We were robbed coming back from the airport (another useless pilgrimage to Brussels).
As a start, one guy on a motorbike informed us that our pneumatic was punched. Then another one insisted that we use the services of a 24 hours mechanic. We declined the offer but the truck arrived anyway, the driver looking at us as a vulture.
I left my jacket on the car seat to change the wheel and had the impression of some fancy movement.
Finished the job, we went home, and when I was looking for my jacket, it was gone, together with my Belgian telephone.
Then, revising the happenings, we realised that it was an ambush; that our pneu was punched on purpose and the boys were part of some criminal machinery.
We did put up a satellite aerial and now we have internet at home.
It is strange how an ultimately simple tool (bought with even simpler money) open such a big perspective.
Of course, if electricity is on.
Yesterday night I heard some blasts and I thought “they play fireworks”.
I realised soon that most probably there were some gangs shooting each other.
The situation remains calm, though, and I have also hired a moto-taxi (a big, black chopper) for a short drive through the town.
Port au Prince remind me of Napoli, the sea, the chaos, nice people, streets climbing up to the mountains, colours and noise.
In front of the city, on the water, is plenty of ghost-boats, going rusty among the general indifference.
From the sky, the helicopters patrol continuosly the center.
I saw a colibree.
It is quite an emotion to see such a bird, acting as an insect and with similar dimension, too.
He was going from flower to flower agitating the wings frenetically.
On the street and hanging from several cars I also saw some Brasilian flags.
I am not sure if the point was celebrating the football team victory over Argentina or the arrival of the Brazilian peacekeepers. Just in case
The first impression is not bad.
The atmosphere is quiet enough, peolpe are friendly or indifferent, I did not noticed any puppets around.
The place is scenic, the city going from the sea to the mountains. It’s quite hot, but with a refreshing wind.
We were staying at an old hotel (today we moved), plenty of ancient photos, a bit forgotten but with nice paintings on the walls.
Not many armed people around. Airport procedures calm and simple.
A country of black people speaking French in the middle of America; what are they doing there?
I am at Paris Orly waiting for my flight to Port au Prince.
Haiti has never been my preferred destination, but let’s wait to know something more.
I wear a striped shirt and heavy boots, ready to adventure.
Today, in a small park near the Cibernarium, I have seen two seagulls devouring the remains of a pigeon.
I couldn’t restrain from a sight of satisfaction.
I like nature, I like animals, I loved the dog that was living with us and I regularly visit the almond-tree we planted on her burial place.
But I don’t stand pigeons. I did celebrate the decree of Venezia municipality establishing the decapitation of hundreds of such beasts.
And I always try to dissuade parents, and especially grandparents, to accustom children to give food to those birds. It’s an unhealthy behaviour bringing disorder, filthiness and above all, more pigeons.