So yesterday I really wanted to go hiking. You'd be amazed at the lack of hiking on this island. I mean, this is an island of MOUNTAINS, people. Shouldn't there be some trails?
Everyone tells me to go to the OTHER island ( which costs over $50 dollars to go to on the ferry. Um, no. I want easy access, and free, if you please.)
II do know one path, but I wanted to do another one.
So I called up my friend, Sue and asked her about hiking on her end of the island. Turns out that there is a hiking trail over there. So we went out looking for it, but, alas, no luck.
We found instead some ruins from who knows when . . .1700s, maybe? The kids poked around in them and found a huge bottle that Sue's daughter claimed. It was full of putrid water and Sue managed to talk her into leaving it upside down to drain.
Then we found a nice grassy field that the kiddos could play kickball on and a lovely tree for climbing. It had vines hanging down from it and the kiddos wanted to swing, Tarzan style from the vines, but I nixed that idea. I could just see some child breaking the vine and pulverizing his or her head on a rock.
We did walk the entire perimeter of the area that is supposed to lead to the hiking path. Things we found instead of the trail include: a used "personal" item, a snorkel with no lens, lots of beer bottles, men's underwear and a moldy t-shirt.
Sue told us to see if the underwear had a French label. Cautiously, without touching it, we looked. It was Fruit of the Loom.
"Why?" I demanded, had we been looking for a label?
The answer is that we are an United States territory, and the Haitians come to us, looking for a better life. The boats bring them, and they tumble out of the boats and swim to shore with grocery bags of dry clothes on their heads. Once to shore, they shuck their wet clothes and change into the dry ones.
At the bottom of the mountain that we live on is a little beach. I have only been there once by boat. We do not know of a trail leading down to the beach. When I described this lovely little beach to a friend, she nodded knowingly. “Yes, that’s one of the drop-offs for the Haitians” she said.
It is odd, knowing that there are people desperate for their very lives passing by us on a somewhat regular basis.
Another odd thing? Standing where we could see across the bay, my friend pointed across the bay to the airport. There sat a jet with an American flag on the tail. She said that she heard an awful racket, and so she went to see what in the world was going. This jet was landing, accompanied by two helicopters.
They did a little research, and it turns out that the jet brought former President Jimmy Carter to our island, along with the current Vice President and his family. Of course, they left our island and went to a smaller, more secret island with a nice house and private beach . . .but still, it is weird to look out and think . . .Oh, my. The Vice President is within ten miles of me. This I know.
I also know where President Clinton stayed when he visited the island. I’ve seen the house ( from a distance) and walked the same little beach he walked. Our former landlady explained to us that when President Clinton came to town, the residents of the area we were living in at the time would all be stopped by the secret service and they’d take mirrors and check under the cars to be sure that everything was as it should be.
So, this island is one for Presidents and Paupers. And ordinary, in between types, like you and me.
Have a great day,
~ Jenn
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