1/16/17,
“Capitals Old and New”
Port-au-Prince,
Haiti
As the sun
sets over the capital of Haiti, I finally have a chance to relax and recount
the events of the day that brought me from Haiti’s old capital to its new one. It has been an incredibly exhausting and epic
day, and, in the end, I accomplished my mission. When I set out to see the world five years
ago, I don’t think I ever reasonably expected to visit Haiti. The World Heritage Site I visited this
morning always seemed an impossible place to visit, and, when I began my
mission, Haiti’s legislative assembly building had just been destroyed by an
earthquake, and they had not yet begun building a new one. I suppose, then, it is fitting that my
mission comes to an end here.
There are
13 independent countries in the West Indies, and, when I set out to see the world five
years ago, I had been to exactly zero of them.
I have now been to all 13, and, not only that, but I have also been to
every legislative assembly building and World Heritage Site in those 13
countries. My mission has been
accomplished. From Bahamas to Trinidad
and Tobago, I did it, all 13 of them.
I
had a similar feeling of exaltation two years ago in San Jose, Costa Rica, when
I made a similar statement about Central America. While Central America has fewer countries and
fewer World Heritage Sites than the West Indies, due to the small size of most
these islands, it was not as hard fought as “Central America Complete”
was.
Only the Greater Antilles posed
challenges, Cuba most of all, but I said, “Cuba Complete”, and now I have said
“Hispaniola Complete”. I rattled off a
long list of Completes after I took my picture at Parliament, but I added in,
“Iceland, I’m coming for you.” Other
than the Iceland/Greenland trip, all that stands between me and “North America
Complete” can be found in United States and our two closest neighbors. I will say, “Mexico Complete” next month, and
I will say, “Canada Complete” in July.
The finish line is in sight.
After I closed last night, I lit up the LFD I had gotten in Santo Domingo
and relaxed for a bit. I then had some
dessert: cake, coffee, and ice cream.
After dessert, I went to the bar and lit an Ardor and published my
photos, followed by a Leon. I then went
to bed, but couldn’t fall asleep until the Steelers game had ended. They won and they promise to give the
Patriots a run for their money next week.
I woke up early and headed down for breakfast. I knew that it would be a complete race to
get the WHS and back and to the airport in time for my flight. Well, the breakfast spread left something to
be desired, namely protein. All they had
was fruit and various starches, including, oddly, pasta. I asked for meat and eggs, and they were able
to cook me up some ham and eggs. The
coffee was good, very good. After breakfast,
I took the taxi to the WHS.
Reader, at
this point I should mention that I had a decent amount of cash in my pocket,
American dollars, about 2 months of the per capita GDP of this country. It should have been enough to last me the rest
of trip and more. After an adventurous
drive through the most run-down parts of Cap-Haitien, we arrived at the
entrance to the WHS. There, I was told
how much I needed to pay, and it was in parts, the ticket, the guide, and the
horse. It was a large amount, but it
seemed reasonable enough. I was on a
tight schedule, so I wanted to do this as quickly as possible. In order to get to the top of the Citadel,
you had to take a motorcycle (riding on the back) to a horse, which would take
you up the mountain. It would be a total
of an hour in transit round trip (plus the hour and a half round trip from the
hotel to the WHS entrance), which would give me about half an hour at the
Citadel. That was plenty for my
purposes.
We went to the motorcycles
(since, it seemed, my taxi driver was coming up to the Citadel with me, in
addition to the guide). There were no
helmets or protective gear, and, did I mention it was raining? We had to go up a steep cobblestone path to
get to the horses. Reader, in my travels
I have done some danagerous things, including all of those crazy overnight
drives in Yugoslavia and the Dalton in Alaska, but this certainly had to be top
five. I was glad to be dressed in cargo
shorts and sandals for this adventure, and all of my pockets were snapped
shut.
We soon got to the horses, and now
we had to take three horses (me, my guide, and the taxi driver). I had a feeling I would be stuck with the
bill for all three horses. I was. I easily mounted the horse, and we went up
the mountain to the Citadel. There were
five people accompanying us, in addition to the three of us ahorse, and I knew
they would all want tips. The guide knew
exactly where the inscription photo was taken, but he said it looked different
now, since they had to rebuild the wall after the earthquake.
I lit up an H. Upmann, and we got to the
entrance to the Citadel. It was
locked. The guide said that the guy with
the key would be there in 25 minutes. I
didn’t have 25 minutes. He made a phone
call, and, somehow, the guy showed right up.
We walked around and went to the spot of the inscription photo, where I
took my ceremonial picture, and that was that.
I also bought a small keychain.
As were leaving the Citadel, the guide asked for the money for the four
horses, plus an additional fee for the two motorcycles round-trip. It was a small fortune, but it was not
included with the entrance or guide fees.
I’m sure if I had negotiated a price earlier, I could have gotten a
better deal, but, I had no choice other than to pay if I wanted to make it down
the mountain in any kind of reasonable time.
I was almost out of cash now, and I knew it would be a seriously problem
if I couldn’t find an ATM.
They brought
the horse next to a cannon, and had me stand on the wet, slippery cannon in
order to mount the horse. That was
stupid. Sure enough, I slid off the
cannon and fell on the ground. They were
apologetic and tried to help me on the horse again. I didn’t need help. The cannon was a hindrance, not a help. I also didn’t want them thinking I was the
gringo who didn’t know how to ride a horse.
Angrily, I waved them off and told them to bring the horse away from the
cannon. I then effortlessly mounted the
horse the proper way, using the stirrups.
We took the horse to the motorcycles, where I hand out a wad of small
banknotes for the five of them to share as tips, and then we took the motorcycle
to the parking lot. I bought a small
painted plate, and it was now 10:30 AM.
The flight was at 1 PM, and it would be very tight to get to the airport
by noon. We stopped at an ATM, and I got
what I thought would be enough for the rest of the day. At this point, I was completely nauseated,
whether from horse and motorcycle rides or the abrupt shift in weather from
cold and wet to hot and dry, I know not, but I was in agony. I changed into my suit at the hotel, and then
I had to pay the taxi driver his fee, which was beyond outrageous. Again, I should have negotiated a price at
the beginning. Lesson learned.
I changed into my suit, and we headed out
again, stopping at the souvenir shop that had the replicas (and flag
pins!). I wanted three replicas, but
they were completely overpriced, and there was no room for negotiation, nor did
they take cards. Haiti is very much a
cash-driven economy, as evinced by the abundance of banks and dearth of
ATMs. In fact, I was shocked to see as
we drove that there were so many small banks, along with auto part shops and
barbers. I wound up getting two statues
and a flag pin and, once more, I was almost out of cash again. I would have enough to get a taxi from the
airport to my hotel, but that was it. I
would need another ATM. The total
expenditures for the trip were reasonable enough, but my fear relates to being
locked out of the ATM once my bank starts questioning all of these ATM
withdrawals in Haiti.
The check-in
process and security at the airport was extremely quick, and I was in the
departures lounge with half an hour to spare.
I asked myself how I would have used that half an hour if I spent longer
at the Citadel, but I had no need for it.
The plane soon arrived, and it was a tiny propeller plane with only 7
rows.
When we boarded, I realized just
how small it was, a total of 21 seats, and they didn’t even have flight
attendants. The flight was over almost
as soon as it began, and, when I got to the arrivals hall, I was asked if I
needed a taxi. This time, I negotiated
the price first. It was a bit of a
challenge to find my hotel, and, when I got there, they couldn’t find my
(prepaid) reservation. I refused to give
them any money, and eventually they just checked me in.
I settled in and took a bit of nap before
heading out. I had my flag pin already,
and I figured the airport would be my best hope for souvenirs, so only one
thing mattered today: Parliament. One of
the agents at reception told me he could take me to Parliament, and we stopped
at an ATM on the way. As we drove, we
passed by the stands of vendors that I suppose are the Latin American
equivalent of a bazaar or shuq. I’ve
seen them before, but I never gave much thought to it. That is where people by clothes and food and
electronic supplies. It seems that
almost every developing country in the world has some version of it. What they did not have were souvenirs.
We got to Parliament, but it was gated
off. I was devasted. This was like El Salvador all over
again. Fortunately, a small bribe
allowed me to walk around the parking lot and take pictures of the back of the
building. It wasn’t the angle I wanted,
but I found a spot where I could get a properly-framed photo, and the driver
said we could come back tomorrow morning if I still wanted to see the front. I took my ceremonial picture, and I made my
pronouncements. “Haiti Complete. Hispaniola Complete. Greater Antilles Complete. North American Caribbean Complete. North American West Indies Complete.” I then added, “Iceland, I’m coming for you.”
I posted my collage of all 13 West Indies
national legislative assembly buildings as we drove back to the hotel, and then
I went straight for dinner, not having had lunch or, in fact, a single bite to
eat since 7 AM, which was 10 hours earlier.
I was also chasing daylight and wanted to get this establishing shot
before dusk.
It was a rushed meal, but I
had kibby (fried meatballs) for an appetizer and fried pork and plantains for
my main course, along with the local beer.
I got another beer to go and raced up to my room as twilight rapidly
faded. I then sat down outside and lit
up my 2012 Christmas Pipe. My driver from
earlier was with me, and he complimented the pipe. I told him it was handmade in Italy and that
it was a Christmas present from my mother, all true. I did not tell him that it was the same pipe
I smoked on New Year’s Day in Quebec and Antarctica and Taipei and at the
Sydney Airport or that it was the same pipe I smoked in Ephesus as I stared out
at the site of the Temple of Artemis in the distance, also all true. Either way, Port-au-Prince is a nice addition
to that list. (I should actually
properly list these datelines out for each Christmas Pipe so that I have that
at hand.)
I then paid him for his
services this afternoon, which, again, was more than I expected, but it was
worth it. He got me to Parliament. After he left, I proceeded to write this
entry, which I will now close so that I can publish and post my photos before I
collapse, though I suppose I do need to get some dessert and coffee at some
point. It is only 7 PM now, and tomorrow
will be a day for celebration as I make the Return Journey.
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