Mountains Beyond Mountains...

On this vacation I:

Had my head scrubbed for 15 minutes+ in Port-au-Prince and that was just for the shampoo then had it massaged for the same time with conditioner and softly rinsed with cold water. I forgot what that felt like and knew if I died in that chair, I would die completely fulfilled. Then I had all my hair whacked off and felt even better.

Walked in the mountains of Haiti upwards into 7,000ft until my fluid-soaked lungs couldn't take it anymore and until we were stopped by a torrential downpour at the summit of one of the mountains. After taking shelter in a small cabin in 'Tipocane' (literally, little sugar cane skin town) we dumped our packs in the sacs of pack horses and continued up the slippery slope. I soon relented to my bronchitis and mounted a horse. It was quite thrilling until I soon realized about after 45 minutes that I was in fact riding a wooden saddle, not fashioned at all for the horses curving back nor for my curving straddle; Jessie, you were on my mind the entire time! After ever curve in the trail I prayed Winne's House, where we were lodging, would appear. But, I soon realized that Haitians are apt at saying "almost there" which in reality means, about 30-40 more minutes. And, after they tell you 30-40 more minutes, almost there does NOT mean almost there. So, our guides led us on into the dusk and through the forest with flash lights until we finally saw the dim haze of electricity at Winne's Place. It was a warm glow of comfort. No hot water, but plenty of blankets and hot tea.

I saw the beach from 7,000 feet.

I took a death defying moto down the mountain (refusing to hike down) to the beach on paths that looked like rock slides. How the driver did it with two people on the back of his bike along with our packs, I will never know.

Took a tap tap into Jacmel and another moto up another mountain slope to our cabana overlooking the ocean at Jacmel. Slept in a tent on said mountainside, showered from a dripping pipe outside but could flush the toilet and charge my phone; priorities abound in Haiti.

Another hike to fabled Bassin Bleu, no, the cool water did not appease my lungs but the bassins were glorious and although it had just rained and made the rocks a little slippery, I succeeded in reviving my bouldering and Goshen skills by jumping from at least the second ledge; thank you Jason Specht.

By that time, I needed to define this as indeed a 'vacation' and not a sponsored trip by Patagonia; which unfortunately, it was not. Half of the group went on and half stayed and we rented a room on the beach, we could walk to on FLAT land and had breakfast on the water and stayed there through the afternoon. Voila, vacation.

We finally got to see the charming areas of Jacmel and Hotel Florita became an immediate favorite. Most likely because it was dripping with local artwork, is one of the only remaining structures (although slightly altered by the earthquake) since Jacmel's heyday and was constructed in 1888. Beautiful rooms and hidden alcoves and period furniture. We got stuck in the bar, which continuously played Billie Holiday, it was exactly where your mind goes when you hear her music, to this place, and there we were.

We went back the following day for lunch and to witness the Voodoo parades for Gede, the family of spirits that  embody death and fertility. Toussaints holiday, November 1st and 2nd, corresponds with Fete Ghede in Haiti. We had lunch, I bought two amazing paintings (Jacmel is known as a coffee and artisan town) and we took another moto to the bus station, bargained for the price of putting my canvases on the van (Haitians will do anything for a little extra dough, especially from a blan) and crammed 4 to a 3 person bench seat and set out for Port-au-Prince. The mountain roads are similar to what I grew up on in Hot Springs but last a lot longer and your driver is a bat out of hell who murders his brakes in the first ten minutes, flies around turns as if he is a Formula 1 driver until he slams on his brakes if a huge dump truck is also flying down the road that is equivalent to a one-lane highway in the states. Suffice it to say, we were feeling quite ill by the time we finally came into Port-au-Prince and drove through parts I had not been privy to before, the 'bad parts' as some like to call them. Everything was coated in a fine soot from the charcoal continuously burnt for cooking; people, clothes, tents, food. The food for the markets was on the dirt beside the road where diesel fumes and gravel could easy have access to it. Heaps of garbage where smoldering while pigs and dogs filtered through the remains. This is where Dante had come in his mind's eye. However, every adult had a cell phone, no one was crying or writhing in agony and live seemed to be going about as usual as we shot through the streets.

I slept in a 5-star hotel in Port-au-Prince. First hot shower of the week, first real bed, first TV in two months, first opportunity to exercise 5-star service in Haiti and first continental breakfast including bacon, pancakes, and french toast; it had to be done. 

I don't think I was ever more excited to see our school's driver Anderson than when he picked us up at the airport (his standard meeting place) in Port-au-Prince. It felt so different to be in a private car, just for us, with a driver we knew. Once at school I bleached everything and immediately emptied my pack of wet and completely soiled clothes and towels from my week in the mountains and at the beach. 

I'm not sure what happened on this "vacation", but nothing is easy in Haiti and everything is bumpy.  

The hike to Seguin (check out www.foundationseguin.org to see what they're doing on the mountain):