RAM, Jacmel and Bastille

Hello faithful readers,

Who am I kidding? No one has been reading this for weeks and this blog is quickly turning into a secret diary. On the plus side, I feel that I can now express myself freely. For example, I’ve always wanted to tell someone that I’ve always wondered what Pandas taste like. Is it gamey like bear or is meat marbled like that of ruminants? Have Chinese people eaten Panda? Is that why they’re endangered?

I guess that a few fun events have taken place since my last entry. I finally went to two of the must-see destinations in Haiti: the RAM concert at the Oloffson hotel and the city of Jacmel.

RAM is Richard Auguste Morse’s band. You can read all about him and the music here. The cliffnotes version is that he leads a sort of roots-rock band that puts on pretty damn amazing shows. It doesn’t hurt that most of them take place in the incredible Oloffson Hotel, a gingerbread-style mansion that was the setting of Graham Greene’s “The Comedians”. Also adding to the ambiance is that the band doesn’t begin playing until well past midnight and that the audience is already good and happy on rum punches. The band plays until well past three so the Friday after RAM is notorious amongst expats as very unproductive. I’m hoping to get pictures from my friends and will post them if and when I do.

Ever since I stepped foot here people have been asking me if I had been to Jacmel and quietly tsk-tsking me when I told them that I hadn’t. During the course of various conversations the image of the town shifted from a funky artist colony to a glam beach community to a debauched party town. So when a group of friends from all over invited me to join their weekend getaway, I jumped in the Toyota ambulance and headed for the South Coast.

Four hours later, we had covered the fifty miles that separate Port-au-Prince from Jacmel and I was able to discover the town you see in these few pictures. Whatever grandeur was there has long faded, but in a dignified tropical way. And while we did see many artists at work, and a few loud bars and some half-hidden signs of wealth, Jacmel was mostly distinguished by its safety. This was the first time in nine months when I felt comfortable walking the streets, even at night. The freedom to ambulate is one of the most underrated pleasures around and Jacmel made me realize how much I miss it in Port-au-Prince. Aside from the joys of strolling, we also got to spend an afternoon at a public beach alongside ordinary Haitian families. Well, there were some extraordinary things, like the MINUSTAH troops in battle gear patrolling the sand and the sight of our Italian friend Davide trying way too hard to organize his beach soccer team. You can expect to see more pictures of Jacmel before I leave this country, as I plan to return at least once.

Back in Port-au-Prince, I had to scramble to get registered at the French embassy so as to get the consular card that would get me in to the Bastille Day soirée at the Ambassador’s residence. That mission accomplished, I was free to celebrate le 14 juillet with my countrymen. With continued apologies for the lack of pictures, I can report that the day was properly honored and that I scored a dinner with the French Ambassador (who is a friend of my godfather’s) when he comes back from his vacation in September.

Well that about wraps it up. I will catch you all later.

It’s America’s Birthday! (And I’m not invited)

Happy 4th of July everybody. I hope that all of you (at least those living in or working for the USA) are enjoying our national holiday. Because I am not. As a matter of fact, I am currently at my desk sweating away another torrid PAP morning (our air conditioning is on the fritz). So in order to retaliate against this terrible injustice (I mean, shouldn’t everyone get off work on the Independence Day of the world’s only remaining superpower?), I will spend a good part of said non-holiday writing about pointless and trivial happenings (and abusing parentheses).
Speaking of the Fourth, the American Embassy, in an effort to better embody the policies of Washington, is not inviting the public to its celebration. Even resident US citizens are not welcome unless they are on some secret list. That said, there will be barbecues and parties all around the city tonight for those not invited by Uncle Sam.

Anyway, since coming back from Bonnaroo, I have been busy traveling to the North of the country where absolutely nothing remarkable happened, save for being fleeced by a priest and being forced to eat quite possibly the foulest dish in the Western Hemisphere, parts of which are known to enjoy Ambrosia fruit salad. That would be bouillie, a glooppy mix of flour sugar and water which tastes much, much worse than the sum of its ingredients.

Fun with other expats continues to be had, though parts of social life here resembles a very bad (or very good, is there a difference?) soap opera. It’s only a matter of time until a man with an eyepatch and a long-lost twin start showing up.

In blog-related news, I am happy to announce that I have successfully mated my new cell phone to my computer, which will allow me to post more pics on this space. For example, here are a couple of shots of PAP traffic, which is very similar to that of most dense urban areas, save for the presence of UN armored personnel carriers (though the folks behind the Hummer might have other plans). There’s also a shot of my friends Brian and Anne from the Netherlands, as well as a couple of leftover ‘roo pics (last two shots). I tried to send some of you the one of the burned out weirdo by text message as my “Greetings from Bonnaroo” gesture, but I don’t think that anyone actually received it.

Well, since I’m sure that unfocused, half-assed posts such as this one are bound to further deplete my shallow pool of readers, I will wrap up and wish you all a great time tonight.