Adventures on Beannacht

I just found an opportunity to get this up today, part one of a multi-part tale. Our introduction to Haiti…

Fishermen returning with their catch to Cap Haitien

Monday 20^th April

We arrived in Cap Haitien at dawn on Saturday 19^th April to an armada of fishing boats tending nets and trolling lines. Some travelling under sail and many by the oars of fishermen who looked both strong and adept. Stowing our sails and preparing the boat for land, we arrived at the commercial docks at 8am to clear customs and work out what dockage was available to us in the marina, or if the marina was still there at all.

Cap Haitien from the sea

It wasn’t. And we had failed to account for the Haitian’s disregard for British summer time, it was 7am. We slept. Fatigued from the overnight passage, uneventful as it was. It’s takes more than 12 hours to get used to sleeping in 3 hour stints, neither of us were alert. Gary (my poor interpretation of his probably French name) took our lines and offered to be our boat boy, protector and provisioner all in one. He informed the harbour master that we had arrived and told us to wait for immigration to come to us.

Kel and I were both conflicted about coming to Haiti. We were lured here by Tom and Caroline’s stories of Jacmel, illuminated and coaxed further into the light by Hardy’s encouragement. By a Haitian taxi driver that fleeced Kel in West Palm as she journeyed from one to two to three camera repair stores attempting to fix her beloved Nikon. Haiti called to us through others, we didn’t really seek her out.

But we also knew of another Haiti. One whom government websites warned against all but essential travel. Whose flag was the red and blue of the French tricolour without the white, the white was overthrown, expelled in the slave revolt of 1804. The debate gained momentum. Should be travel there at all. Could we bring the boat, or was it safer left in the Dominican Republic while we travelled over land.

One of the flotilla of stunning sailboats criss-crossing through the bay

We sent out requests for information over the radio, but the nets were devoid of Haitian pilgrims. In the end we reminded ourselves that the trip was always about Haiti. And Belize, Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Columbia, even Venezuela. We didn’t set sail for the Bahamas or Antigua, beautiful as they are. We set sail to encounter the unknown worlds, the back arse of nowhere, the unvisited. And so we left Provo bound for Cap Haitien determined to be faithful to ourselves as travellers, as those prone to risk, embracing experience.

After three hours in Cap Haitien jumping through the hoops of immigration and customs, without any difficulty, we made our way to Labadie, a village five miles west of Cap Haitien was our first introduction to the real Haiti. We went ashore to shed light on the coil of ropes in the corners of our minds working their way into snakes. Landing on the beach outside Norm’s hotel we stumbled into a world of helpful interesting people who have gone out of their way to expose us to the reality of Labadie. Judy, an American who has pioneered a medical training programme in the hospital in Cap Haitien greeted us on shore and offered immediately to walk us through the village. My ignorance and naivety failed to foresee the necessity of her presence with us. Haiti is an extremely poor country, the poorest in the western world, and our arrival to this small village, in our opulent sailboat, required a contextualisation that we could not achieve unaided.

We walked through the village with Judy and listened to her explain the history of the area. We met her friends, and were immersed in hospitality and curiosity as we walked through the narrow alleys. Labadie was a high-achieving Haitian village by virtue of the corrugated tin roofs, the poorest villages use palm branches. We met her friends, wonderful generous people who shared their food with us and helped us exchange money at the local rate, rather than the tourist tax.

Beannacht at anchor in Labadie

Haitian are notorious for their scamming capacities, especially with the tourists. It’s almost not something to be offended by, they’re just extremely poor, and I am extremely rich. Relatively speaking. So as we walked around the village, and as we’ve been on the boat at anchor, it’s been difficult not to feel like we’re just walking dollar bills to the locals. Just heading to the money exchange I got scammed by a Joseph. What was more humorous was the off-licence who tried to charge me 50 goo for a beer bottle that I had failed to return when the beer only cost me 35 goo in the first place.

To be continued…