Max in Haiti

Taking a dive

2007-12-18T14:46:00.000-05:00

‘sup?

Kidnappings on the rise? Check. People putting on coats because the temperature is falling under 70◦ Fahrenheit? Check. Broken animated Santa terrorizing kids at the Caribbean Supermarket? Check. It’s Christmas in Haiti!!!

Yes, the holidays have come to our little slice of paradise. The office PA system is now playing scratchy versions of “Santa Claus is coming to town” in French, English AND Créole. It’s a Christmas miracle! I have to say though, that my favorite Christmas song this season has to be this one.

So what is new? Well, I’ve been getting into diving as of late. For the past three Sundays, I have headed to the beach with a group of friends (two Americans, one Haitian, one Bulgarian and un fada de marseillais) to get our open water diving certificate. In most cases, this would involve a preoccupation with the actual activity of diving. However, due to the makeup of the group and the personalities involved, the weekends have turned into a series of highly competitive cook-offs, with each party responsible for getting the others stuffed and drunk the second we get out of the water.

At this point, I have to hand it to Jean-Jacques Cousteau. This s.c.u.b.a. thing is truly an improvement over drowning, or even snorkeling. I have no basis for comparison, but the reefs here are pretty much untouched and the sea life fairly amazing. It’s also a welcome escape from the traffic and pollution of Port-au-Prince, which gets quite ridiculous at this time of year.

Having said that, it is more than likely that this will be last Christmas in Haiti, and I’m sure that I will miss going to the beach in mid-December. As for the future, I am considering my options for my next move, but hope to have something worked out by the Spring.

So, dear loyal readers, what are you doing for the holidays? I for one will be going home for Christmas Eve then flying off to Bali on the 25th. I will be back in early January and hope to post tons of pics.

Happy Holidays to all!

More dull travels

2007-11-26T12:29:00.001-05:00

Salut ya’ll.

Okay, so it’s been a little while since my last update. Well, this entry will make up for the long absence. It has it all. Daredevil adventures. Killer snakes. Roger Federer.

Let’s begin with Haiti. I passed the one year in country mark on October 31. And while the early months passed by at the speed of a lethargic glacier, recent months have flown by like a really, really fast glacier. I keep discovering new things about this place, like the few protected natural areas that show you what Haiti used to be like before all the trees were cut down to make charcoal. These pictures were taken at a biological preserve just 30 minutes from the noise and pollution of Port-au-Prince, an escape I plan on making more and more often in the coming weeks.

Aside from a few new discoveries and a rotating cast of friends (people and go on a very regular basis), things have fallen into a pretty decent routine here. Work, tennis, dinners, gym, pool, concerts, excursions, repeat. Not a bad life by any means, but one that needs to be interrupted by foreign travel from time to time.

Speaking of which, I have just come back from three weeks away. The first of which was spent in Paris and consisted mostly of me recovering from the flu. The jury is still out on whether or not heavy drinking may or may not have contributed to the speed of my progress. I did manage to sneak in a visit to the Bercy Masters tennis tournament. This is where Federer comes in. R-Fed got his ass whooped by Nabaldian. And I was there. I was THERE, man.

Then it was off to South Africa for a two-week long work meeting. For the few faithful readers of the blog, this was the same meeting that took me to Zanzibar last year. This time it was held in the city of Hazyview, just outside of Kruger National Park. But while we had frequent chances to escape the hotel last year, this time, we had few opportunities to venture outside, hence the shocking lack of pretentiously artsy photos.

I had actually been to South Africa and Kruger when I was four years old, but since I have a good bit of trouble remembering what I did on Friday, very few images come to mind. I recall much more reliably Lethal Weapon 2, especially the part where Danny Glover applies for a residency visa and the consular officer looks at him quizzically and says “but…but… but, you’re bleyk”. Also, that actress was hot. Whatever happened to her?

Anyway, we did manage one incursion into Kruger and saw a number of herbivores (that gray blur in the distance is an elephant. Or a large rock.), but sadly no badass predators. But who needs to see leopards when you can follow around a guy intent on personally irritating every poisonous animal in South Africa? This would be my friend and colleague Ed, South Africa’s answer to the question: “do we really need another Steve Irwin?” And yes, that snake he is handling is deadly. He managed to capture after poking it with a stick for a solid hour, hoping to coax him from under its rock. At some point, I started to pull from the snake.

The other truly memorable part of the trip had to be my first flight in a microlight (also known as a ULM). As you can see from the pictures, the device looks like the aftermath of a lawn mower getting it on with a hang-glider. But it’s an incredible way to see the world below, especially when it looks like the area around Kruger. The hell with diving! Obtaining a ULM license is the new endeavor that I’ll be too lazy to pursue.

I think I’ll end on that high note of sorts. I will do my best to update this blog more regularly and try to give you all a taste of the holiday season in Haiti.

Ya’ll come back, ya heah?.

Max

Still kickin'

2007-09-17T15:30:00.000-05:00

I have no idea where to begin accounting for the last month or so. Fortunately, many of you had the supreme privilege of seeing me in person in DC and can therefore attest that I am indeed keeping it real and have not let what would normally be considered life-changing experiences in Haiti alter in any way my outlook and behavior. If it ain’t broke…

Speaking of shallowness and immaturity, below is an actual timeline of my thoughts on Friday, September 14:

6:30 am: Huh? Who? Wha?

6:45 am: Okay, I don’t really need to shave today, so I can sleep ‘til 6:55 am

7:17 am: Huh? Who? Wha?

7:32 am: This toothpaste tastes terrible

7:33 am: Wait, that’s not toothpaste…

7:56 am: You are one good looking cat

8:04 am: Please please please don’t let the UN armed personnel carriers block traffic on Delmas

8:15 am: Need. Coffee. Now.

8:25 am: Oooh, I wonder if Goff updated the Soccer Insider overnight

8:57 am: Oh yeah, Blake’s bachelor party is this weekend, huh…

9:02 am: I wonder if anyone from Sewanee is going.

9:16 am: Man, it would be fun to go. But I just came back from a weekend in the States, so I can’t go right back.

9:25 am: Well, there no like, legal reason why I can’t go to New Orleans this weekend.

9:35 am: There’s no way that I have enough American Airlines miles to get a free ride.

9:36 am: Besides, there’s no chance that they can issue a ticket on the same day.

9:47 am: Huh, I stand corrected

9:52 am: Come on, Max, this is ridiculous. You can’t just leave Haiti today to go to a bachelor party in New Orleans. You’re not even sure if anyone else you know is coming. Besides, you should save those miles to get you closer to Bali for New Years Eve

9:57 am: I bet there’ll be some really hot chicks

1:05 am (next day): Hey Blake!

I came back today from this bacchanal. Though most of my internal organs deeply regret my decision, my brain’s reptilian core is giving me a golf clap. No pictures of the party exist, and I really don’t feel like writing a 1,000 words right now, but if you picture what the best party in New Orleans must be like you’re getting close.

So instead I will post pictures of the great times that I had just a bit earlier in DC. Jill put on a house party that rocked Kalorama to the early light and I at last got to wear a sombrero on my birthday. I really didn’t expect to be able to see as many friends as I did, and was very happy to have that chance. I have no idea when I’ll be back in the city, but there is a good chance that I might return for at least an extended period of time in the Spring. Or move to New Orleans.

p.s.: I should be doing a lot of traveling over the next few weeks, so I really hope to return this blog to somewhat of a showcase of Haitian people and culture as opposed to the exercise in narcissism into which it has evolved

Parties in the PAP

2007-08-09T11:31:00.000-05:00

Hey,

This is going to be more of a pictorial again, as I very little interesting to say. Life goes on in Haiti, despite Jamie's departure for the DRC (she is the girl in whose honor this bash was thrown).

A lot of the locals and expats are on vacation at the moment, so things are fairly quiet here. As a matter of fact, I will be leaving tomorrow to spend the weekend in Miami. The good news for you DC folks is that you will have the pleasure of my company over Labor Day weekend and possibly for a few days afterwards. And I still haven't given up the idea of a big group trip to the DR, and indeed Columbus Day weekend is the new target.

At this point, as you have surely noticed, I am sort of running out of things to share on this blog, so let me know if there are topics you would like me to cover. Local culture? Music? Friends? The UN peacekeeping mission? I'll write about anything.

Vaya con dios, ya'll.

More Jacmel

2007-08-08T14:48:00.001-05:00

No guilt trip this time. Just more pics of Jacmel taken my much better photographers.

RAM, Jacmel and Bastille

2007-07-19T15:07:00.000-05:00

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 we nt 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)

2007-07-04T10:31:00.000-05:00

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 s alad. 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.

Blogaroo

2007-06-24T17:20:00.000-05:00

It has been almost a full week since coming back from Bonnaroo and cohesive thoughts are finally making their way back to the frontal lobes.

Four days of concerts, Spam sandwiches, heat, substances, dust, sleeplessness, hot dust, crowds, dusty heat, hippies, bastards in air conditioned R.Vs., a distinctly warm and particle-heavy atmosphere, lines, sweat, Canadians, dehydration (possible caused by heat and dust), and more fun than you can shake a dusty burning stick at.

I wont’t bore you with detail, mostly because a great many of them are forgotten or never really registered at the time, but I do recall truly enjoying these shows:

Rodrigo y Gabriela (who are coming to the 9:30 club at some point)

Galactic

The White Stripes

Hot Chip

Brazilian Girls

Medeski, Martin and Wood

Gillian Welsh

Manu Chao

Ween

Railroad Earth

Tool

And then there was The Police. While it was not the best show of the festival by a long shot, it was incredible to be able to witness an event that I had waited nearly twenty years for.

At this point, I should say a big hello to our ‘roo camping neighbors Joanna and Ken, whose foresight and shade-production skills quite possibly saved our lives. And they did their best not to look horrified by our shameful behavior. Happy St. Jean to the both of ya.

I could comment on the pictures posted here, but I think that most are self-explanatory. For more shots, go and visit Will’s blog at hereticatthegates.blogspot.com.

I promise to put up a Port-au-Prince update soon, until then, I’d love to hear from all of ya’ll.

Max

Off to the 'roo

2007-06-13T09:08:00.000-05:00

Greetings and salutations,

I realize that it's been a while since I've written anything about Haiti. Well suck it up. I don't have much time for a long entry today, as I have to leave for the airport in less than an hour. So here are the basics: I'm fine, the weather's fine, the kidnappers are in hiding and the tap-taps are on strike. Also, a social life has improbably materialized, complete with friends, barbecues, happy hours, beach trips, debates with Canadian anarchists, performing arts events and, uh, more happy hours. So life is actually quite good here, particularly since the security situation has been improving dramatically and my work ethic hasn't.

That's about all for now. Enjoy the few pictures (I'm still having camera issues, so these come form my Azerbaijani buddy) and stay tuned as I plan on blogging from the wi-fi-enabled Bonnaroo festival.

'laterz,

Max

p.s.: No caption contest this week due to abismal participation in the last one. However, can somebody please reassure me that the whitish mark on the top of my head in the pool pic is not a sign of an oncoming baldspot? Thanks.

Vacation Report

2007-05-24T14:57:00.000-05:00

What I did last ~~summer~~ spring

by Max V.

My vacation started on Friday in Port-au-prince. I was very excited because it was my first vacation in a long time. I took a big airplane to Miami all alone. It was a little scary, especially the part about drinks costing five dollars, but it was okay because a nice lady had sold me a few at the airport. I got to the airport in Miami and had to walk a lot to go to the place where they look at your passport. That airport is stupid.

Then I got very excited in the taxi because it was going to see my cousins! Yeah! Guillaume and Thomas were there and they told me about how they had been in Key West and met some nice people and were very hangover or something. They are very funny.

So then we went to walk in this place called South Miami Beach. It is like a city on a beach! The women wear very small clothes and they have small noses and the men look very hard at their t-shirts, even when there is no funny picture. And there are many stores and restaurants and loud music places and they are all open at night! Me and my cousins went to a place called the Nikki Beach Club. It was very cool! They had beds on the beach! And people were drinking on them! And some of the beds had curtains around them so people could sleep in them when they are tired. It’s a good idea. But no ladies went to sit on our bed, so we left.

The next day we went to the beach and I swam in the water! The people on the beach wore funny things. Then we watched the French Cup Final and my team won! Yeah! Guillaume was sad because his team lost but it is always like that when Marseille plays.

Then we ate dinner and then we went to a very loud place called Mansion. We had to wait a long time at the door and someone said it was because there were no girls with us, but then I gave the man at the door some money and me and my cousins got in. It was very nice inside. There were girls drinking and dancing and a man was making music and the women that were drinking started dancing on the tables and they were very silly! Thomas bought me a Red Bull and Vodka and it tasted like bubblegum and me and my cousins started dancing and then I don’t remember things so good.

In the morning I was worried because I felt a little sick in the stomach and the head, but my cousins said it was normal and that we needed to go eat. So we went to Little Havana and we ate at a big restaurant called Versailles. It is the only picture I took on this trip because the music places in South Beach they do not like cameras. That is Thomas on the left and Guillaume on the right.

We were tired that night but we still went outside. There was a place called the Raleigh Hotel and people told us there was a pool party! But no one was swimming in the pool. Weird! The women looked like the ones in mom’s magazines and they were very tall and thin and they had little dogs with them. And the men spoke on their phone a lot and they had a lot of goo in their hair and they were shorter than the women. One of them was also making music at a table. Everywhere in South Miami Beach there is a man making music at a table! This time my cousins bought me a drink called a Mojito that kinda tasted like lemonade. And then we went to other places. At one there were people playing pool and there was one where women dance on your seat and there was one where I forget what happened.

The next day I was very sad because Guillaume and Thomas had to leave and I was all alone in Miami. But I bought a very cool phone that is also a camera so that the next time I go into a loud music place I can take pictures!

Then I had to go to the airport and take two airplanes to see my friends in California. The people at the airport gave me a car with no roof and when I drove it it was like the movies! Then I was very happy because I saw Jude and Jason and my godson Mariano and he is very cute and the next day Aunt Jill arrived and it was like being in Washington!

On TV they always show California when it is sunny, but that is not true! Orange County is cold and grey like the city where Mary Poppins lives. So I did not drive my car very much even though Mariano liked it very much and told me that it was “a rope whup”.

We went to a lot of very good restaurants and ate a lot. We also went to the beach, but the water was very cold. Then we went on an island and we took a boat! But it was even better the next day because we all went to Disneyland! Yeah!!!

It was the first time at Disneyland for Jude and Mariano and we were all very excited. We went on the Jungle Cruise and the Tiki Room and Haunted Mansion and the Pirates of the Caribbean and then we tried to find a place where they sold mojitos but there was only one and there were too many people and we were all very sad, except for Mariano. But then we went on Dumbo and It’s A Small World After All and Indiana Jones and we saw the parade and we tried to take a picture of Mariano with Mickey but Mickey left and we tried to run after him but he is very fast.

That day made everyone very tired and so stayed at the house a lot after that, except for we went outside to a shopping mall where there was a Ferris Wheel and a restaurant that a very big soda fountain and I had one called a Murphy’s I

rish Red and it came in a glass that was very tall and it was very good. Oh, and we also went to a restaurant called Riptide that had a lot of food and you could eat as much as you want! And

there was people with drums and dancers that looked like Lilo and a man came to our table and gave us fizzy grape juice all the time. Yeah!

But then I was sad because I had to go back home and it was a very long way and I did not sleep very much on the airplanes and I went from the airport to a business meeting and I was very tired.

The end.

p.s.: Thanks to Jude and Jason for the hospitality!

p.p.s: In case you were wondering, Jason won last entry’s contest and the bottle of rum for his PauP mobile entry (though his second one was perhaps even better). Thanks to all those who tried and better luck next time.

p.p.p.s.: How ‘bout another contest. Winner this time gets a phone call from Bonnaroo next month. Here’s the deal: Find a caption for what I am thinking in the picture to the right taken at Disneyland. Funniest one wins.

Guyanarama

2007-05-01T22:21:00.000-05:00

To be honest, I didn’t know much at all about the country I was about to visit. Whereas Haiti is known the world over for its independence movement, voodoo and self-governance challenges, Guyana seems to be exclusively notorious for a bunch of American nutjobs answering the ultimate last call. The Jonestown tragedy, passages in Naipaul’s The Middle Passage and the fact that the local inhabitants were improbably in need of my assistance were about the only ways the country had made itself known to me at the time of my landing. Truth be told, I couldn’t recall the last time I visited a country without having first read enough guidebooks to tell locals where to find ½ price wings on a Thursday.

I didn’t even realize until halfway across the Caribbean Sea that my first step on Guyanese soil were going to complete my introduction to the world’s inhabited continents (no plans to visit Antarctica unless penguins start sharing needles). The thing is that Guyana, despite its location convenient to the Amazon and an egomaniacal military presidente, is very much a Caribbean country; albeit one in which jaguars occasionally snack on pets.

To get to the G-spot (Guyana is sorely lacking in nicknames), I had to fly from Miami to Port-of-Spain and then catch a connection to the capital, Georgetown. My neighbor on the first leg of the journey was a middle-aged Indian man from Trinidad who managed to fit a life time of stories into the lulls of a three-hour flight. I heard about the betrayal of his secretary, who he treated like a daughter but who ended up stealing from him; about the time he and his brother were robbed at gunpoint in their auto-part store, how the brother found the thief living in the streets years later and how the former victim and his friends beat the man half to death; about the problem is aging best friend is having trying to satisfy his wife and three young mistresses – picaresque stories right out of Pagnol, Saki or Chaucer.

Landing in Georgetown at night, I was not able to ascertain very much about the place other than it seemed much more developed than Haiti (what with their paved roads and streetlights), very much into cricket (the World Cup was very much in full swing during my visit) and noticeably British in heritage (either that or our cabbie was severely dyslexic).

As you can see from the pictures, daylight brings out more of the city’s peculiar character. It echoes off the white-painted wood which forms the exterior of pretty much every building in town, feeds the Wimbledon-worthy grass that covers the unpaved ground and urges the women to carry colorful parasols as they walk the neat, suburban, city blocks. Thanks to Naipaul, I did know to expect a multicultural society made up almost equally of Indians, Africans and descendants of mixed marriages. Add to that the Brazilian, Chinese, Amerindian and European minorities and you have a country populated by representatives from nearly every human civilization. This variety is duly reflected in Guyanese menus, which tend to run about seven pages on average. Somehow, the concept of fusion cooking seems to have escaped the locals, and so instead of mixing up the cuisines, places tend to offer tandoori alongside feijoada, won-ton soup and fish&chips.

I think I’ll skip ahead to more straightforward travel stories now, so you’ll just have to picture the setting with what I’ve written above (remember: cricket. green & white color scheme, paved roads “ethnics” with parasols, long menus). Also really excellent baked goods. And really low prices (‘went to a bar, ordered a round [mixed and drinks and beer] for six people and paid less than $5).

Thanks to a regional meeting in Miami (see Feb. blog entry) I had already met some of my colleagues down there, one of whom was a Franco-American James Madison grad named Thibaut (No Thea, he doesn’t know Xavier – I asked). He was in charge of planning the activities and boy did he come through. By far the most memorable experience of my two weeks there was the visit to a town called Bartica, a mining community located three hours down river from Georgetown. We were scheduled to pay the local hospital a visit on a Monday and Thibaut made the arrangements for our little group to spend the whole weekend there.

To get to Bartica, one has to board a slightly decaying wooden 15-foot river boat outfitted with a brand-new 200-hp engine and travel down a river measuring twenty miles across. It is one bad-ass ride. The deeper you travel upriver, the more the scenery makes you feel like an extra in the “Heart of Darkness” movie that Hollywood has conspicuously failed to make (Apocalypse Now notwithstanding), complete with rusting river steamers run aground on the mangrove shores. Less ominous, stately homes also dotted the shore, like the one pictured here that belongs to Guyanese singing sensation Eddie Grant (Electric Avenue, I Don’t Want to Dance). When we finally arrived in town, a smaller, less well-kept version of the capital, our party set to work gathering victuals to bring to the house that Thibaut had rented for us on the outskirt of town. Once enough rum had been secured, we trekked into the vegetation (default tropical, between forest and jungle) to reach our home. Again, the pictures will showcase this place far better than this overwrought prose. In short, it rocked (like Made Out of Babies-rocked, not Weezer-we’re-too-geek-cool-to-move-about-onstage-rocked). Its two-level veranda, private pier and cold swimming pool almost redeemed colonialism as a valid socio-economic system. We spent two days eating massive meals, drinking rum and playing cards in what was one of the best weekends in memory. It was quiet there too, as the house dog really had been eaten by a Jaguar the week prior.

Back in Georgetown, we tried our best to top that stay. And so I went to a fair (I kicked ass at bumper cars), joined a pub trivia team (it turns out sharks do not blink), and played tennis on the US Ambassador’s private court. But since I did not take my camera to these excursions and because I’m getting tired of writing, I won’t go into these events.

To wrap up: I can’t wait to get back to the O.G. in October and strongly urge you all to consider Guyana as a tourism destination (I didn’t even get to see Kaieteur Falls – check ‘em out on Google).

See you soon (if you live in South Florida or California),

Max

p.s.: To encourage you all to leave comments, I’ll have a contest. I need your help to find a nickname for my car. It’s an old, thoroughly rusted blue Isuzu Rodeo. I’m calling it “the ‘zu” but that’s pretty weak. The winner gets a bottle of Barbancourt Rum next time I see him/her.

Sweet Home Adams Morgan

2007-04-18T21:38:00.000-05:00

And so it’s back to the sunny Caribbean after a great but freezing week in DC. I want to everyone for some great times last week and particularly Jill for hosting me.

Seeing as though it had been a long time since I was absent from the DC area for more than a few weeks at a time, coming back after a six-month absence felt like a bit of a homecoming. This time around, though it wasn’t the size of the automobiles (or the people, to be frank) that surprised me, but rather that white fluff falling from the sky. Snow in April! Fantabulous. Serves me right for complaining all winter long how I missed the change of seasons in Haiti. It turns out I don’t. Especially after spending 2 sleeveless hours at RFK watching DC United get pummeled by a team from that world center of soccer that is Kansas City. To be fair, I had enough $8 beers to forget about my surrounding and instead concentrate on not being this guy:

Props to Terrence for following me to this debacle.

Other highlights from the week range from the wholesome (Easter weekend with my family in Charlottesville) to the urbane (Jill’s Sunday dinner party) to the bizarre (possibly getting hit on by the lead singer of Made Out of Babies):

As a matter of fact, I though that my whole just-came-from-a-failed-state vibe seemed to work pretty well on the ladies, though last year after several drinks I always thought that my I-sleep-in-a-bunkbed-in-a-studio-apartment-and-am-looking-for-a-job vibe was also irresistible.

DC remains a tough town to impress, though. For while my return from Port-au-Prince was deemed hot stuff in a Northern Virginia bar, the usual response at the Big Hunt and elsewhere in the city seemed to be “Oh that’s nice. I’m leaving for Somalia tomorrow. To save orphans from the slave trade. As an unpaid volunteer.” (Btw, best of luck in the Sudan, Allison!)

I wish I had more pictures to show and will post them if you send me some. Also thanks to all of you who gave me music – I’m loving the stuff – and to all of you who read this garbage. I had no idea I had such a loyal and distinguished readership – I’ll try to post more regularly.

Speaking of which, stay tuned for stories and pics from Guyana.

‘later,

Max

Rain Over Me

2007-03-29T14:39:00.000-05:00

Hi everyone,

By now, I’m sure that my regular readership has dwindled to a handful of souls due in no small part to the weeks-long absence of new posts.

Well, a few interesting things have happened since my last post though, as you may have noticed, this blog makes do with a very broad definition of the third word in this sentence.

As you may recall, I have been complaining about the lack of social life down here compared to the near bacchanal that was life in Adams Morgan. Well, the solution turned out to be glaringly obvious: bring Adams Morgan down to Port-au-Prince. And it all happened thanks to the wonders of pottery.

So it took a Columbia Ave. resident (thanks again, Eleanor) and her Port-au-Prince friends to show me that people actually do go out at night and that expats do not have to spend their evenings on lock down. And so a couple of dinner parties and one night-time “happy hour” later, I am happy to report that there is life after work down here.

But just as things were getting to be interesting in Port-au-Prince, it was time to leave for the countryside and administer my training workshops. Travel is becoming increasingly difficult down here due to the start of the rainy season. I’m pretty sure that it started on Friday March 16 at four o’clock. I had not seen rain in weeks up to that point and ever since it has poured everyday at the same time. This usually knocks out power for a while, which means that I often get home from work and the gym to sit in the dark at home while waiting for the juice to return. I am actually getting pretty good at cooking in the dark. And hitting the trails in Haiti becomes a pretty uncertain proposition. Since every road leading out of Port-au-Prince must at some point ford a river, you never know if the water level will let you pass. Fortunately for me, I was able to avoid being stranded so far, but it seems to happen to everyone at some point.

There was an interesting road incident a couple of days ago when the Toyota I was in broke down in the middle of nowhere. A metal beam that connected the rear axel to the frame of the car had snapped in half, making the SUV swerve uncontrollably. Fortunately, we were able to limp to a village and make repairs. We (just the driver and I) ended up in the front yard of a scrap metal shop, a dusty little courtyard full of the rusting remains of bed frames, ladders and dozen other pieces of iron, steel or copper. Long-tailed lizards scampered about the jagged pile, while the local children gathered to observe the repairs and, I imagined, the confused-looking blanc. While this was going on, the whole driver’s side rear quarter of the Toyota was dismantled and the two parts of the broken rod brought to the welder, who managed to fuse the part together again while squatting in the dirt. The car was then put back together, good as new, and we were on our way. The cost of the repairs? Just over $20.

I wish I could have included pictures, but I’m experiencing some camera troubles.

Well, I’ll leave it at that for now. I cannot wait to be in DC in just about 10 days.

A la prochaine,

Max

Marching on

2007-03-12T21:22:00.000-05:00

Well, I had a really great entry all written out on a notepad. Those of you who know me have already guessed that a) that was a lie; or b) I lost the notepad. Well you'll never know, will you? Instead you'll have to suffer through this half-hearted attempt at keeping a twice-monthly entry schedule.

Actually, screw it. You wanna know what I've been doing for the past couple of weeks? This.

Haha, just kidding Mom and support group buddies!

The last couple of weeks have actually been, dare I say, wholesome? It all started with a trip to the Hopital Albert Schweitzer, a large medical complex located on an old banana (I think) plantation. It's one of the more surreal places I have visited and certainly the only one I know of where you can be taking a dip in a 1920s-era swimming pool one minute and being led into an overflowing morgue the next. Well, maybe in Florida...

After that came a three-day meeting at the former Club Med resort, recently reopened as the Club Indigo. As you can see, work was hellish and the setting dreadful.

But the big news to come of the past few days for me is the announcement of my spring travel plans. The highlights are that I will be in DC on April 9-16, in British Guyana on April 16-25, in South Florida on May 11-15, in Southern California on May 16-21 (or thereabouts) and at Bonnaroo on June 14-17. Take that, college Spring Breakers! I keeps it real. And I'm old enough to be your weird uncle.

So that's the latest from down here. I'll try to do a day-in-the-life entry one of these days, 'cause I know how fascinated you all are with my continued existence.

'laterz.

Escape from Port-au-Prince

2007-02-26T14:00:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-13T20:21:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-04T11:48:00.000-05:00

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

2007-01-25T22:11:00.000-05:00

Qué pasta everyone,

Well, I haven’t had much of a chance to enjoy the mod new apartment in the past few days. I spent the past week visiting hospitals in the southeast of the country to complete my tour of all AIDSRelief sites in Haiti. And this time, I left behind the fabulous hotels of the Haitian provinces (see previous posts) to actually stay at one of these medical facilities.

What a difference that makes. I just spent a couple of nights at the St. Boniface hospital in Fond des Blancs (literally Bottom of the Whites). It’s about as isolated a place as you can find in Haiti -- for those of you with Google Earth, this is what I’m talking about. To get there from the closest cluster of concrete that can pass as a town, you must endure two hours on steep, mud-and-rocks paths through rugged hills. At night, you can count on the fingers of your hand the number of electric lights for miles around, most of which come from the hospital’s compound.

The place is run by nuns from Boston who keep the fridge stocked with cold Prestige beer. There are three recent U.S. college grads and a French business student living there while they complete various volunteering assignments. Being far away from any center of power or wealth, the village is completely free of crime and other threats. For the first time since moving to this country, I can take a walk alone. In the early evenings we go down the road to play soccer with the locals. At night we watch DVDs under the power of a whirring generator. It’s not a bad place to be.

One night, those of us visiting from Port-au-Prince drive thirty minutes to the beach. We get there too late for a swim but just in time to eat some freshly caught kingfish as the only restaurant for miles blares Haitian pop to honor our presence. One of the song is called MMS. It’s a lament about this guy who used to “have relations” (this is the term that the host used to translate from Creole) with his wife on Mardi, Mercredi and Samedi (Tuesday, Wednesday and Saturday) when they were newlyweds, but now only do it once in March, May and September. I make a joke saying that my version would be an instrumental. Nobody gets it.

Oh, and I may have saved the villagers from a terrible affliction. But I will wait until I hear the results on the investigation by the local health officials to publicly gloat about that.

Anyway, I am now back in Port-au-Prince and about to enjoy my first hot shower in a week. And on Sunday, I head out to the north of the country for a three-day meeting, during which I plan on sneaking off to Haiti’s #1 favorite tourist sight: the airport departure lounge. Make that the #2 sight, the 19^th century Citadel at Milot. Pictures will be taken.

(in the voice of John McLaughlin) Bye bye ,

Max

p.s.: all of you with an interest in economics or the lunatic fringe please make sure to check out Will McBride's blog.

Movin' on Up (to the East Side of Port-au-Prince)

2007-01-14T19:19:00.000-05:00

Bonjour,

Well the power is back on, so I guess I better start posting. As I alluded to in my last entry, I spent the weekend moving in to my new place. And I do mean new. I was the first person to settle into the not-quite-finished apartment building on Friday. Scenes from "The Shining" were playing in my head as I fell asleep in the dark and vacant former hotel.

But by Sunday I had a neighbor (a Haitian-Canadian working on banking reform), intermittent power and even occasional hot water, and I am being told that everything will be functional next week when the generator will finally come online (we now have to make do with an inverter, a device that basically acts like a giant rechargeable battery).

As you can see from the pictures, the place has been fully renovated, and while my studio is not huge it has all the mod-cons like a fully-equipped kitchen, cable tv and a/c. Plus it has a swimming pool that will, I am told, one day contain water.

And it feels great to finally unpack my bags and resume a somewhat normal life. This move concludes what has been an incredibly full two weeks on both professional and personal fronts and ends the prologue of my story down here. I will then be able to tell you about "normal" in Haiti starting next week. And I'll have pictures of my trip to the north of the island.

'til next time,

Max

Wheels

2007-01-10T19:57:00.000-05:00

The streets of Port-au-Prince just got a whole lot more dangerous. A roaming menace has hit the streets and threatens every driver, passenger and passer-by. His car is old and decrepit and his tires are bald. He rolls with the windows down because his a/c is busted. Discordant sounds emanate from the interior’s worn-out stereo. He scans the streets with his beady eyes searching for his way among the mass of humanity and machines and changes directions erratically, a drunken sailor in an ocean of people. In the early morning and at dusk, beware Port-au-Prince ! Max is on your streets.

That’s right, I am now the not-so-proud owner of what was once a 1993 Isuzu Rodeo, or so I am told. To see how this purchase fits into the evolution of my life, please refer to the chart below:

But it is great to have some measure of freedom once again. And the streets of Port-au-Prince are actually a blast to drive, what with no traffic laws in effect whatsoever. You jostle for position with UN troop carriers, try to dodge pedestrians, stray dogs and potholes the size of craters and overtake pick-ups loaded with dozens of passengers. So far I have seen one working stoplight, which seemed to fulfill its purpose by stopping drivers through sheer curiosity more than respect for the traffic code.

Of course buying a car was no simple procedure. While finding a car to purchase is not too hard, that is only the start of a process now on its third week. And I’m still not technically the legal owner. Or acknowledged user. As far as I can tell I’m more of a formal borrower. That is until I obtain a Haitian driver’s license. But first I must be granted a fiscal ID number, which can only be granted after receiving a valid residency card, a document whose delivery must be preceded by notarized attestations from the Embassy, my employer and the Ministry of Immigration. I fully expect to be a legal driver in the spring of 2009.

The other big news is that I will be moving to an apartment this Friday (the move was delayed for five days) so that by this weekend I will be fully settled in. Pictures will definitely follow.

‘til next time,

Max

The Year in Pictures

2007-01-01T11:06:00.001-05:00

Happy New Year!

I must say that 2006 will be a hard act to follow.

Some of the highlights:

The Great German Marshall Fund B&E Party

Friday Jazz at the sculpture gardens and their aftermath

IIE's underground World Cup movement and France's incredible run to the Final

Guillaume, Camille and Sonya in America!

Sunday dinners at Jill's

The drive to the first 11on11 soccer game in Bethesda

My first night in Haiti

Backpacking in Bulgaria

Mariano walking

Mariano talking

Seeing my banner hung up at the DC United season opener

The return of Terrence, Yulia, Machut and Friday Big Hunt Happy Hour

Hitting the Vegas bars with Yasmine

Hitting the Stone Town bars in Zanzibar

Seeing Mt. Kilimanjaro

IIE Softball

Hitchiking from Georgetown to U Street on July 4

Stumbling into the London Live 8 concert

Discovering H Street

Finally spending a weekend in New York

30th birthday lunch with the family

30th birthday party at Local 16

Farewell party at Millie and Al's

Godzilla the Play and Frosty the Abominable Snow Man

Thanks to all of you for making these things possible and I wish you all the very best for 2007.

Max

p.s.: It looks like Skype is finally starting to charge for calls to landlines and cell phones, so for those of you who would like to chat once in a while, you can download the program at www.skype.com. My user name is toncousinmax

Happy Holidays

2006-12-25T16:30:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas / Joyeux Noel !

Happy holidays to all from Haiti!

I still haven't found a permanent place to live, but I feel that I am getting close. So I am spending Christmas day at the lovely Villa Creole hotel where I will feast on Turkey and breadfruit tonight.

I hope that you are all having a wonderful holiday and hope to hear from you soon.

p.s.: No, I do not know the Santas in this picture.

On the road again

2006-12-21T15:19:00.000-05:00

You guys remember when every rock band worth its salt, after a few hit records, would do a “tour lament” song. This usually involved lyrics about how hard it is to be constantly on the road, sleeping in hotels, dealing with groupies. Well, this entry is my “Man in a Suitcase”. Minus the groupies.

I am on the last night of my three-night tour of the Artibonite during which I helped local hospitals prep for their upcoming quarterly report. For the record, I have not spent more than three nights in the same bed in now more than a month. Anyway, if you are at all curious, here is how these site visits work.

We usually leave early in the morning from Port-au-Prince in one or more of our white Toyotas loaded with medical supplies and other things to transport to the field. Timing is important because the gangs of kidnappers have the run of the roads between nightfall and daybreak. Sometimes, though, some rudely break this custom and do something like abduct a BUSFULL of people in broad daylight (this after the nabbing of a senator and a van of schoolchildren). The bus incident actually happened two days ago on the road I will be taking back to the capital tomorrow (don’t worry Maman, I plan on sending this from the office, so if you can read this, I am home safe. Well, kinda.).

As I mentioned before the roads are pretty rough, especially when you leave the major thoroughfares and head to small rural communities like Gros Morne, where dirt tracks are the only connections to the outside world. The constant jostle makes digesting the copious breakfast (we usually won’t eat again until nightfall) a rather tricky affair. Speaking of breakfasts, I am quickly getting used to the local tradition of eating spaghetti in the morning (isn’t there a children’s song about eating pasta for breakfast? Jude? Jill?). For one, it tastes better than greasy eggs of questionable provenance, and it does fill you up nicely for a long day of work, though I am leaving the addition of the customary ketchup to the mound of noodles for my final initiation into Haitian House.

Once at a site, I usually sit down with the DRO (Disease Reporting Officer), do an inventory of the site IT equipment and personnel, perform data quality checks on medical forms and reports and then update the staff on new guidelines. I then meet back with the rest of my team and do a little motivation speech for the whole hospital staff (they’re totally not getting the “van by the river” reference). At that point our team will leave the site and go eat an early dinner at a local restaurant. Actually, not quite. First, we have to call the restaurant and figure what dish they are serving. I find this step quite unnecessary, since the menu will invariably consist of two of three things: chicken parts in sauce, red meat parts in sauce, fish in sauce. This will be served with rice (with or without beans) exactly two slices of tomato and a few leaves of lettuce. Sometimes fried plantains will be thrown in for good measure. Anyway, we have to call ahead with our order, because Haitian service is rather slow, kind of like the Sahara is a little sandy. I once waited forty minutes for a bowl of soup. (At the expense of breaking the spirit of insufferable petulance I have spent the last three paragraphs developing, I will say that the meals are usually quite good and more varied than I make them out to be thanks to variations in the sauces.)

After dinner, it’s off to the hotel, the very best in town. Of course that doesn't mean all that much in Haiti. As you can see from the pictures, the locals seem to favor the Malevich school of aesthetics. The plumbing, on the other hand, seems to be inspired more by the Homer Simpson school of home improvement. The rooms are clean, though, and have a/c. A good thing, too, since I end up spending more than twelve hours a day in them, as there is simply no place else to go after dark. Let me spell it out for the DC and Paris folks: THERE ARE NO BARS in the Haitian provinces. I know, I’m surprised to still be here too. One adapts, I guess.

And now some good news. I appear close to signing a lease on an apartment. I saw the place last weekend and liked it a lot. It is high in the hills above the cosmopolitan enclave of Petionville, far up enough that the nights are cool and air conditioning is unnecessary. I will be negotiating the deal on Friday. This being Haiti, issues to be ironed out include the use of the generator and the salary of the armed guard. I will update this blog with pics as soon as something is signed.

‘til next time,

Max

Back to Haiti

2006-12-07T13:39:00.000-05:00

Hey evreebohdee,

I guess that by now you’ve figured that this blog wil probably operate on more of a weekly/bi-monthly schedule. I think that a look at my calendar will reveal why I can’t be more prolific.

So the last time I wrote in, I had just come back to DC from Zanzibar (I was very happy to see a few of you in town and, as you may have see from my schedule, I am looking forward to see more of you next week). Since returning to Haiti, I have begun looking for an apartment, an endeavor that is proving more difficult than I had anticipated. The problem is that as the number of genuinely safe areas shrink (the security situation has been deteriorating for the past few months) and the number of foreign workers increases (the UN is snatching up all the dwellings it can), rental prices have skyrocketed. It looks like I will have to pay at least $1200 for a one bedroom, if I can find one. Though a company-recommended real estate agent is on the case, I am also exploring the Haitian ways of getting things done – relying on the friends and relatives of acquaintances to gain an edge. The Caribbean version of craigslist sadly leaves much to be desired…

In any case, I really did not have much time to go house-hunting as my presence was cordially requested at the World AIDS day ceremonies in Gonaives where the local hospital was unveiling a new AIDSRelief-sponsored wing. Before I describe the festivities, a word about Gonaives: It is universally known as the armpit of Hispaniola, more wretched than Sale Trou (transl: Dirty Hole), more hopeless than Sources Puantes (Stinking Springs). A google image search will tell you all about the dismal nature of the place, which two years ago was submerged under up to ten feet of water thanks to Hurricane Jeanne. So while I was apprehensive about the visit, I was also very (morbidly ?) interested in seeing how bad things could get here. But as with all of my experiences here so far, the situation failed to live up to the nightmares I had imagined, save perhaps for the condition of the highway from Port-au-Prince. I would have taken pictures of that road and its assortment of craters, boulders, spills, wrecks, and other obstacles, but I was too busy hanging on to the handle of the Toyota to play photographer. There was little of the dramatic once we reached our destination, however. And while Gonaives most certainly is desperately poor, dusty, dirty and altogether rather squalid, it wasn’t quite the Indian village in “Temple of Doom”. It even had a somewhat surreal Spaghetti Western-style backdrop of dry hillsides and dusty fields.

So on to the ceremony, in which the town’s dignitaries and representatives from the foreign donors gathered in the hospital’s chapel for a church service and a few speeches. Two things

stood out. One was the music performed by three distinct parties: a small drum and sax combo on the side that seemed happy playing some soft jazz melodies, a choir that belted out church hymns, and an unseen organist performing strange Phillip Glass-like etudes in

atonality. The result sounded very much like three radio stations (Smooth 102.5, Praise 97.4 and NPR) sharing a bandwidth. The other memorable part was the speech by some crazed departmental
sanitation official who perhaps through a desire to have his audience emphasize with the plight of the infirm decided to deafen us all. Through his voice was itself quite a weapon, able to hit shrill highs and thundering lows, he was greatly aided by the arena rock show caliber amps aimed straight at my seat. I lost another great opportunity for a picture when I turned around and saw most fellow attendees desperately covering their ears with both hands.

I did, however, manage to sneak into a picture with the Archbishop of Gonaives, the first VIP to make it on the blog. (okay I am still far from Tom’s chumming it up with the Bushes, but you have to start somewhere).

Due to the Haitian mid-termish elections and the great demand in hotel rooms they generate, I had to spend the weekend at a beach resort (emphasis on “had to”), but not before having to deal with a flat tire on the way. It is a sad commentary on the state of Haitian tourism when I can say that I was the only guest in the place.

Fortunately the election went well (only one riot and four casualties) and I was able to leave on Monday for my first site inspection in Fond-des-Negres, a four hour drive from Port-au-Prince on roads that made the highway to Gonaives feel like the autobahn.

Once in Les Cayes (where our hotel was) my colleagues and I went to go eat dinner. Now I have to say that until that point, I had marveled at the ability of our chauffeur to drive like a maniac with impunity. That ended on the way to the restaurant where a daring attempt to overtake a line of cars by racing on what would pass for a sidewalk concluded in our car being rear-ended by a pick-up. So here is what happens when a fender bender takes place at night in an incredibly busy thoroughfare in Haiti:

1) Everyone in both vehicles gets out to inspect the damage. This means that the cars are permanently stopped in the middle of the street.

2) The drivers survey the damage and begin to deliberate in a rather civil manner.

3) A crowd appears out of nowhere.

4) The crowd grows (and will keep growing for the duration of the incident).

5) Once said crowd has reached an acceptable size, both drivers will begin arguing their case.

6) To gain an epistemological advantage, the two sides will use increasingly more animated gestures and loud sound effects.

7) Remember the part about the cars blocking half of the road? Well, there are now about one hundred vehicles behind us (including UN armored transports) furiously honking their horns.

8) People make fun of the confused-looking white man.

9) The police shows up. They take away a kid’s bike, then leave.

10) No one seems to think this strange and the showdown continues.

11) The police return and ask the drivers to take their vehicles to the police station.

12) I am now inside a Haitian police station. Awesome!

13) A cop emerges from the office where he had been speaking with the drivers and, Solomon-like, pronounces his judgment: both cars will be impounded until the parties resolve the issue themselves.

14) That actually sounds pretty wise for a bit, until I realize that the other driver has left and that we are basically stranded at the station.

Fortunately, my colleagues have an office just across the street and we are able to borrow a vehicle from them.

After that, the rest of the visit felt like an overlong epilogue, with a lot of work being done at a Salvation Army hospital. Very sick people were seen lying about. Not the best part of the job.

I am now back in Port-au-Prince and ready to leave for DC tomorrow.

A la prochaine.

Zanzibar (suite et fin)

2006-11-21T13:36:00.000-05:00

Internet access in Z’bar being at best sporadic, I have to update you about the trip from the comfort of a borrowed office in DC.

As the last post presaged, the week in Zanzibar turned out to be an awesome experience all the way through -- well save from a bout with a stomach parasite that I hope I have not unleashed, Alien-style, on the Western world.

Most of my time at the hotel was spent in meetings where I met colleagues from the US, Africa and India. The sessions took most of the day and allowed me to figure out in a bit more detail what the hell I am supposed to do in Haiti. Much to my disappointment, it seems to involve quite a bit of hard work and precious little general lounging about on desert beaches.

In the evenings, expeditions were made to Stone Town and its intriguing nightlife. One of the highlights was heading to the waterfront where dozens of street food stands are erected and locals grill anything from prawns to liver right in front of you. Cost of a full meal (meat, fries and some of the best naan-style bread I’ve ever had): $1.

When staying at the hotel, we could always walk on the beach and take a look at the activities of the fishermen and look at the ridiculously beautiful sunsets. Also, a good bit of Tusker beer was consumed.

On Friday, a few of us hit the local bars, starting with what I took to be a student hang-out, an old, worn-out joint devoid of fans or mosquito screens, but home to a busted pool table where I got creamed by the local champion who celebrated each victory by performing the splits. We went from there to an open-air disco a bit away from the center of town. There again, pool was the most popular activity as dancing, we were told, would not start until morning neared.

The following day, our only full free one of the stay, seven of us headed to the northernmost point of the

island and a beach called Kizim-Kossum (or something like it) from where we boarded boats taking us to swim with wild dolphins. This actually happened, although I was a bit miffed that none would let me ride them like this guy:

And that’s pretty much it. The next day I left for the long trek back to DC, getting the chance to snap some pretty lucky pictures of Mt. Kilimanjaro at sunset along the way. Thirty-eight hours later, I was back in Adams Morgan for a few days of work at HQ and the chance to go home for Thanksgiving. Next post: finding a place to live in Haiti.

Trippin'

2006-11-12T11:04:00.000-05:00

Greetings from the Indian Ocean!

I am writing this on the island of Zanzibar on the coast of Tanzania. This is actually the view as I compose this entry. It sort of beats the scenes of Port-au-Prince I captured on my way to the airport. Speaking of which, let me tell you about how I came to be sitting here.

My company always hosts its annual meeting for people involved in the AIDS Relief program in member countries. This year my colleagues and I have travelled from the four corners of the world to Zanzibar, a place I have always dreamed of visiting. But first I had to get there. Leaving my office in Port-au-Prince (see the pictures below) on Wednesday morning, I was driven to the airport for a flight to DC via Miami. I had the chance to spend the night in the capital and see some of you then (and hope to see more of you all when I swing back on Thanksgiving week).

Friday saw me go to Dulles and catch a flights to Amsterdam and Nairobi where I arrived in the evening, sadly too late to take any pictures of the city and its surroundings. So this shot of the hotel lawn at dawn will be the only picture of Kenya you will get to see on this blog (at least for now). It was taken on Saturday morning, just before leaving for, you guessed it, the airport. The final flight of the journey brought me to Zanzibar, but not before flying right by Mount Kilimanjaro, and I promise to take a picture of the view on the way back.

Zanzibar turned out to be all I was hoping for and more. The hotel, the Zanzibar Beach Resort, is quite nice and, as you saw, boasts some pretty beautiful views. But the real gem is the old city of Stone Town, pictures of which you will find below. A major center of trade between the Middle East, India and Africa, the population of the island is an exotic mix of ethncities and religions. You can see all of these influences in the narrow streets of Stone Town, a combination bazaar/souk/commercial center, where every doorway leads to a shop and every street smells of spices. You can see the pictures I took during my first foray there yesterday and you can rest assured that more will be forthcoming.

I think I'll leave it at that for now and wait for some more stories to develop before my next entry.

First Day

2006-11-03T10:25:00.000-05:00

Bonjou zanmi mwen!

(I think that means “Hello my friends” in Creole).

Well I am here safe and sound in Port-au-Prince, Haiti despite an exciting first day.

As I had been warned, the arrival at Toussaint-Louverture Airport is pretty chaotic and in the general mêlée that greets the new arrivals after the baggage claim, I wasn’t able to find the driver sent to pick me up. With nighfall fast approaching (the sky is dark by five thirty these days) I had to scramble to find a taxi to take me to my hotel, something I had been warned repeatedly against doing. Fortunately Edouard the cabby proved to be a trustworthy sort, although he probably should have introduced me to (or just mentioned) his very quiet friend sitting in the backseat right behind me before I had a chance to discover his presence while driving near one of the city’s most notorious crime zones.

Port-au-Prince on a rainy night is definitely not a very welcoming sight, what with the little man-made light coming from roadside burning piles of trash and headlights careening towards you on narrow decrepit roads illuminating a landscape of concrete blocks and steep dark barren hills. Even in the relatively posh neighborhood of Pétionville electric lights are barely able to make dents into the night, though they and your headlights do reflect on a great number of people walking and congregating on the sidewalks.

The Hotel Kinam (www.hotelkinam.com) is well hidden in the middle of the suburb, near the bustling Place St. Pierre. It is a converted old “gingerbread style” house/complex and it is a welcome haven at the end of this day. Improbably, I fall asleep watching Sealab on satellite TV.

Morning brings a much cheerier outlook, with the early sunshine sweeping through the hillsides. I can now make out the view outside my window and its vivid illustration of Haitian urban economics (shoutout to Will) with the hillcrest mansions dominating increasingly more modest dwellings below.

The Catholic Relief Services (CRS) driver arrives a bit below nine to take me to the office. Taking the back roads to the main artery of Delmas, I discover a world much more habitable than the one I saw the night before. Dark facades have turned to colorful store fronts. Judging by their wares I would guess that Haitian life revolves around hair care, cell phones and personal finances – a nation of high school girls. Most transactions, however, appear to take place on the sidewalk, with people peddling everything from perishables to paintings.

The CRS offices are located just outside of the chaotic Avenue Delmas, the main road linking Port-au-Prince to Pétionville. The small complex is completely encircled by high walls and manned gates. As at the Kinam, the first person I see upon entrance is wielding a shotgun, his clothing adorned by clusters of shells. Once inside the building I am shown to my office, a nice air-conditioned space on the second floor.

Due to the occurrence of two major holidays this week (All Saints and the Day of the Dead), most of the CRS staff is away. While I do get to shake a couple of hands, my morning is mostly occupied with getting set up in my new space. Soon enough, however, I get word that I am scheduled to meet my predecessor before lunch. Now the only thing I know about this man, a local, was that he learned of his dismissal only a short time ago and that said dismissal was less than voluntary. Of all the things I had a mind to dread on this first trip, meeting Dr. Gustave Jean-Michel was the most likely to actually live up to my fears.

As it turns out Gus (as he insisted I call him) is about as disgruntled as a Wheel of Fortune winner. He is happy to be spending more time with his family (they are headed to the beach the next day) and to resume his work in more general public health programs. That makes our main task of the morning (signing over the company bank account to my name) much less apprehensible, my mind completely at ease as we park on the sidewalk of the Unibank’s Turgeau branch.

The interior of the bank is rather unremarkable: industrial tiles on the floor, aging promotional posters on the walls three harried tellers behind a chest-high counter, the now-ubiquitous armed guard patrolling the space. The only unusual thing about the scene is the incredible number of people that had decided to take care of their banking needs at that very moment. Every square foot of the space was occupied by pairs of feet, each, it seemed, pointed at a different direction. Despite the outward chaos, things are surprisingly quiet inside and the apparent disorder of the tableau had rearranged itself into a system of waiting lines, so that Gus and I, having arrived at eleven-thirty are able to leave the place by two, an apparently quite respectable time for a financial transaction in Port-au-Prince.

Back in the office soon thereafter, I am driven home by four-thirty as most of the staff elects to leave before sundown. A bland hotel dinner is followed by some reading and bed, a quiet end to an eventful first twenty four hours in Haiti.