sitting in my bedroom thinking about how to sleep amongst the town noise (loud music booming, motorbikes zooming past). its approaching midnight and we arrived at the hotel massacre about an hour ago.
the heat is bearable. even more so with the fan whirling. the room is small and the tv that hangs over my bed sits within a padlocked cage as i type beneath its cathode ray presence.
i'm not quite in Haiti. I sit across the river Massacre in The Dominican Republic. Only been here 6 hours. spent most of those hours sitting in a cab with our driver Wilfredo apart from our banana frita and southern fried chicken stop in ?
the roads were great for about half of the journey. i thought he was kidding when he said it would take 4 hours for a 180km trip. he was fairly accurate. i got used to the stop start routine, overtaking buses and motor bikes with their families sitting on them. the views were immense: rainbows, lush green hills, road side cafes, people sitting in their plastic chairs by the side of the road, rubbish dumps with people coming out with their plastic bags with other people's disposable treasures.
tomorrow we head over the boarder... but for tonight we dwell in hotel massacre. a hotel with a name that ought to send chills down any resident who has been brought up on slasher flicks. the name, however, bears testimony to a horror that saw between 20-30,000 Haitians executed over an incident known as the Parsley Massacre. somewhat scarier than any film.
No comments:
Post a Comment