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.