Thursday 5 April 2012

Haiti (March 21—March 28, 2012)


Haiti
March 21—March 28, 2012
Francois, Lole, and Elizabeth in the Dominican Republic

            San Miguel is a 47-foot Jeanneau Sun Odyssey. She is powered by a mainsail and genoa (48 and 68 m2 respectively) and has a Volvo 60 hp diesel. Two solar panels charge the five batteries except when hooked to shore power or when motoring. She has two heads, two aft cabins and two forward cabins, although one of the forward cabins is used for food storage. She holds 160 gallons of fresh water and is also equipped with a foot-powered seawater pump for the galley sink. A natural gas tank powers the stove, and there are two refrigerated compartments underneath the galley counter. Electronics include a global positioning system (GPS), an automated identification system (AIS)—this tracks the positions of other vessels equipped with the same device—, a VHF, a satellite phone for emergencies and a computer loaded with electronic charts.
            Sailing and doing everything you can yourself rather than paying others to do things for you is the best way to travel. To make the trip affordable and sustainable one must be frugal. In order to avoid running the motor to charge the batteries, we conserve electricity (most lights are LEDs) and don’t use the inverter to plug in our devices. We can wash dishes in about ½ gallon of seawater and ½ gallon of fresh water. Our meals are determined by what items will perish first.
Partially-homemade fishing lure we used with hand lines. No luck yet.
            We set sail March 15 and stopped at a three anchorages in the Dominican Republic along our first passage. We found a pristine coastline near Cabo Ojo and explored the beach and small caverns formed by rocks on the shoreline. During the offshore sailing we fished constantly but had no luck. Our fishing gear is rather rudimentary (one lure has a “lucky” plastic bag tied around it), and we use mainly heavy hand lines, although we do have one rod and reel. I can’t wait for some fresh Dorado to make sashimi and ceviche. Elizabeth makes excellent meals for us and is very resourceful with the limited provisions we carry.
            On March 21 we arrived at Ile la Vache, an island off the southern coast of Haiti. Upon entering the small bay anchorage, men in about five dug-out canoes hastened out to meet us and clung onto the side of the sailboat until we had made anchor. They were unpretentious, respectful, and wanted to make friends. They all spoke French and Creole, some spoke a little English, and none spoke Spanish. It was well that we could communicate since the Bibals are French. All of these men were looking for work, and we were able to provide a little for each of them (some brought us home-made dinner or fresh fruit and others acted as our guides through the island).
Ile la Vache
The lake in the center of the island
A typical canoe dug out of a mango tree and paddled with palm fronds

            Soon after I got off the boat I started out on a [*]walkabout to see the land and people. “Auel” and his friend, both about ten years old, came with me as I walked from the north side to the south side of the island. There are no cars on Ile la Vache, and small dirt footpaths wind throughout. There are a few “villages” with a concentration of homes, but many are interspersed among forest and farmland. Goats and cows are tied up to trees everywhere, where they can graze. Farming mainly consists of small plots of tilled land alongside forest. The majority of the land, however, isn’t used for anything. There is no electricity grid or plumbing system on the island, although well water is available to the public. Some buildings are powered by gasoline generators at times. There are about four hotels on the island, some large, some very small.
Footpath next to some tilled land
Two young men walked with me across the island.
Small fish and eels at the market
The bi-weekly market in the town of Madame Bernard
            The following day we walked for 1 ½ hours to the town of Madame Bernard, quite more developed than Caye Coq, where we were anchored. The only market on the island was held there Mondays and Thursdays. Vendors carried their goods to town on mules and set up on tables under small shade structures, or just on the ground.
One of the elementary schools on the island
            Sister Flora, originally from France, runs an orphanage and helps the school system on Ile la Vache. I visited the orphanage, where several foreign volunteers were working for periods of a few weeks. They take in local children who are abandoned or whose parents are incapable of caring for them. The volunteers told me about plans for a medical center on the island, which would be created that summer by Haitian doctors and dentists who had emigrated to the United States, and would be funded by an organization called the [†]Foundation for a Hope for Human Health in Haiti (FHHH).
The waiting room at the local hospital
The laboratory at the local hospital
            After meeting three Italian architectural students working and studying in the Capital, Port-Au-Prince, we walked west down the beach to the northwest corner of the island. There we met Ellie and his wife Hellene, two Haitians who had both moved to New York as kids. They had bought a large beachfront property in 2004 and had built a large house and an adjacent building with guest rooms. They planned to build additional apartments to rent out to visitors. It turned out that they were involved in the project to build the medical center funded by the FHHH and had recently housed 15 doctors, dentists, and volunteers in their guesthouse. Earlier they had conducted a kind of preliminary assessment of the medical needs of the islanders, and found that the most common ailments were skin or urinary infections, which could both could be prevented by improved hygiene. Thus education would be a primary goal for the organization.
The city of Les Cayes
            The Bibals and I visited Les Cayes, a city on the mainland a couple days later. The city of course had electricity, plumbing, cars, motorcycles, and a developed business district. My favorite part of the trip was visiting a kind of flea market, enclosed by walls and partially covered by a cement ceiling. This market was much more crowded (in terms of vendors) than the first one I visited. Men were grinding and pounding pork for what looked like sausage and raw meat was laid out upon tables and covered in flies. Small passageways wound through the dim place.
            The next few days I spent mainly with the local people. Smoy, a 21-year-old led me to a party at the fenced-in arena where cock fights were held. After the fights, a “discoteq” was held, using large speakers powered by gasoline generators. Women sat at small tables at near knee height and lit by candles selling drinks and snacks. It was an interesting experience although I couldn’t well communicate with anyone. All ages attended and there was a table in the corner where middle-aged men played dice, presumably gambling away their hard-earned money.
The next day I met Osney at the boat, and we paddled out to the fishing grounds outside Caye Coq. We accompanied a middle-aged man, Jean-Pierre who was spearing fish and baiting his traps (for lobster, crab and eel). He speared about ten 4-inch fish (those were the biggest ones we saw), and found an eel in one of his traps. I’m not sure what the fish and shellfish stocks are like on the rest of the island, but near the village they must be extremely over-exploited. The diving was however interesting and I saw many coral heads and extravagant sponges. There were also huge bushy gorgonian-like animals.
            After hearing much talk about the lack of work on the island, I realized that perhaps the very reason the place is paradise is because of the lack of development. Few buildings, no electricity, winding footpaths through the forest and countryside. But no doubt this lack of development that makes the place so special is mainly what causes the unemployment. There is little industry on the island except small-scale fishing and agriculture and the four hotels. Is it possible for such a great place to exist while keeping its people employed, healthy, and happy?
We set out for Jamaica on March 26.


[*] See “Walkabout” on One Hot Minute by The Red Hot Chili Peppers
[†] www.fhhh.org and http://www.facebook.com/HaitiHealthOrg

Fishing camp at Salinas, Dominican Republic








Despite the lack of electricity, almost everyone has a mobile phone and charges them on these communal 12V solar-powered devices.







The boats almost every mariner uses to get around in Haiti.




Monday 2 April 2012

Republica Dominicana (March 3—March 14, 2012)


República Dominicana
March 3—March 14, 2012

The Aeropuerto Internacional las Americas is near Boca Chica where I planned to meet the Bibals. Being out of contact with them for several days, I had not heard where they would be landing with the boat. We had agreed on meeting in Santo Domingo, where I flew in, but downtown Santo Domingo is actually around 20 miles away from the airport. I knew that the only private marinas in the area were near Boca Chica, so I checked into a hotel room there. The next day I learned that in fact Francois had been there to meet me at the airport, but we missed each other, and that the boat, San Miguel, was moored at Marina Zarpar a few miles away. I walked there, despite the hotel’s dire recommendation that I take a taxi.
The Bibals had been at the Carnival celebration in downtown Santo Domingo all day, and we met that night. They are friendly people with open minds. Lole, their daughter, is 10 and has a positive attitude despite being removed from all her friends in France.





Marina Zarpar is situated inside a protected bay. It was built by an American expatriate named Frank Virgintino, who has lived in the Dominican Republic for 26 years. The marina caters to other cruisers who have stopped in port for repairs or to see the country. There are also many boats owned by wealthy locals, which must come out of the water every summer for the hurricane season.
Some of the first people I met at the marina were five young men from Norway, who were sailing the world together in a 35-foot steel sailboat. The quarters were incredibly cramped, and they had no toilet onboard; that is, they used to have one but converted the head into a closet to house their musical instruments and circus props. For the last two years they sailed together from Greece through the Mediterranean, to Morocco, across the Atlantic, and immediately to the Dominican Republic, performing their circus act all the way. Sometimes they performed for free, as they would do at a school in Haiti later on.
One of these fellows, Manuel, and I set out on a trip to the North of the country a few days later. We rode the public bus, and in around 3 hours arrived in Sanchez, near the peninsula in the northeast corner of the country. This city was different from Boca Chica. We didn’t spot a single foreigner there and there were minimal “tourist venues”. Walking through the town we observed how the people lived. In some areas there was no plumbing or electricity, while in others there were both. Down near the beach, where many fishermen lived, houses were constructed from pieces of corrugated metal randomly nailed together. We entered on a small muddy foot path which wound down into a dense neighborhood near a dirty river. At first I was hesitant at entering such a neighborhood. Everyone of course stared at us, but after we offered an “hola” they smiled and treated us well. After seeing so many similar neighborhoods with friendly people I no longer have any qualms about safety. We took a beer and stopped to watch a small gathering around a cock fight. Apparenty it was just a practice run; the cocks’ talons were wrapped in fabric. After hitching a ride on “motoconchos,” motorcycle taxis, we arrived at a small hotel which cost us DR $500 (US $13) for a room.
Later we met a man named Amable, the pastor of a Methodist Church in town that also hosted a school. He explained that the school is not expensive to attend but children at other schools do not receive such a good education. They had a modest set of biology and chemistry equipment, and a set of computers that were out of service.
Our main goal in traveling North was to see “El Parque Nacional los Haitses,” a huge national park near Sanchez. We planned to hike around on our own, but everyone we spoke with told us the only way to enter the park was by boat from the North end through expensive tour services. When we asked about where we could enter on foot, everyone shook their head and just said “No.” Somewhat grudgingly we decided to explore the mountains behind Sanchez instead. Again, when we asked about trails and roads through the mountains, everyone just replied “No.” The next day we set out on foot up the main road through the mountains, despite everyone recommending that we take “la guagua,” a small bus. After a couple steep miles we found a small trail leading off the road near the crest of the first mountain and immediately veered off onto it.
At this point I realized that it often takes some work to discover what you want to find in a new place. I wanted to get away from the main tourist areas, where when you walk by all people see are dollar signs. And I realized that if you want to find something, you usually can if you look hard enough. 
The forest was dense, and after a while we ran into a farmer on a very small plot of untamed land on the hillside. After another half hour we saw a couple more. It appeared that they hauled their crop out through the trail on mules. The last tract we came to was larger, where farmers were growing yucca, yams, mangoes, bananas, coconuts, and other fruits. One man was alarmed that we had found our way back there, wondering if some tourist service had planned a tour through their land. We explained that we had only wanted to see their work, and he became friendly. He offered to lead us out through a different route that led back to the main road. Along the way he explained that many believed the Dominican government was one of the most corrupt in the Americas. It did nothing to help the poor.
Back on the main road we took the bus to Las Terrenas, a more developed town on the North coast of the peninsula. The white-sand beaches were striking. A surprising number of Haitians lived here and a number of people were speaking French. We stayed the night there and took the bus back to Boca Chica the next day.
            Manuel, Igor, and Jacob from Momo had been invited to lunch at the house of Shimen, a local woman who sold fruits from a cart. She lived on the outskirts of town in one of those houses with scraps of corrugated metal nailed to the side, which also served as the community church. She was extremely nice, and made us a fine lunch of rice, beans, a bit of chicken, and a fresh mango drink. One of these plates was served on a Frisbee (how resourceful). I noticed there were big nail holes covering the entire roof, and she explained how water got in during the rains, even into their beds. I wish I could have gone back with some epoxy to fill them in. Her daughter, granddaughter, and a few other kids from the area stayed with us while we sat and ate in the church.
            After spending time with other sailors and marina staff Elizabeth, Francois, Lole, and I set off to sail West down the coast of the Dominican Republic towards Haiti.