Jacmel, Day 3 (Sink or Swim)

We were up bright and early Saturday morning, ready and rearing to get on the road (and away from our hotel rooms/cell blocks). Much to my dismay, there would be no breakfast buffet waiting for us at the Jacleff Plaza--but I made due with a ham omelet, watermelon, and fresh-squeezed juice. "The Jacmelien" (Alex) picked us up and we headed towards our next destination/adventure: "Basin Bleu" (Blue Basin)--where there was apparently a gorgeous waterfall that you could hike to. Before beginning the climb through the winding mountain back roads, we needed to cross this river. Apparently, SUVs can be used for more than carting kids around or looking trendy.

After crossing The Ganges, we drove for about 40 minutes on some very bumpy dirt-road switchbacks. I was captivated by the lively characters I saw--children (half-naked) who could draw you in with just one stare, old women in flowered dresses (half-open) trekking up the hill like they had done a thousand times before-- who made their home in this secluded little area of the world. I also couldn't help wonder who had previously checked our tires, engine, and oil. I don't think the concept of road-side assistance has made it to Jacmel's back-country.

Where the road ended, we got out and were greeted by dozens of boys and young men who worked as "tour guides." Now I'll admit, I was a little amused by this. Very creative, but who needs a "guide" to walk down to a little waterfall? But since they insisted on coming anyways, I couldn't protest.

I imagined I was a character from some adventure movie, deep in the jungles of a mysterious land, placing my trust in the natives for my very survival.

Little did I know, that is exactly how I would feel a little further down the road.

We hiked down the trail a little ways until we came to our first river crossing.

Not so bad really. I was glad to have our guides with us to offer a steady hand as we climbed over the slippery rocks. These boys, equipped with hardly any foot gear at all, seemed more like creatures in their native habitat, virtual mountain goats---able to balance, maneuver, and climb with blatant ease.

It amazed me how the water could stay such a piercing shade or blue, while simultaneously being shared by a few other guests.

Including the local washers.

A few more minutes down the trail, that same piercing blue water would become an even more intense shade of blue-- a color like I have never before seen in nature.

It was then on to another river crossing--this time one could not easily avoid getting their feet wet.
I had to have two guides help me, each one taking a hand, as I tried to balance on the slippery rocks and not go sliding down the river. Then, after climbing up some steep steps, we encountered a little traffic jam of sorts. Balancing on this narrow ledge above the basin, I saw Melanie, Sany, and the kids turn around. Apparently, the activity was no longer "kid-friendly."

I carefully made my my way across the ledge to see what all the talk was about. I finally got to the front of the line where I observed a drop off, an all-to-eager-to-take-me-by-the-hand tour guide, and a dangling rope which people were using to scale down the rocks and subsequently cross another set of rapids to reach the promised waterfall.

I had come this far, but was honestly not prepared to do the next part. For starters, you had to go barefoot in order to maneuver on the wet rocks. I had my nice, new running shoes and socks on. Second, my black shoulder bag, with all my important loot inside (including more money than I care to acknowledge, camera, ipod, etc.), would not survive the trek or allow me to balance like I needed to. Third, this activity required that you get wet. Very wet. I had no swimming suit--just my regular clothes.

My biggest dilemma: If I did ditch the shoes and bag, I couldn't be guaranteed that I would get them back--in tact and untouched by the numerous native-boy-tour guides. So what would you do??

Well, I decided to play it safe. I carefully balanced myself on the side of a rock and allowed just enough room for the remaining line-up of adventuresome people to scale down the rocks. I was stuck there on the one-way ledge for a good 20 minutes watching the action.

Until I couldn't take it anymore. To heck with practicality or safety. I took my shoes and socks off, reluctantly handed my bag over to the guide, and scooted down the rock (once again, two guides helping me balance-- they were actually really good).

I felt like an animal--toes curled, fingers wrapped around tiny cracks and crevices, and body pressed up against slick natural surfaces. The ripe smell of young, sweaty boys penetrated the air, adding a strangely "authentic" touch to the experience.

After rounding the bend, I heard the rushing of the falls and the playful cries of people splashing in the water. But I couldn't see the action until my guides helped me climb and perch upon a little overhang on the rock. And Voila. A sight to behold! (That's "The Jacmelien" below--comfortable in his native habitat, becoming "one" with the waterfall--arms wide open).

The most gorgeous, natural beauty. All I wanted to do was jump in and join all the native pleasure-seekers who who seemed so care-free, diving from rock to rock.

I stood frozen (clutching my black shoulder bag that I hastily retrieved from the guide), snapped these shots, and tried to not slip and fall down the side of the ledge. Too tired to balance anymore, I asked for help down. I stood and watched more people playing, wishing I could join them. Finally, "The Jacmelien" swam over, and asked me why I wasn't. I explained I had no swimming suit, no change of clothes, and a bag with lots of valuables that I didn't want out of my sight. He essentially told me that wet clothes dry out and your bag will be fine. (Hey, if your foot's in the water, you might as well swim right?)

At that, I handed over the reigns, and jumped in fully clothed. The water was cool and refreshing. I can't remember the last time I felt so uninhibited. (Come to think of it, I can't remember the last time I went swimming). "The Jacmelien" guided me over the waterfall where I enjoyed crawling in and out of the small under-water caves, getting massaged by the pressure of the fall's spray, and cannon-balling off the rocks like an idiot.

I had no shame. I saw the amused stares of the native crowd as I plummeted from the rocks, wet clothes plastered to my body--and stared back at them, equally amused. I didn't want to leave, but knew it was time. I was a little concerned at how I was going to get out of there--after all, scaling down the rocks is something very different than climbing back up them.

That's when the natives suggested I scoot down the mini-falls and swim across the blue basin, to make it back to home base.

So that's what I did. And here I am emerging from the water.

And trying to dry myself out on the rocks. Behind me, a local group of young men/boys (probably out-of-school youth--the kind our project targets!!) were thoroughly enjoying wasting the day away--drinking booze and playing cards without a care in the world.

They quickly nick-named me "BLAN" (all in good humor, I hope). "Blan" is Creole for "white."

Yep. Most definitely "Blan." (That's Ketty beside me)

Oh, and in case you're wondering, the bag, shoes, and socks all came back---fully in tact (by some miracle). We hiked back up to our car, paid our "tour-guides" (I was no longer laughing at them--I was profusely thanking them), and headed back into Jacmel. After a wet, tiring morning, there was no better place to go to dry off than The Beach.

We went back to our same destination and ordered food from the same hut (with the slow service). Today, the food came out in under an hour. Record-breaking.

On the "menu du jour," my new favorite sea-food delicacy-- "le lambi." I keep trying to figure out what this translates to in English. It is almost squid-like in nature with its rubbery texture, but much tastier. All I can tell you is that it comes from sea shells like the one shown below. Anyone got a translation?

The afternoon slipped away as I sat out in the ocean and let salty waves crash down on top of me, tossing me whichever way they wished. I felt like I was playing in a big, warm, bathtub.

No one wanted to prematurely leave this little oasis and head back to the uninviting Jacleff Plaza. So we decided to stay until the sun had completely vanished and until we had nowhere else to go. The warm winds picked up, adding to the surreal atmosphere in the air.

I took off for a walk down the shore, letting the tide have at me--completely welcoming every time it encompassed my legs. After all, if there's one thing I learned today, it's that it is okay to get wet. It's okay to jump in the water and let it consume you once in a while. It's okay to leave your valuables (and your inhibitions) behind. Going half-way just doesn't cut it sometimes!

I watched as the sky quickly turned into shades of pink and purple. I also found the perfect hut. Combining all the essential elements into one--thatched roof, obnoxiously bright color, low-maintenance yard, right on the water, and complete with hammocks (I laughed out loud as I saw a couple eat it hard-- their hammock breaking loose from the tree).

The sun slipped away quicker than I wanted it to. Around every bend, I hoped the light would remain at a stand-still so I could soak it all up a little longer.

But alas, every good thing must eventually come to and end.

If there ever was a little bit of paradise on earth, I think I found it. In all its rugged, rural, and native authenticity....this place seeped its way in and completely captured me. Around every bend that I walked and with every new color I caught refelcted in the water, things just seemed a little clearer and a lot less complicated.

"VIOLATED"--a mini narrative about a mini moment in my day

Violated. That pretty much sums up how I feel right now. That, and completely grossed out.

This morning I woke up, got dressed, and as I was ready to go down and get breakfast, I saw something strange out of the corner of my eye. In the corner by my desk, nestled against my suitcase, was a gigantic black spider. Or was it?

Measuring about 5 inches in diameter with legs the size of my fingers, whatever this critter was, it was ugly. It was just big enough and grotesque enough to be a fake---a practical joke of some sort. But it was almost too real looking (even from a few feet away) to have been part of a four-year old girl’s collection of toys that she brought with her from the States. Half of me was 100% sure it was a joke, while the other half was definitely sure that I wasn’t so sure at all. I stood frozen in my tracks for a few minutes, waiting to see if it moved. Nothing. I flipped the light switch, nothing. I contemplated getting my camera---but feared that flash might make the plastic creature come to life.

At that point, I figured I would knock on Melanie and Sany’s bedroom door and confront them about their funny, practical joke. By the looks on their faces, I quickly realized there would be no laugh-out-loud moment. Between Sany’s dart for the nearest broom, and Melanie’s panicked remarks to keep the kids away, I stood still and felt my stomach churn.

I was all ears outside the door, as Sany yelled out that that the creature was GONE. That was possibly the worst thing I could have heard at that point. Gone where? Crawled inside my suitcase? Climbed up on my bed and under my sheets? I yelled at him to find it anyways. Before Sany could emerge with the dead body, I found myself running down the stairs to avoid having to see the warped, deranged carcass that had been cohabitating with me for who knows how long.

Now I’d have no problem if I saw the beast outside in the woods, hiding in the trees, or nestled in the grass. But in my clean, organized little room? My sanctuary, if you will? Where I eat, sleep, and work late into the night? I don’t like feeling that I’m not really alone. And I especially don’t like thinking about the multiple partners it must have had, how it procreated, and laid its many eggs in the small corners and shadows of my room. I have goosebumps just thinking of it.

But perhaps most of all, I ask myself why was I so scared of it? I had always thought I was pretty brave, until I found myself shrieking like a little girl this morning. But have you ever heard the saying you need to be scared to be brave? (That makes me feel better).

Had I not looked down at that moment, I might have never seen it. How many grotesque little villains might we happen to miss every day cause we’re not looking? If you’re waiting, at this point, for some brilliant take-home message, there really is none. Aside from this. I read somewhere (probably the latest Ensign) that there are fake spiders and there are real spiders in our lives. Sometimes we’re scared (for no reason) of the fake ones, and it causes us to live in fear. Other times the spiders are real (VERY REAL), but we might not call out for the help that we need.

Today, it was real. I called out for help. I got it. And boy am I glad I did. But I think I will still live in fear, at least for a little while--until the upcoming hatching season is over.

Jacmel, Day 2 (All Work And No Play?)

Come Friday morning, I didn't want to leave my new little paradise with the magnificent view. But it was time to move on. We hit the road to hunt for what would be our lodging for the next two nights. Can you tell I have a total fascination with public transport in this country?

We drove a few miles down the road, past scenic landscapes of lush foliage

until we arrived at....."The Jaclef Plaza Hotel." Do not be fooled by the somewhat impressive name or outside facade.

We joked that the rooms felt more like prison....stuffy, dark, completely non-functional, cramped, and with no air circulation or ventilation. But at least I could appreciate the decor.

And believe you me, this picture does not do it justice. I grabbed my pen and paper to jot down style notes--(interior design is my hobby after all). But don't get me wrong, I was grateful to have a place to rest my head. But who comes to Jacmel to stay inside??? It was time to head for the water.

En route, you could find large crowds of colorful folk, dressed in bright clothing, dancing, singing, playing musical instraments, and generally engaging in a moving street party.

This was only one of many "RaRa's" we would witness that weekend. RaRa--named after the cheer (think of people cheering, "ra! ra!"). After Carnival in February, people just can't accept that the fun and games are really over for another year. So every consecutive weekend afterwards (ending this Sunday), people congregate into different clubs and essentially form moving processions of merriment--that carry on for miles, into the wee hours of the morning. What a concept. The men with the rainbow swirly skirts were a hit.

Is that a Confederate flag I see flying? You could spot flags of nearly every genre--pirate flags, peace flags, gay-rights flags,--it didn't really matter as long as it was something pretty to waive around.

But it was not our intention to join the local RaRa movement. It was time to sink our toes into the sand, soak up the sun's rays, and swim in ocean waters warmer than I have ever known. "Temoyage" was its name, and I have yet to find a beach that compares (Mozambique, the only exception).

Proving that white really is the new black--the camera has caught me combing the sands in search for the perfect spot to absorb the sun's most direct rays (the goal being to promote the quickest, most efficient tanning).

But the fun and games were just beginning. It was time to get a lesson from the locals in efficient coconut-handling practices. "The Jacmelien" (Alex) loaded our trunk full of coconuts from his house and brought them to the beach with us. Completely amused by this new art form I was witnessing, I took careful note and studied under the master before attempting to take a crack at it myself.

I wasn't quite as skilled with the long, hatchet-knife device as I thought I would be.

My pathetic attempt was short-lived, quite messy, and generally unproductive. My technique could best be described as "stab, whack, and hope for the best."

But in the end, the prize was so sweet.

Below, Sany demonstrates what to do next. Sip and enjoy one of nature's best kept secrets.

I wish I could say I hacked this one to perfection, but I didn't. I can say that I enjoyed every last swallow. After binging on coconut milk, our local friend Ketty informed me that the stuff works as a natural laxative of sorts. I was grateful to acquire this information, after the fact.

While the kids played in the sand, I enjoyed people-watching. I'm killing myself for not buying a hat from this great, local character below. My practical side took over and convinced myself that I wouldn't get much use out of it in real life. But honestly, I don't see why I wouldn't.

So when another local crowd-pleaser stopped on by selling these one-of-a kind "Jacmel" T's, I jumped on the opportunity to add another T-shirt to my wardrobe. I know you're supposed to barder with these people, and I've had great success doing so in the past, but honestly, this lady was too convincing. Even though she spoke Creole and I didn't really get a word she was saying, I still felt guilty for trying to lower the price. I paid in full, (probably five times what I should have) and considered it my contribution to the country's fragile economy (at least telling myself that made me feel better for being a total push-over and a full-fledged sucker).

Meanwhile, back at camp, the restaurant/bar/hut below was busily preparing our freshly-caught sea food. Or at least we thought it was.

We placed our order at 1:30pm and got our food 4:30pm. That officially tops my list for slowest service ever experienced. Three hours? Maybe that included going out to catch the lobster itself.

I think I remember why I never order lobster when I go out to eat. You have to really work for your food. All the banging, cracking, and trying to tear away at the hard outter shell is far too time consuming and labor intensive for someone who just wants to shovel it in.

Meanwhile, down the street, another RaRa brigade was quickly approaching.

They then turned off the road and started coming closer to our little beach-side picnic table.

They came closer and closer--banging on drums and blowing on exotic, hand-made instruments.

At first I thought it was really cool that they liked us so much. But then when they lingered and began dancing a little too close to my personal sphere of comfort, the coolness wore off a bit. Namely, they had their eyes on this chair -- upon which rested my big, black, money-filled bag. So I decided I had better make another contribution to the struggling economy--and fast. That, and this group kind of scared me--I felt a little outnumbered by the men in rainbow skirts.

So I decided it was time to take off and do a little exploring. "The Jacmelien" took us on a guided walk up and down the shoreline.

What can I say. I was in my element.

Small houses and bungalows dotted the pathway. And I've decided that this is definatley real-estate I will purchase some day.

This one was nice, but a little too high maintenance for my liking. I think I'm more of a hut person.

Especially the kind with no front door. That way, you could always look out at the view and have people come and go as they please.

Some more of my favorites. This one was just missing out on a few windchimes, plastic gnomes, and pink flamingos in the yard.

But my pick of the day was this little piece of architectural beauty. I could see myself calling it home one day.

Since by this time the tide was pretty far in, we decided to head back to base camp via the road. We followed it back to our car just as the sun was going down. I stared jealously at local passerbyers who called this place their home.

Isn't if funny how a whole day can so easily slip away when all you've really done is stare out at and flirt with a big pool of salty sea-water? But really, I think we all need a little more time to breathe, play, and be consumed by warm ocean waves instead of the hustle-and-bustle of everyday life. It's good, once in a while, to just to feel like a kid again.