Sans-Souci Palace, Haiti.
One unassuming day in mid-December, Roger – who I met on a trek through Central America in November, 2012 – messaged me with an exciting idea. He would be traveling for work with a medical group to Haiti in February 2013 and considered extending his trip to accommodate an impromptu vacation. Honestly, I believed such random circumstance aligning in my favor came down to a simple question of “Who is available?” Timing is everything, and I am fortunate that Roger and I crossed paths when we did, just a month before. This would be a week long endeavor, and he hoped his best friend Drew and I would be up for the challenge.
The plan would be to fly into Port Au Prince, make our way through Haiti in whichever direction we choose, at some point cross over to Dominican Republic, and eventually fly home out of Santo Domingo. I had only been home from Central America for a week, so the cost of this trip was a (minor) concern. Nonstop flights in and out of Haiti and DR were around $550 RT – I could handle that. We would not be booking any hotels in advance, but I reassured myself that, split between three people, it would be easily affordable no matter what hotels we choose. So, just like that, two flights were booked, one was extended, and the preparation began.
Haiti is the poorest nation in the Western Hemisphere. The roads are bad and public transportation is slow. 95% of the population speak Haitian Creole and/or French. The more we read about the two countries, the more we realized that safety would have to be the center of our focus when choosing methods of transportation, hotel locations, and which cities to explore. Family and friends dismissed the trip as absurd, asking “Why Haiti?!”, to which I optimistically replied “Why not!?” Obstacles added an extra layer of complication that I am not used to, but I refused to let that scare me away from seeing and experiencing the drastically divided Caribbean island of Hispaniola.
We established a rough itinerary taking us from Port Au Prince to Cap-Haitien, the second-largest city in Haiti on the north end of the island. From there we would take a bus to the Dominican Republic border and make our way over to Puerto Plata, near Cabarete. From here we would plan as we go. We could stay in Puerto Plata an extra day or two, or travel south to Santiago and/or Jarabacoa.. saving Santo Domingo for last, just before flying home.
Day 1:
Port Au Prince was exactly how I pictured it to be; a whirlwind of bodies quickly pushing their way through crowded sidewalks and across traffic jammed streets amidst a desperate attempt at holding together the few threads that are left of their unraveled city. Efforts to rebuild after the 2010 earthquake had clearly been interrupted as most buildings remained in ruins, yet the people who live in the midst of it all walk the streets each day, nicely dressed, with their heads held high and a subtle smile upon their faces. This fundamental sense of pride flowing freely throughout the people of a shaken nation is what ultimately made me fall in love with the country.
Drew and I joined Roger and his colleagues for dinner on the first night at a local restaurant, chosen by one of the locals who works as a translator for the group. I ordered chicken fried rice and a rum drink while a few bands played, one of which the translator was the drummer for. The best musical group was a local Haitian woman who sang an Adele cover (.. and sang it better than Adele), as well as a few other songs. We ate, drank, and danced until 2am before being escorted back to our hotel by a few of the other locals who were also affiliated with the group. Our hotel room was huge, unlike where Roger had been staying, and had ice cold a/c, cable tv (which I accidentally messed up the programming for), and a large shower with hot water. So far, our Haiti experience had been like no other.
Day 2:
We arranged transportation the night before, again with a few locals through Roger’s colleagues, and left the hotel very early to catch a flight from PAP to Cap-Haitien. Travelling north by car or bus was out of the question for various reasons (bad roads, long travel time, major safety concerns), so we prebooked our flights ($100 per person) the night before we left the U.S. The flight was about 25 minutes long on a small, twelve-seat plane that flew directly over Citadelle Laferrière or, Citadelle Henry Christophe – our next destination. We checked in to Mont Joli hotel and arranged for a private driver for the day who would pick us up at the hotel and take us wherever we wanted to go, as well as wait in the car while we climbed the mountain to explored the fortress. While we waited for the driver to arrive, we ate a delicious Haitian omelet from the hotel kitchen.
On the way to the Citadelle, our driver picked up a man named Patrick to accompany us as a tour guide – an added expense we didn’t request, but later appreciated. Our next stop, a bizarre and entirely unexpected roadblock. A rope, pulled tightly across the road forced us to stop. Several men and children dressed in bizarre costumes with masks and black painted skin moved about our vehicle, demanding money for their toll. Our driver refused to pay, laughing off the incident as a visually intimidating, but harmless group of eccentric locals possessed by the spirit of a fast-approaching carnival. Needless to say, we would have been terrified without our driver as the middleman.
After such an eventful day, we decided to keep the momentum going by exploring the city streets around our hotel on foot. We walked to a small grocery/liquor store, then had dinner at a nearby restaurant (where I ate the best cheese pizza I’ve ever had). Crowds started to gather as we walked back, so we followed them to see what was going on. By this time it was dark outside, so we tried to keep a good balance of caution and curiosity. A parade came around the corner and down the street in front of us, so we followed it, marching in the street behind about 50 people singing, dancing, and playing music. We quickly became part of the parade as locals watching from the streets pointed and giggled at the Americans in a Haitian parade. We followed them for a few more blocks, then turned back to the hotel when they all went down a street with very little light. Our experiences in Haiti had once again been unforgettable.
Day 3:
After a Haitian omelet for breakfast, we walk our things to Caribe Tours, where we will board a bus headed for Dominican Republic. When we arrive, we are told that the only bus of the day has already left and we would have to try again tomorrow. We walk back to the hotel where we see Patrick and explain to him what had just happened. Patrick says there is another way to get to the border, but he would have to travel with us. We agree to let him handle the arrangements, and minutes later we are greeted by guys on two motorcycles who are going to take us, 3 people per motorcycle, backpack and all, to a small bus (without a/c) where we would ride with locals to a stop close to the DR border, but far enough that we had to take a final motorcycle ride, this time right up to the Haiti / DR line. This particular day happened to be market day, which means the border is open for anyone to cross, but only so far. With our American passports, we walked right across without standing in any lines or paying any money, along with Patrick, who escorted us to our final bus of the day, bound for Puerto Plata. This is where we said our final goodbyes to Patrick, and to Haiti – the unexpected jewel of the Caribbean.
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