For the Longest Time. . . Part 2

Part 2:

As we arrived at the immigration and customs offices, and I do use the term loosely, we began to understand the gravity of our situation.  As we looked outside our window we saw several buildings and vehicles that were taking on water.  I presumed that the buildings were in fact the customs office.  It was obvious that in order to pass through the border I was going to have to take the passports through the water to the make-shift shelters that were set up.  

The passenger behind me graciously decided to “help” me through customs.  He took our passports, waded through the water to the Haitian Immigration office (I use that term extremely lightly, it was a table under a tarp giving shade to the workers).  Oh by the way, the "leaving the country tax" went from $20 to $30 with his “help” because after all, I needed him.  By now we didn't have much cash and we refused to pay the extra $10 for "help".  He insisted that he would help and so we were off.  He then proceeded to the Dominican immigration office (similar to Haitian immigration) and translated for me.  Once again, I paid the visa fee to enter the country and then took 2 of our 4 bags to the baggage check table.  The lady opened our suitcases, said “ropa” to the lady next to her and zipped it back up.  Upon completing this process, I did end up giving my new friend a $5 bill as a thank you for his help, which he took as a complete insult. He wanted $10 to which I replied that I didn't have $10.  We were rationing big time by now and I certainly wasn't going to give this guy my last $20 with who knows how much longer to go on the journey.  He was ungrateful but took the $5.  Mimi told me when I returned to the bus that he was complaining about what a cheapskate I was.  Oh well, he's right and I'd do it again under the same circumstances.

Bob & Dominican "Helper" at Customs Baggage Check

After about 20-30 more minutes of sitting on the bus waiting for our one mile trip through the lake to the promised land of the Dominican Republic, we were once again yanked off the bus and sent back to immigration.  Mimi and I had no idea what to expect.  The “Mommi” of the bus was yelling at immigration and insisting in Dominican indignation that we had already passed through and received our entrance visas, which we had.  It took 2 officers checking our documents a second and third time in order to release us once again.  We thought, “surely we’ll now be on our way.”  

Unfortunately, we waited an additional 30-40 minutes while there was extreme haggling going on regarding a lady (Dominican and Spanish speaking, but traveling with US passport) who had brought a television on the bus.  She was seated directly in front of Mimi on the bus.  They wanted her to pay the import tax . . . which was paid by “Mommi” after much noisy argument and consternation.  “Mommi” then took it upon herself to lay into the lady on the bus in no uncertain terms.  Even though I didn’t catch half of what she was actually saying, I’m pretty sure she was not inviting her to dinner at her home. I had to chuckle to myself. . . “was this the same sweet lady who was praying for us earlier in the day?” 

Also during this time, the Dominican “Sheriff” had made his way onto the bus to assert his authority. While he was checking documents and hassling the locals at the back of the bus, he was invading my personal space in a big way.  While this is not often an issue for me, the fact that his large frame and his 9mm pistol was jammed into my leg was not all pleasant.  I joked with Mimi about having to explain to people how I lost my leg.... “Well I was on a bus from Haiti to the DR when. . .” 

The entire time we were at the border and for much of the journey, the air conditioning was not working.  Apparently it needed us to be traveling at least 10 miles per hour in order to run and we rarely reached that top speed.  Needless to say, we were sweltering in the heat and humidity and were aware of our surroundings and our neighbors in more ways than we cared to.

The bus then got in line behind approximately 5,432 other large vehicles trying to pass through the border. Did I mention there might be water?  Well there was.  The lake has no natural way to drain and the recent rains had caused its shores to overflow and put several buildings, cars, and the road all under water.  There was anywhere from 1 1/2- 3 feet of standing water on the road at the border crossing.  It was good that we were in a bus.  Some more daring souls were actually carrying there luggage and wading the mile or so across the lake.  This was insanity in my mind.

We moved slowly for approximately 10-15 minutes and then we stopped.  Mimi thinks it was for an hour to an hour and a half.  I’m certain it was longer than that.  We didn’t move. . . for what seemed like an eternity.  And then we did. . . a whole 3-4 car or bus lengths and then stopped again.  It went on like this for another hour or so.  And then as if God were parting the Red Sea for Moses, the traffic opened up and we crossed the water into the promised land, Jimani, Dominican Republic.

Some funny things that happened at the border/lake. . . The lady in front of us, who brought the TV, ordered four hard boiled eggs from a street vendor out her window.  Several people got off and on the bus for reasons that baffled me and some never returned including the man who “helped” us with customs. Several people who were not on our bus previously hopped aboard for the maiden voyage.  We were offered jewelry, sunglasses, food, watches, cigarettes, ice cream and more through our window. 

For my friends who have travelled between San Diego and Tijuana, I want you to know that I have a new found appreciation and respect for the order at the border there, even on the Mexican side.  The Hatian/Dominican border was so far removed from anything I have ever experienced before and likely will never again experience it.  We have determined that future trips will be done through the airports, so as to not to rely on the crazy border situations.  My friend Ray, who was with us for part of the journey, says it well.  “The Dominican Republic is a third-world country. . . Haiti is a sixth-world country.”   

I know you all are going to accuse me of being dramatic and exaggerating the story for effect, but hear me when I say that I am not doing so in this instance.  Keith King, our fearless leader, says that the truth about Haiti is stranger than any fiction and more unbelievable.  I would even argue that the situation was much more dramatic and humorous than I am even describing here.  But I am only giving the high/lowlights of the journey, so there you have it.

Check out this link: Flooded Jimani Crossing

Part 3: Coming soon!

For the Longest Time.... a simple 3 hour tour from Haiti to the Dominican Republic

Caveats for the following story...

1. Our primary reason for this trip was to participate in meal distribution in Barahona, D.R.
2. We had tried/planned/expected to leave Haiti the day before but were unable to for a number of reasons.... some of which will be clearer as the story unfolds.

June 23, 2011, was in fact the longest day on record in my life.  While you might hear a hint of anxiety or frustration in the tone of that first line, the truth is that our emotions ran the gamut between sadness, gladness, courage and intrepidation.

Mimi and I in the back of our Tap Tap!

At precisely 6:45 a.m. our Tap Tap (that is Haitian-Creole for crazy painted taxi) arrived to transport us to the Caribe Tours Bus Depot, with whom our coordinator in the states had just made special arrangements for our safe passage to Barahona.  Caribe Tours is a fleet of luxury bus lines that are complete with air conditioning, bathrooms, and private video monitors.  I even decided to wear a collared shirt so as to dress up a bit for our journey.  We were well prepared with Jimmy our translator, Oxidal, our navigator, and Eve, our driver.  All three Haitian helpers were certain they knew exactly where to go.  Their certainty should have been my first clue that we were headed for adventure of colossal proportions.

By 7:35 a.m., we arrived at Capital Coach Bus Tours. . . I want to remind you that we were set to ride Caribe Tours.  So after explaining this to our Haitian friends about 65 times, we then proceeded to go to another bus company down the street. . . also not Caribe Tours.  So our 3-4 hour trip to Barahona, Dominican Republic got off to a bumpy start to say the least.  By the way, our Caribe Tours bus was set to embark at 8:00 a.m.  When the second bus station informed us that they would not be willing/able to accommodate us, we headed back to Capital Coach, because Caribe Tours was on the entire other side of Port au Prince.  At precisely 8:15, we were informed that the 8:30 Capital Coach bus to Santo Domingo was full and that we would have to take the 10:00 a.m. bus.  By 8:25, we were informed that the bus would not stop at Barahona for any reason. . . and that in fact it was dangerous to do so.

Jimmy, our translator extraordinaire, then remembered that there was a local bus (notice Not tour bus), that would go directly to Barahona.  We said, “We’ll take it”.  Unfortunately, that would mean a drive through the capital to an unnamed bus station on the other side of town.  We arrived at 9:45 a.m. as the bus was loading for a 10:00 a.m. departure.  We paid way too much money to get on the bus, but were happy to be making progress and they agreed to drop us off at the Bus Depot in Barahona, which was more or less on the way to Santo Domingo, the bus' final destination.  I was informed that the fare would be $40 US per person.  Upon handing the man the $80, I saw him pocket one of the four $20, but was determined to get to Barahona no matter what it took.  We were just happy that someone was finally willing to take care of us.  For comfort Jimmy and Oxidal decided to ride with us back to Croix des Bouquets, where we started the whole day.  A little irony goes a long way on a day like this!  As we were leaving the bus depot, the bus “Mommi” prayed an earnest and spirited prayer for our safety and for getting through the border.  I thought at the time, “how nice that she would pray for us.”

An hour or more bus ride back through Port au Prince, which by the way is still a city in complete and utter disarray, and we arrived at Croix des Bouquets where my two friends disembarked and wished us well in our travels.  We did have to make a pitstop as three Haitian ladies had to answer the call of nature outside my window on the side of the bus.  That is an image I will not soon get out of my head!  I thought surely now, we will start making progress to Barahona.

About this time . . . and approximately 10 minutes outside Croix des Bouquets, we stopped for lunch.  Stopped for lunch, however, meant that someone got out of the bus at an outdoor food stand of sorts and ordered food for many of the people on the bus.  Mimi and I were incredulous.  “Are you serious?” I believe was Mimi’s response.  So now we’ve been on this trek for four hours and 35 minutes and have traveled approximately five miles towards our destination.  This would prove to be the norm rather than the exception on this particular journey. . . adventure. . . quest. . . thing (bone for Tolkien fans).

After everyone fed their faces we once again started on our way.  About an hour to an hour and a half later we arrived at the lake that serves as the primary Southern border crossing between Haiti and the Dominican Republic.  I was never so excited to see a third-world (looked like it was a war zone) border crossing in my life.  I had heard rumors that it might take an hour to get through customs and the road was supposedly under water in places, but the end was in sight . . . or so I thought. 

To be continued. . .