This morning we awoke to coffee and breakfast. Crackers and real butter and this fish mess that was surprisingly good - even for breakfast. Jean Pierre and Mimi arranged for two young men they knew and trusted to drive us around all day on their moto-taxis. These two guys acted as part taxi – part bodyguards who checked in almost hourly with Jean-Pierre. The guys took us to the busy market that lined the tiny city streets. Produce spilling over curbs, women with baskets on their heads selling everything from clothes to packaged cheese, people dodging in between moto-taxis and chickens – it was all so picture-perfect Haiti. They never left our sides, certain not to lose us and face the wrath of Jean-Pierre.
After stocking up on some food and drinks we headed to the base of the mountain for our trek to Basin Blue – a spot in the mountain with three separate water falls that pictures could never do justice and large swimming holes with cold, fresh water. To get to the mountain leading to the waterfalls you have to cross three rivers. These rivers range anywhere from ankle to knee deep. There is absolutely no other way to get from Jacmel to the village on the other mountain except through these rivers. What a sight. Muddy brown water full of Haitians bathing to the east and moto-taxis trying to skid through without tipping over to the west. Women holding their goods securely on their head and skirts in their fists to keep from getting wet. Men pulling crying goats by a leash across water they can’t even stand in. I’ve never seen anything like it. We took off our shoes and walked across, trying not to think about what we were walking on or through.
Caitlyn and I decided to rough it and make the trek up the mountain by foot. 5k up hill sounded like quite an adventure. The scenery itself made the climb worth it. A local man from the village adjacent to the tiny path leading to the waterfalls asked if we needed a guide. We assured him we did not, until we made it halfway up a narrow path on a steep incline and heard “Mesdames, that is not right path you are on” echo through the trees. From far below he was calling out to us over and over until we responded. Ooops. Apparently we did need a guide. He took us back down, around some smaller falls, through little crevices to an opening that held a picturesque waterfall falling into a pool surrounded by mountains on almost every side. We had made it.
You have to use a rope to climb down the side of a large rock, swim against the current through a little pool before making it into the largest pool of water. A giant rock sits in the middle as a resting place for those who climb up the waterfall and jump off. I saw that downpour of water and knew I had to climb it. One slow step at a time through splashing water I found a little crevice in the rocks and pulled myself to the first flat rock landing. “You can jump from here,” our guide said. It wasn’t that far up. Maybe 50 feet. I looked down at the slope of the mountain and wondered just how certain he was about jumping. The thought was trashed a few seconds later because I knew either was I was going to jump. I didn't come this far to just stand on the edge. In so many ways I realized I had not come this far to just stand on the edge looking out. Sometimes life calls for a leap of faith. Sometimes you just have to jump in feet first without worrying about the trip down. Sometimes you just have to jump. You just have to jump. So I did.
After I found my way back to the surface of the water, I saw a boy do a back flip off the highest rock, a good 100 feet up. A back flip I wouldn’t do, but I had to jump from higher. I climbed up to the top, the other 3 women I traveled with looking on from below. And there I stood for about 15 minutes, all the courage drained out of me. Two girls no more than 16 years, cheered me on from the side, reminding me they had already jumped several times. It was the first time I felt my age. 5 years ago I wouldn’t have hesitated at the edge. I couldn’t get my legs to jump. To my credit, it wasn’t the height but the rocks and my uncertainty that I could actually clear them if I jumped. “Oh my mom is going to kill me when she hears this story,” was all I kept thinking.
Being an absurdly competitive person, mostly with myself, I knew there was no turning around. I realized I just couldn’t think about it. When you stare at anything long enough all you start to see is the negative. You imagine problems that may not even exist. Like most things, its best not to over analyze the situation. I walked back from the edge, breathed in deeply, and then took two steps before leaping off the edge into the body of water below. That is a feeling I’d like to remember for a long time – the thrill of falling and the excitement at being able to swim up for air unscathed.
The girls followed me back up and we jumped one more time. Then we headed back down to Jacmel. It was a very fulfilling day.
We had decided to stay at a hotel that night and found a room at a place called JaClef that had a pool almost as neon green as the running club shirts and as thick as mud. Not a good sign. It was a tiny room with two flimsy double beds, a black-light and moldy smell in the bathroom, and AC (the only saving grace that kept us from walking away.) The room was insanely expensive, especially for Haiti. It was 75 Amercian dollars per night (split 4 ways.) I don’t spend that much on a hotel in the US! Never in a million years did I think I’d spend that much in a 3rd world country. Inflation has caused many things in Haiti to be incredibly expensive. A lot of that is do to years of NGO’s moving into town and then leaving. Bad for the economy on many levels.
We came back to the hotel to find that the water still wasn’t working and the toilet didn’t flush. After 2 hours of arguing, negotiating, and then pleading the manager finally gave us our money back. The girls were less adamant about leaving than I was, especially if the water came back on. I’m not a sucker and I knew we were already being taken advantage of – not one room in that hotel was worth more than 20 dollars a night. There was no way I was spending that much money on a room that didn’t have running water. I would not budge on that. I have learned through the years to be more compromising, to be more lenient, but there are some things I just cannot budge on for various reasons, but mainly because of principle.
We flagged down another free ride and got dropped off at the nicest hotel I’ve seen in Haiti. All white, directly across from the ocean with a working pool and bar, ran by a blan from Germany. All of the rooms were filled except for the top floor of the villa he rents for 220 American dollars a night. I pleaded our case, pulled the volunteer card, and explained all the trouble at the other hotel. He couldn’t turn us away. For 100 dollars total he let us stay in a house with enough beds for each of us to have our own, a bathroom with a working shower and separate tub, a front porch with a hot tub (not working) and beautiful view of the ocean. The place was huge and gorgeous and clean and we were each only paying 5 dollars more than the atrocious hotel we just came from.
We met Jean Pierre and Mimi for dinner. They took us to a beautiful restaurant tucked away in the mountains which you would never know about without knowing a local. It was thatched roofed with an upscale Caribbean feel and ceiling fans. We enjoyed another delicious meal, but this time they allowed us to treat – the least we could do. After dinner they drove us back to the hotel, reminded us to walk over for breakfast the following morning, and we headed to bed in awe of how blessed we had been the past two days.
Incredible!!! God is so great!
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