Christopher Columbus landed on the island he called Hispanola (the indigenous called it Quisqueya) during each of his four journeys to America, the only island for which that is true.  I visited the area where he first landed in December of 1492, near Montecristi, Dominican Republic, an area that hasn't changed much since he first saw it.

The first city of the Americas, Santo Domingo, is 500 years old this year.  Buildings from that era still stand, including the first fortress, cathedral and university in the Americas.  From this city sailed Ponce de Leon to "discover" Puerto Rico, Hernan Cortez to Mexico, Balboa to the Pacific and Valazquez to settle Cuba.  Columbus's remains, moved several times, now rest in the city founded by his brother.

The city has long suffered from poverty and neglect, not unlike other cities in developing countries.  Last summer's Hurricane Georges made easy fodder of the shabbily constructed buildings and shantytowns.  Still, this is a city that doesn't feel sorry for itself for long and seems very much on the rebound.  People mostly impressed me as hardworking and proud.

As we came in for a landing at the airport, I looked down on large areas of palm trees snapped in half as if they had been toothpicks.  Meanwhile, passengers began clapping together rhythmically, and then applauded and cheered wildly as if they had just seen Sammy Sosa hit another home run, but it was only that we had just touched down safely in their homeland, and I realized that these are people who take little for granted.

The effects of the hurricane were visible also in the highlands of the country, where flooding had caused landslides, blocked roads and knocked down bridges.  As in many developing countries, the way I often got around was squeezed with other local folks in the back of a flatbed pickup truck, but this at times required waiting for road graters to clear a path over slide areas.  Where one bridge had collapsed, I was telaferried in a chair hanging from a rope by two men pulling on the rope from both sides of the river.  In a country that sees fewer tourists than most Caribbean nations, this was an especially bad year.  I saw very few tourists during my six day visit, almost none outside of Santo Domingo.

The highland towns of Jarabacoa and Constanza were very pleasant and relaxing.  I took walks into the countryside and enjoyed the fresh climate.  Constanza, especially, is set in a beautiful green mountain valley where vegetable agriculture, although intensively worked by hand with simple tools, seems nevertheless richly productive.

Though Dominicans have a reputation for being very friendly, they seem to be mindful of people's privacy and space (although a notable exception is described below).  Unlike many hispanic countries I have visited, people here didn't go out of their way to break the ice or simply say "good morning" unless I said it to them first.  If I took the initiative though, I found them mostly to be very kind and helpful, beyond the call of duty.

Although I enjoyed Santo Domingo, I did have one brief disconcerting incident, more upsetting for my overreaction to it than for any other reason.  I actually hit a shoe shine boy who had, despite my having said "No" a half dozen times, came running toward me and covered one of my black shoes in white soap and polish.  An hour earlier, another shoe shine boy had done the same thing, splatting my shoe with soap and polish, but that time I was able to think of it simply as something to write home about.  The second time it happened, I overreacted, hitting the young lad (perhaps 12 or 13 years old) with my wrist against his back forcefully enough to let him know I was pissed off, but apparently only hard enough to make him laugh.

All around the world, I've experienced harassment for money by people who were extremely persistent about it ... sometimes just kids tugging at my sleeve, following me for miles, or in one instance even a young adult threatening to burn down our hotel if we didn't hire him as a guide ... and through all their persistence and sometimes intimidation, whatever it was, I generally kept my cool.  That's what surprised me about this instance.  I must have been wired on caffeine or something.  I didn't have the Spanish vocabulary to effectively scold him, so adrenaline took over and my arm went flying.  Refusing to let him wipe the soap and polish from my shoe (after which he would demand money for the service), I grabbed his cloth and threw it (such that it only flew a couple meters), and I crossed the huge plaza with one white shoe and one black shoe until I could find a piece of paper to wipe it off myself.  Some of his friends came demanding money because I'd hit him and they pointed to my shoe saying that it had been cleaned.  One mentioned the police, and when I responded, "Fine, let's go to the police", he backed off.

Anyway, after that incident, I was followed and harassed plenty in Haiti without any overreaction on my part, so I guess I got my groove back.

Haiti is another matter altogether ... the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere, with a per capita income of $220 a year, an unemployment rate in excess of 70 percent, and an average life expectancy of 49 years.  When people manage to find work, they generally do so for a mere pittance, and the work is often either hopelessly tedious or incredibly demanding.  Meanwhile, with much of the nation's forests cut down and desertification well advanced, Haiti is one of the world's more notorious environmental disasters.  Add to this a long history of brutally repressive regimes and continuing political instability, and you get a really curious place for me to be hanging out.

Haitians are proud of the fact that they had the world's first successful slave rebellion in 1791 (around the time of American and French revolutions).  Nevertheless, until recently their history has been of one dictator after another, and of exploitation that has impoverished all but a relative few and driven the country to hopelessness.

Lacking any knowledge of Haitian Creole and looking like a walking dollar bill, I was easy pickings for folks who wanted to take advantage of my ignorance.  Even before I entered Haiti, there was a young Haitian in the Dominican Republic border guard office who was there to interpret for me, guide me across the border, change currencies, and help me understand the standard unofficial fees to be paid to border officials.  When a would-be guide says "pay me what you want", it later translates into "but when we're done, I'm going to demand a lot more than you think I'm worth".

I crossed the border into Northeast Haiti, an area of relatively lush vegetation which has so far escaped the fate of deforestation and desertification experienced by much of the country.  I quickly caught a ride on a large truck, paying extra to ride up front with the driver.  The back of the truck was packed with perhaps 60 or 80 people who stood for the three hour ride over the atrociously pot-holed roads to the north coast city of Cap Haitian.

Cap Haitian is the principle city from which many so-called "boat people" set sail for the U.S. in the early 1990s, only to be turned back by the U.S. Coast Guard, or imprisoned if they made it to U.S. shores.  These days, they're still constructing boats, but mainly for the purposes of fishing (although perhaps sometimes for moving contraband).  The city has a beautiful setting among lush green hills.  At one time, it was called the "Paris of the Antilles", and the attractive verandahs and Victorian homes are still there, though they are now very much dilapidated.

Aside from some attractive views around the port and the central square, much of the city gives the impression of being a muddy, stinking compost pile.  Rotting garbage piles high, particularly in areas around street markets and bus/truck stations.  These are areas where people and vehicles crowd together so tightly that virtually nothing is able to move by midday.  People normally think of chaos as a dynamic phenomenon, but here there is no room for chaos to move.

Haiti can stake claim to at least one legitimately world-class tourist attraction.  The Citadel is a huge fortress with walls 16 feet (4 meters) thick and 140 feet (40+ meters) high perched dizzyingly atop a nearly 3000 foot (900 meter) mountain.  In an effort to deter French invasion, it was built in the early 1800s by a former slave named Christophe who became king and enslaved 20,000 of his people for over 15 years to build it.  Haitians refer to it as the eighth wonder of the world.  Indeed, it is quite amazing, and the views through the mountains and out to the sea rank perhaps among the top 10 most spectacular I have seen anywhere.

Getting there took some effort though, to say the least.  First, I crammed myself with 20 other people into the back of a tap-tap (a small flatbed truck, perhaps named because people tap on the side to indicate when they want to get out).  Then, as I climbed up the mountain, I had to fend off many would-be guides and say something like "no, merci" hundreds of times to children, some of whom were barely out of the crib, who would say "give me dollar".  I said "no" probably an average of 10 times to each of perhaps a couple hundred children who followed me during the two hour climb.  After I had made clear to the guides from the beginning that I didn't want their services, some would nevertheless walk with me for some distance without talking, and occasionally offer a factoid of information. Eventually, I somehow managed to get the message through to them that no matter what they said or did, I wasn't going to pay them for anything they said.  Putting up with the harassment was an endurance test, and the challenge was compounded by the fact that I was engaged in one hell of a steep climb, exhausting and dehydrating in the intense Haitian sun.  In the end though, the gasping panoramic view from the top made it seem all worthwhile, and I think the whole experience felt quite rewarding and will leave a lasting impression in my memory.

People concerned about the Year 2000 (Y2K) computer bug should plan to spend next January 1st in Haiti.  Power outages occur frequently, and sometimes they last for days.  Still, nobody overreacts and starts panicking, since this is what passes for normal. Nobody starts looting, in spite of an apparent lack of police presence.  Perhaps, this is because of the long history of people taking the law into their own hands.  Thieves have been known to be kicked to death by crowds.

At the Hotel Columbia in Cap Haitian, my room cost $11 a night, and it had a fan I could use whenever the electricity was on.  The shared bathroom lacked running water, but I could wash myself and flush the toilet with cold water from a bucket.  The hotel owner and manager was a very helpful Haitian man who spoke English well since he used to work driving taxis or trucks in New York City.  His wife and children still live there.  His philosophy about Haitian politics was that he didn't vote because he "wasn't a gambling man". Actually, less than 10 percent of Haitians voted in a recent election since several political parties boycotted it.

The day long bus ride to Haiti's capital city, Port-au-Prince gave me a good perspective on the environmental damage that's been done to Haiti from cutting down its forests.  The contrast from lush vegetation to barren nothingness is abrupt and startling.  A year ago, on my way back from Venezuela, I could see the sharp contrast from my airplane window.  In the Dominican Republic, you can go to jail for cutting down a tree.  In many parts of Haiti, it's too late for that.   Much of the soil appears even to the eye of city slicker like me as incapable of producing anything.  1997 saw famine in the most arid areas, and international aid agencies had to intervene to feed folks.  I'm not sure where hope for this country can be found in the future.  It's population may double again in the next generation or so, unless life expectancies drop yet again from disease, famine or conflict.

After four hours on the bus, people started yelling at the bus driver, "stop, stop!"  Eventually, he stopped and many men, women and children got off, crouched down in the desert and relieved their bladders and bowels in full view of everybody else.  You would too if you saw or smelled a typical toilet in Haiti.

Caribbean cruise ships used to stop at Port-au-Prince in the 1980s.  Even before the political instability of the 1990s, the ships stopped coming, mainly because people complained about the beggars near the port.  After reading about this in my guide book, I was actually surprised at how little begging I experienced when I was there.  For the most part, I only experienced politeness and kindness from people, and rarely was there some expectation of a handout, although the tendency to overcharge a foreigner seems common, as it does in many countries.

Bad press about AIDS in the 1980s also discouraged tourism.  In the early days of the AIDS epidemic, everybody thought it may have originated in Haiti.

Having walked through shantytowns in many other countries and knowing Haiti's reputation (deserved or not) for unpredictability, as well as reading in my guidebook that Haitians in these areas don't take kindly to obvious tourists and people wielding cameras, I decided to forego that scene this time.  The city itself was intense enough.

Four years ago (October 1994), the U.S. military was minutes away from launching an attack on Port-au-Prince in an effort to remove a reluctant General Cedras, and to restore President Aristide to power.  The buildings I saw on television where the standoff took place seem to be calm places now, and the city as a whole appears to be quite stable on the surface.  United Nations peacekeeping troops are still there, but they seem to be keeping a relatively low profile.

Haitians seem justifiably sensitive about how they are viewed by foreigners.  I overreacted when I told a polite but very persistent would-be guide, who was standing outside of the Holiday Inn (where I stopped for lunch), to "stay away from me, I don't trust you!"  I'm glad I had an opportunity the next day to talk to him more directly, soften my statements and explain my reaction.  He was a respectful man, and the conversation seemed relieving for both of us.

I stayed at the Acropolis Hotel, also for $11 a night.  Though the shared bathroom smelled putridly, the hotel itself was a breath of fresh air in the heart of the throbbingly intense commercial and market district.   This is an area where most every imaginable commodity can be purchased, and sidewalks are so packed with vendors that the only way to move at all is to walk in the street, where one also avoids the threat of pickpockets but risks life and limb to fatalistic drivers who attended the Life-Is-Cheap Driving School.

Haitian currency is unusual in that it's a base-5 system.  Five gouards equals what Haitians refer to as one Haitian dollar; but there is no such thing as a Haitian dollar note.  For example, they may quote the cost of my meal as being 9 Haitian dollars, but what they really mean is 45 gouards.  16 gouards equals one U.S. dollar or a little more than three of the imaginary Haitian dollars.  Most of the five gouard notes (if you can find one) are almost unrecognizable because they are blackened by dirt and mud and they must be handled delicately because they are falling apart and hanging together by their threads.

Both the Dominican Republic and Haiti are places that seem like they can make good use of levity.   To whom do they look to provide this diversion?  Well, the Dominican Republic is, of course, baseball crazy, but both countries seem to take delight in The Three Stooges, who are shown frequently on prime time television and in places like busses that have videos.  In Haiti, the Stooges appear only in English, a language that hardly anybody understands, although slapstick and absurdity translate well into any language.

Hotel Olaffsson, a classic Victorian structure with a gingerbread verandah, is eccentrically owned and operated by Richard Morse, a Haitian-American musician who, among other things, received awards for songs he wrote for the movie "Philadelphia".  He paused to talk with me as he does with many of his guests, among whom have been a long list of celebrities from Irving Berlin to Mick Jagger.  Their names along with others (i.e.. Liz Taylor, Jean Claude Van Damme, Mike Wallace, Ramsey Clark, etc.) appear on the doors of the rooms in which they stayed.

I enjoyed my stay on the island of Hispanola, but after 12 days of mostly rough and tumble travel, I felt ready to end my vacation so I could return home and relax.  I probably won't return unless it is to learn the language (either Spanish, which I know a little, or Haitian Creole, which I don't know at all).  Lacking more of the language, the cultures would remain only two-dimensional to me, and I would only feel the need to get beyond the lack of depth.  In any event, whether or not I ever return, this was a great and memorable experience for me.