An Auspicious Arrival

We landed in Port-au-Prince just after 4pm. The landing had given us a glimpse of the gorgeous Haitian coastline and the dilapidated houses. Ashley and I stepped off the plane with butterflies in our stomachs and doubts in our minds. Since our visas have yet to be processed, we had to leave that part of our customs form blank...unsure of whether or not they were even going to let us in, we left the plane and made our way through the airport.

The heat was the first thing I noticed. It weighs on you and the humidity is so palpable, you inhale it with every breath. We emerged from the building and boarded a bus to (as it turns out) retrieve our luggage and go through customs. We had no idea where we were going so it seemed like a good idea to follow the crowd. It all felt so surreal but an airport is an airport no matter where you are so we just did what came next.

It was obvious that Haitians are an open, friendly, and helpful sort of people. We watched a young man help an elderly women with her bags and there was a great sense of camaraderie on the bus as, from what I can tell of creole, everyone was commiserating over the heat (by the way, you know it's hot when the locals are bitching about it). However, being a foreigner definitely added a different dimension to our interaction. To be perfectly honest I felt pretty uncomfortable and just wanted to be an anonymous face in the crowd, impossible though that was.

We arrived at a hangar which housed both customs and the baggage carousel and queued up. The officer didn’t say a word but nodded his head, which I took to mean he was willing to allow me into his country. One hurdle down, 2 more to go.

Bags everywhere. That would be the only way to explain the situation at the baggage carousel. Some helpful and enterprising soul had taken it upon himself to remove and pile all of the bags that hadn’t been picked off the carousel on the first pass through. Needless to say that out of approximately 50 bags, 49 of them were black…including mine and Ashley’s which were not in the pile. We checked…twice.  Mental panic ensues until the next cart of luggage arrives. We bought carts for two dollars off the guy rolling his thumb against his fingers in the international sign of “show me the money”, which made me feel a little bit better about paying as much for one in Canada (just a heads up, you don’t get a quarter back when you return it in Haiti).

Finally, our bags showed up and we proceeded toward the exit. At this point, we had several men falling over themselves to help us push our carts. Clearly they weren’t in it for the chivalry. We decided to keep the one who told us we had to show our baggage claim tags at the exit in order to prove we were taking the right bags, he seemed helpful. Things got a little awkward when I realized the helpful Anita (the West Jet agent in Toronto, who a) checked our second pieces of luggage for free, and b) sent them all the way through to Haiti, thereby helping us to avoid the excess baggage fee in Ft. Lauderdale as well) had neglected to stick them to the back of my boarding pass…whoops.

Ashley and I, our cart pushers, and EVERYONE else in the airport funneled their way through the narrow exit, handing their immigration form to the last customs agent who barely glanced at them. Second hurdle down, one to go –find our driver...please god.

As we emerged into the heat, and the sea of waiting bodies outside we caught sight of a sign that said Union School but had two names on it that were not ours. He wasn’t there to pick us up and had no idea who we were. He gestured vaguely down toward the parking lot, which I took to mean there was someone else with holding a card with our names on it. So we kept walking. Our cart pushers were relieved of their jobs by two other men, one of which introduced himself as Francois, when he found out I spoke French. I had a bit of a go-around with him when I told him I wasn’t paying him after I had just paid the other guy! It carried on like that until we found our driver and Francois loaded our bags into the van. I had asked a Haitian local on our flight how much I should tip these helpful monsieurs and was told 5 USD. It turns out even that is considered getting hosed.

Suffice it to say that I learned some valuable lessons within my first half-hour in Haiti:

1.    Make sure you have your baggage claim tags when leaving the Port-au-Prince airport.

2.    Not only is it worth shelling out $2 for a cart, but having an airport employee help you navigate the whole airport process is crucial.

3.    Stick with one escort/baggage handler/wheels of bureaucracy greaser…because otherwise you’ll be handing out USD like candy on Halloween.

4.    Be firm, otherwise you’re just a silly girl.

To round out our arrival (and this interminable blog post) we met our driver Theomidore, who broke out into a huge grin when he found out we were Canadian and could speak French. I have a feeling we’ll be great friends. He’s teaching us Kreyol and has a list of must-see places throughout the country to take us to. It’s crazy how quickly the cultural barrier dissolves when you remove the communication impasse!

I’m well aware that this is detail overload but I figured I’d paint a vivid picture while I still feel so inclined and it’s all new. 

Feel free to comment or ask questions, I’m so overwhelmed that it’s hard to decide what to include. Let me know what you wanna know!