Escape from Port-au-Prince

Salut les amis,

I just got back to Port-au-Prince from a week of travel that saw me hit the two major metropolises (sp?) of the Caribbean: Santo Domingo and Miami. And the winner is… Santo Domingo by first round Knock Out.

It took a while to get there (seven hours on the road plus four hours at the border) but it was worth it. The pictures you see here absolutely fail to do justice to this great city. Of course Cleveland (or for the francophone readers, Le Havre) would shine in comparison to Port-au-Prince, and perhaps my judgment was a bit influenced by my excitement at being able to walk around (at night!) freely, but I can assure you that it will become an even bigger tourism destination very soon.

The changes from Haiti to the Dominican Republic do not manifest themselves as brutally as I had been led to believe. The dusty border towns on either side of the line are pretty much the same, the customs officers equally taciturn and the waiting similarly tedious. The first difference you notice, other than the language on the signs, is the presence of painted lines on the road, the lack of which in Haiti I had not yet registered. Other details soon come into focus: street lights at intersections, no armed guards in front of the stores, paved sidewalks. The closer the bus draws to Santo Domingo, the more obvious the inequities of the island. Major bridges, highway overpasses, tunnels, streetlights, huge billboards for consumer goods and services, until finally the city takes the form of any modern town at night, a puzzle of lights, streaking colors and dark hulking shapes.

My stay in town was nothing short of phenomenal. Staying at a hostel (a funky place in the middle of the Zona Colonial that doubles as an art store) made it easy to meet people, particularly since many of the other guests were US med students in town for a conference on global health. I also had the good fortune to meet several young French teachers plying their trade in French Guyana. All in all, I had the chance to hang out with people from all around (Argentina, Sierra Leone, Togo [it sounds more exotic than Toulouse, Raphael], Mexico [Hoya Saxa!] and the Philippines [so how was the midnight surgery, Maria?]). Actually, you guys might want to send me pictures because I don’t have any and I’m starting to wonder if my solitary confinement in Haiti has not produced a cast of imaginary friends.

I spent three days walking the streets of the city and its wealth of historical treasures. During that time, I could not shake the disbelief that I was on the same island as

Haiti. Whereas you cannot go far in Santo Domingo without hitting upon some landmark from the 16^th or 17^th centuries, Haiti seems completely devoid of a pre-Independence past. And while the Dominican Republic has its share of bleak slums and other signs of lingering poverty, it also boasts all the trappings of a modern economy (interestingly enough without too much intrusion by big US chains) and a vibrant middle class. What’s even more puzzling is that Haiti actually conquered the rest of the island in the mid-19^th Century and until a few decades ago was considered farther along than the DR. So who knows, maybe there’s some hope for Haiti to turn things around.

So after SD, it was off to Miami for some work. More good people met, more fun (but pretty tame) evenings and a whole lot of shopping. I stammered into the airport carrying bagfuls of clothes, electronics and sundries, feeling for the first time a little bit Haitian.

The most boring entry yet

Well, things have quieted down here a bit after a pretty intense couple of weeks. So I am back in Port-au-Prince working on day-to-day stuff. I will soon bring a camera with me on a typical work day and show you how I roll, PAP-style. It’ll be at least 1.43 times as exciting as this.

For excitement, you have to go to Cité Soleil, where the UN is battling armed gangs in what are looking more and more like full-scale battles. You feel the presence of the “bleu helmets” everywhere here. MINUSTAH (the mission’s acronym) armored vehicles sit by every major intersection and military patrols are incessant. You also find them in grocery stores, at the gym and at all the hotel bars. The funny thing is that the bulk of troops securing Port-au-Prince come from Uruguay, Guatemala, Burkina Faso and Jordan and the one characteristic they share is their very small stature, a trait exacerbated by the bulky helmets and Kevlar vests. They remind me of Dark Helmet.

The attitudes toward the UN presence here are mixed. Some (like me) are grateful for the level of security that they bring, others, like these nutjobs, see them as agents of foreign oppression. One thing all Haitians agree on, however, is the notion that the UN staff are not exactly workaholics, a perception shaped perhaps by their strategic encampment at beach resorts and prolonged siege of hotel swimming pools, activities that have earned the peacekeeping force the nickname of TOURISTAH.

The big news for me this week is my upcoming trip to Santo Domingo (for fun) and Miami (for work). I’ll be leaving this Saturday via bus to the Dominican Republic for some well-earned R&R. From what I’ve heard and read, Santo Domingo is a beautiful colonial city. Also, relatively few people get kidnapped and taken to Cité Soleil there, so I will be able to stroll more than the isles of the Big Star supermarket and the empty hallways of my building. And in Miami, I plan on fully playing the role of the Haitian visitor, loading up on American goods and boarding the returning flight with at least half a dozen cardboard boxes and plastic bags.

‘til next time,

Max

Haiti from above

Hey,

I have spent the last week in Cap Haitien, on the north coast of the island to attend the yearly budget planning meeting of our partner sites. And it was just as thrilling as it sounds.

Things started excitingly enough, with all of us from Port-au-Prince boarding a Tortug’Air prop plane in the early morning hours. I had never been on such a small aircraft or in one where the only division between cockpit and cabin is a moth-eaten curtain. Last year, one of the flights carrying AIDSRelief program staff to the same destination crashed upon landing, costing one of the senior managers her leg. Though those on that plane understandably refuse to fly, the rest of us prefer taking our chances rather than enduring six hours on horrendous roads.

Takeoff is uneventful, the plane slowly rising over the sprawling slums encircling the airport. Nothing says poverty like endless expenses of gray shanties and half-finished concrete buildings. I am told that Haitians purposely keep constructions unfinished so they don’t have to pay full property taxes. Or maybe it’s that paint is an expensive luxury. Whatever the reason, Port-au-Prince from the air looks like a sea of dust littered with gray flotsam.

To get to the Cap, we head north and cross the mornes (mountains) of the interior. Because charcoal is the only fuel available on the island, the hills are largely devoid of trees and wildcat logging has caused the topsoil to drift into the riverbeds and eventually into the sea. There is still a very real rugged beauty about the landscape, but it is a far cry from the lush tropical scenery I would have expected.

Another thing you notice from the air is the great emptiness of the Haitian interior. Whereas coastal areas are full of teeming cities, towns and villages overcrowded with pedestrians, drivers and peddlers of all kinds, the countryside is a place of stillness and space. About the only human structure you see on the flight is the incredible Citadelle at Milot, a fortified compound built on top of a barren mountain immidiately after Haitian independence to prevent the retaking of the island by Napoleonic troops (btw, you can click on all the pictures to make them full-sized)

I can speak on the topography of these hills fairly authoritatively because the plane does not so much fly over the mornes, as between them. At times, the side of a mountain is only a few hundred yards from your window and when you do fully clear the peaks, you are close enough to see the shadow of the aircraft glide over individual boulders and bushes. Sometimes, when turbulence hits, you get even closer.

But the landing is uneventful and we make our way from the tarmac to the hangar that plays the role of an international airport (there were once flights from Miami in the good old days) and then we are off to our hotel, a nice enough establishment that we will not leave (not kidding, the only time we left hotel property was to take the group picture you see below -- see if you can spot me).

I will not describe the tedium of the five straight days of budgetary planning, only point out that one session lasted from 8:15 am to 10:45 pm with a thirty minute lunch break the only pause. The picture you see on the right was taken in the first hour, I looked considerably less alert afterwards.

So now I am back in Port-au-Prince and looking at another busy week featuring a road trip to the south. But things are looking up: I’ll be taking time off for the first time on Feb. 17-20 to visit Santo Domingo and will fly straight from there to Miami to attend yet another planning meeting. For those of you interested in coming down for the weekend, I will be free from Friday night to Sunday afternoon and plan on spending that time getting some well-earned R&R action. Email me if you’re interested in meeting up.

Well, that’s all for now. I think I’ll go watch the Super Bowl at the Hotel Montana with the other expats. Prediction: Colts 23 Bears 17.

‘laterz,

Max