A couple of times today, we drove through the smell of human feces on our way to a private beach south of Port-au-Prince (Pótoprens en Kreyol). No one said anything. I said, “Shit,” one of the few times in my life that I meant it literally, and my mate in the back seat with me, also a journalist, said, “Yeah.”
People standing shoulder-to-shoulder and behind them, bright blue-tarped and grayish-blue plastic tents, lined both sides of what would ordinarily be considered a main thoroughfare just outside the central city. Along one stretch, portable homes made of rusted corrugated tin, about the width of an outstretched human body, formed a median in the road. I saw a naked leg sprawled on a mattress inside one of them, cooking. It had to have been 95 degrees today. We drove for a long while. The sea that we came to was the color of the tents. It was very pretty.

Coconuts arrive by boat at a relatively empty beach area (no sand, only a cement dock) in Mariani, a town just south of P-au-P
Today is my first full day in Haiti. I chose to begin this post with the smell of shit and the private beach because my first impression, since arriving yesterday, is that uncomfortable contrasts will be one of the defining features of Haiti.




