Another weekend discovery

Last weekend we once again successfully escaped Port-au-Prince to enjoy another new excursion – camping on Cocoye beach.

It’s hard to imagine that during our first two months here in June and July, we hardly knew what do to with ourselves on the weekends. Haiti seemed to be void of weekend options for foreigners. Our choices seemed limited to the hotel pools or the few beach resorts two hours north of the city. Now, of course, we realize it’s because we just didn’t know where to go. Haiti does a good job of hiding its treasures – but it will eventually reveal them to you once you’ve taken the time realize that it’s got a lot more to offer than just problems and despair. It is, after all, a mountainous island in the Caribbean.

Our latest adventure involved a relatively painless car journey to Petit Goave, about one hour west of the capital, which would then be followed by a 1 hour boat trip to the beach. We met our boat - a 15ft sturdy open dingy pushed by a wildly underpowered outboard engine – on a pebble landing spot. We loaded it up with equipment and bodies, and set out putt-putting along the coast past cliffs, over coral and finally arriving at a golden beach with a turquoise coloured sea that I thought only PhotoShop could create.

For the next 24 hours we were treated to four meals, accompanied by wine, beer, rum and whatever else emerged from the bottomless cooler that had been provided to us by our Haitian host (an enterprising restaurant owner who had travelled with us from Petit Goave). We met a wonderful group of people from all over Europe, Canada and the US. By now, it’s easy to label those that are “fresh off the plane” and the “veterans” that have been here for a while. It’s crazy to think that we are now considered to be part of this latter group, as if nine months had made us experts on this secretive and complex half-island.

By now, the conversation takes predictable turns. You surf through the usual topics – employer, nationality, and last country you worked in. Then you move to find common ground by complaining about the non-workings of Haitian law, society and politics. From there, one of you tries to sound thoughtful with an anecdote of a positive story that, if extrapolated, could one day bring the country to either prosperity (“fresh off the plane” people) or at least dignified poverty (“the veterans”). Numbers and emails are exchanged. A couple of cold beers appear while somebody offers up a bottle of sunscreen – two essential elements to battle the beaming midday sun.

I awoke that night to a friend asking me if we should be afraid of the local men making the strange noises. I immediately heard the sounds of a ra-ra band drifting over from the far side of the beach. I stumbled out of the tent into the cool sand and we walked a little ways towards a bonfire surrounded by a dozen men dancing to the sounds of bugles and drums. My friend was convinced it was vodou and unwilling to approach further. It just looked to me like a late night party. As we turned away and walked back to the tents, I couldn’t help being struck with what pathetic “veterans” we were, and how little we all still know (or are willing to find out?) about this country.

The next afternoon we piled onto the same boat. The motor whined as it pushed a load well beyond anything the manufacturer would have recommended. Sleepy from sun, food and drink, we barely talked as we slid past the shore, back to our air-conditioned cars and the city that awaited us before our evening curfews.