(infinity) I can’t say enough about the food here. I have not had one single meal that didn’t send me into a tizzy. The day we arrived, my dad took me (because I demanded some Haitian food NOW!) and a couple of my dad’s friends to a restaurant called La Coquille (The Shell). It’s all you-can-eat buffet style and has a Ti-Shoppe in the courtyard that sells hand crafted Haitian goodies and homemade eats. For 4 people, all you can eat, 6 drinks (mostly alcoholic of course), and dessert, plus tip it totalled about $50 US. Nice. I’ll be going back to that place soon. At Chez Liautaud, we are upholding my Grandmother’s tradition of having lunch as the big, main meal of the day and soup for dinner. Nothing Carlene (the Jack Of All Trades at Chez Liautaud) has cooked up has disappointed me…she makes the BEST homemade soups! It has almost inspired me to want to learn how to cook…but I think I’d rather keep Carlene employed instead.

Technology & Everyday Tidbits: Is freakin’ me out. EVERYONE has cell phones now. And I mean everyone. I was passing through the kitchen the other day and Carlene’s cell phone went off. It startled me!...why is her butt ringing?!?! And then this morning, I was putting on my make-up out on the gallery while Carlene was mopping and she was talking to her kids on the phone! Don’t get me wrong…I don’t mind it one bit. I’m sooooo glad Haitians are starting to enjoy the little things the rest of us have taken for granted. I just have to get used to the site! As far as electricity goes, Haiti has been notorious for having spotty power. But thanks to Inverters and Generators, we now have power all the time…usually…sometimes. The water pumps still don’t work well when there’s little or no power, so, unfortunately, showers and, yes, toilets don’t function as they should. Be careful of your timing!

Here are a couple things I have experienced for the very first time here: an elevator ride. I had my first Haitian elevator ride when I went to Sacre Coeur Hospital for an X-ray on my foot (a whole other story…hit me up if you want the 411) and I must admit I was a bit skittish as a result if the electricity thing. But, alas, my dad and I made it to the 2nd floor without incident. And, remember being a kid and playing 3 Flags Up in the streets when all of a sudden you hear “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” as the ice cream man creeps down the road selling his plethora of sugar coma inducing sweets? Ok, so my dad and I were enjoying lunch out on the gallery the other day when all of a sudden I faintly hear the theme song to the 1997 blockbuster, Titanic, playing in the distance. What the heck is that all about?... It’s the water truck delivering drinkable water to La Grotte (The Grotto) next to our property...it's their ice cream truck! Ummmm…is the Titanic theme song the best choice for these people??? Just a thought.

There are a couple of laws that make me chuckle: When parallel parking your car on the street, you must have two tires on the sidewalk and two on the street. Imagine doing that in Beverly Hills…The po-po will haul your nutty ass to jail and impound your car! Also, paternity tests are illegal in Haiti. Yes, I said that right… illegal. As in not legal; not allowed; no can do. Whoever created this law obviously needed to save his own be-hind. I bet this law makes many Haitian men verrrrrrry happy.

Aaaaahhhh…I love this place! So, here I am on a sticky Thursday afternoon, sitting at the window in the dining room on an antique Chinese chest I probably shouldn’t be sitting on, enjoying the view of Port-au-Prince listening to…uuuuhhh…it was Lionel Ritchie, now it’s Tina Turner’s Private Dancer (not my radio station selection… I’m blaming it on Dad), blogging. I feel as at-home as one of the bright green lizard on the palm tree in the yard. I have a cousin coming to visit tomorrow, a wedding on Saturday night and a trip to the mountains to visit another cousin on Sunday. I’m a busy bug! But I’ve also never been sooo relaxed. It’s aaaaall good. La Vie En Douce (The Sweet Life).
A Bientot!!!
Madame V.