I was thrilled to be asked to write the cover article for the current issue of Wings, the in-flight magazine of Arik Air.
Nigeria isn’t written about much as a tourist destination, but it’s a fascinating place, and for my money, Lagos is one of the most exciting cities on earth. Although I’ve covered the country twice for Lonely Planet’s West Africa guide, I wasn’t able to do it for the 2013 edition, so I’m pleased to get the opportunity to sing its praises here.
You can read the full article on the Wings website here, but the e-viewer version here is worth looking at to see how the article looks laid out with the beautiful accompanying photos by George Osodi.
I’m currently based in Amman, Jordan, and living downtown in the Rainbow Street area. Here’s a recent piece I wrote about the best shopping and eating options around Rainbow Street, for the October/November issue of J Magazine, the inflight magazine of Jazeera Airways.
In previous blogposts, I’ve looked at how how travel guidebooks to Haiti have reflected the concerns of the day, from the US occupation of Haiti in the early 20th century to the tourist boom of the 1980s. In the final entry in this mini-series, we can go back to the infancy of the guidebook itself and find Haiti there at the very beginning, giving a very different account of itself to the ones we’ve looked at so far.
The travel guidebook is a relatively young publishing phenomenon. Although guides were produced for the 18th century Grand Tour of Europe, it wasn’t until the mid-19th century that companies like Thomas Cook started producing what were recognizably the first ‘package tours’ that the genre took off. The debut Baedeker guide in English – traditionally thought of as the first recognizably modern travel guidebook series – was published in 1861. Amazingly, its appearance was beaten by a year by the first printed guide to Haiti, although its target market was rather different to those seeking the sites of Classical Europe.
A Guide to Hayti was published by James Redpath in 1860 under the auspices of the Haytian Bureau of Emigration in Boston. Despite being independent for over half a century, Haiti remained unrecognised by the USA, which was fearful of the powerful draw the country held over both free and enslaved African-Americans. Haiti was similarly aware of its beacon status, and its government had already made attempts to encourage emigration. A movement in the 1820s sponsored by President Jean-Pierre Boyer had already seen around 13,000 African-Americans settle in the republic.
In 1859, Fabré Geffrard became president of Haiti, having overthrown Emperor Faustin Soulouque in a coup, and began to revisit plans to encourage emigration to Haiti. He enlisted the help of the Scottish-American abolitionist James Redpath, who was encouraged to set up an office of the new Haytian Bureau of Emigration. Land was given over in the Artibonite Valley for settlers, and a budget of $20,000 set for the enterprise. A key part of this was the production of a written guide to encourage potential emigrants.
Redpath sets out his stall in the book’s introduction with a polemic designed to get the blood racing:
There is only one country in the Western World where the Black and the man of color are undisputed lords; where the White is indebted for the liberty to live to the race which with us is enslaved; where neither laws, nor prejudices, nor historical memories, press on persons of African descent; where the people whom America degrades and drives from her are rulers, judges and generals; men of extended commercial relations, authors, artists and legislators; where the insolent question, so often asked with us, “What would become of the Negro if Slavery were abolished?’ is answered by the fact of an independent Nationality of immovable stability, and a Government inspired with the spirit of progress. The name of this country is HAYTI.
Much of the book continues in this inspirational tone. The history of the island – and especially the revolution – is cast in the most valiant light possible. The chapters on geography are an insight into a green island with ‘exhaustless forests’ now largely lost to modern deforestation, but a lush one that would surely have enticed those looking to cultivate their own land as free men (certain passages still hold true today: ‘Cockroaches and ants are the greatest threat to housekeepers; they eat clothing and books with an extraordinary gluttony’). All information is tailored to the potential settler – the best land and soil types for certain crops, the best climate for particular livestock, even the relative abundance of different wood for the cabinet-maker seeking a new life.
Everything in the book contrives to paint a very seductive portrait of country, and the text regularly reminds African-American readers that Haiti is a beacon of liberty in comparison to its northern neighbour. ‘Men of our race, dispersed in the United States!’ booms the Haitian Secretary of State FE Dubois in a separate essay. ‘The doors of Hayti are open to you.’
In truth, Redpath is more interested in this hard sell than providing detailed travel information to his potential emigrants. Writing with the sigh of a guidebook writer who has returned from an exciting research trip but is dismayed by the pile of notes that demand to be written up, he concludes:
It is neither possible nor desirable to put in to a Guide Book … all that emigrants will ask. Hence, in this volume, the reader will find the essential facts only; for further information, he must apply, personally or by letter, to the office in Boston, where certified copies of the Governmental guarantees, the journals of Hayti, books of reference, maps, specimens of the ores, and of the staple cultures of the Island, will be found.
As a result, the chapter ‘How to go, and what to take to Hayti’ merely takes up a brisk three pages. (It’s instructive to compare the guide with The Prairie Traveler, an exhaustive manual for wagon trains on the Oregon Trail published a year later). Redpath essentially instructs emigrants to bring everything they think they might need, from clothing (‘take as many summer suits as you can afford to buy’) and tools (‘every family ought to have a saw, hammer, and nails’), to reading material (‘English books can seldom be had for love or money’) and livestock. About the only thing that seems to be available to purchase in Haiti is cane furniture.
The Haytian Bureau of Emigration – which also opened offices in New York and New Orleans – succeeded in bringing over 2000 emigrants to Haiti. Of those who made the journey, the most celebrated emigrant was the church minister Joseph Theodore Holly, a noted evangelist for Haiti as a home for African-Americans. Holly helped found the Episcopal Church in Haiti, and was its first bishop. Thirty years after arriving in Haiti, he oversaw the construction the Sainte Trinité Cathedral, which become famed for its extraordinary Biblical murals by the masters of Haitian art, and later reduced to rubble during the 2010 earthquake.
The success of the Guide to Hayti was relatively short-lived. In June 1862, just over a year into the American Civil War, the United States finally gave diplomatic recognition to Haiti. Six months later, Abraham Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation, explicitly shifting the war aims of the Union and making abolition inevitable. The staunchest supporters of emigration now shifted their efforts inwards; Redpath himself left the Bureau to become a war correspondent.
In the second half of the 20th century, Haiti became known as a net exporter of people rather than a destination for emigrants. But with a neat irony, the Haitian tourism industry today is putting its biggest efforts into attracting the Haitian-American Diaspora back to the country for their vacations. Visitors today, however, are encouraged to bring their swimsuits rather than hammers and nails.
For almost a century after its independence in 1804, Haiti sat largely apart from the international mainstream, little-visited and ostracised by many. When it made headlines at all, it was as the recipient of the crudest form of gunboat diplomacy, when a naval cruiser from one of the major European powers or America would threaten to shell Port-au-Prince unless reparations were paid for some imagined slight against one of its nationals. On July 28 1915, all this was to change. The USS Washington weighed anchor in Port-au-Prince harbour and disgorged several hundred marines, who quickly took control of strategic locations.
For the next 20 years, thousands more Americans followed their army to Haiti – businessmen, missionaries and even the occasional tourists. And they all needed help when they got there. In short, they needed a travel guide. In a previous blog I talked about what the Haitian guidebooks of the 1980s could tell us about contemporary attitudes to the country, and it’s instructive to look at what literature was available for the many Americans heading to Haiti during the occupation. Of these, the most important was the bilingual Livre bleu d’Haïti (The Blue Book of Hayti), produced in 1920 under the auspices of the Haitian government.
The Americans were ostensibly in Haiti to provide stability to the country, and counter German influence in the Caribbean during a time of world war. However, the occupation also brought with it the opportunity to remake Haiti in America’s image. Having taken control of the banks, customs houses and the presidency, a new constitution (drafted by Franklin D Roosevelt) was forced through parliament allowing foreigners to own land for the first time since independence. Haiti was now a land of opportunity. The introduction to the The Blue Book of Hayti states the case very clearly:
Haiti is a very interesting country and if proper propaganda would make it rightly known to the outside world, most certainly its good and healthy climate would attract a great number of tourists which would render inevitable the construction of comfortable and large hotels [and] central parks which in time would bring the desired progress to the country. The Haitian soil, which has never been cultivated, contains immense wealth and would guarantee the development of industrial and commercial enterprises, and the main desire of the country is to interest foreign and especially American capitalists to invest in the exploitation of Haitian soil, mines and woods, which would certainly prove to be one of the best investments in the world.
The Blue Book of Hayti is a 260-page gazetteer to the country. There are sections on history, geography and the like, but what’s really important to its readers is making money and getting on in society. So, there are pages dedicated to customs warehouses, import businesses and municipal works, interspersed with biographies of the well-to-do Haitians you might meet or (possibly) receive a dining invitation from. With luck, you might run into the ‘genial and sympathetic personality’ of George Baussan, architect of the Palais National, or president-to-be Louis Borno (‘kindly of manner and benevolent of heart’). Photographic portraits are even provided for identification, and are particularly revealing – the leading Haitians are all pale skinned, the officers of the newly-reconstituted armed forces are American to a man, and women are represented in a peculiar seven-page spread entitled ‘Beauties of Hayti – Popularity Contest.’
It’s just possible that the visitor to Haiti is interested in seeing the country as much as making money from it. This was the earliest era of international cruising, and publishers were scrambling to produce guides to the new recreational travellers. The famous The South American Handbook, (updated annually and now in its 90th edition) dates from this period, while Haiti makes an appearance as part of a cruise itinerary in Frederick Albion’s A Guide to the West Indies, Bermuda and Panama (1920).
Much as many Caribbean guidebooks today still give Haiti the widest of berths, you get the sense that Albion could hardly bring himself to disembark when his ship arrived in Cap-Haïtien. ‘Let it be understood,’ he writes of anyone planning a trip to Haiti, ‘that he does it solely upon his own responsibility.’ The change of tone from the rest of the book is jarring. Elsewhere, Bermuda is described in painterly colours, Havana offers the visitor beautiful views and graceful ladies wearing mantillas, while readers are charmed by Jamaica’s English-style villages complete with boys playing cricket. As for Port-au-Prince, the visitor is ‘advised not to plan to linger in this city, unless certain of a welcome from the American colony which now numbers several hundred members.’
Those readers who forgot to pack their copy of The Blue Book of Haiti and it’s spotter’s guide to Haitian society would have found a welcome from the various social and sports clubs set up by the Americans. The Pétionville Club (which found unfortunate fame after the 2010 earthquake when its golf course became home to a large tent camp run by Sean Penn’s aid outfit JP/HRO) was established during the US occupation. Female travellers could join The Colony Club of Haiti, set up in 1924 by the wives of US Marines officers.
In contrast with the guidebooks of today, which sell themselves through offering as many chances for readers to experience countries as locals do, Albion wants to insulate as far as possible readers from accidentally encountering Haiti as it actually existed for Haitians. Take public transport for example:
The [buses] are ramshackle affairs and their seats hardly inviting. Get advice from a resident of your own class as to both carriage and motor service … There are perhaps 100 miles of so-called rail-roads in Haiti. Trains run at less than bicycle speed and, for that and other reasons, are seldom patronized by whites.
Likewise, those wishing to experience the wider country don’t find much encouragement:
[Jacmel] offers nothing startling beyond the fact that it claims 6,000 Baptists. There are no special attractions here for the traveller, as one may pursue his investigations of people and resources at better advantage in the capital, or at the Cape. The streets are no cleaner than they should be, and the hotels are, frankly, Haitian.
Ironically, those Americans who did manage to travel more widely in Haiti would probably ended up finding favour with the guidebook’s author. The US occupation prompted a mini-boom in travelogues and memoirs about Haiti visitors, all intent on appropriating its cultural capital. Books like William Seagrove’s Magic Island (and its spin-off Hollywood movie White Zombie) sold a twisted ‘Voodoo’-soaked Haiti to the American public. The potency of this imagery proved so powerful as to inform narratives about Haiti to the present day. In the 1970s the Haitian government even used this imagery to sell the island back to prospective American tourists, while in a May 2013 survey of package tourists visiting Haiti, 90% of respondents said that they’d hoped to see ‘voodoo performances’ during their trip.
Travel guidebooks have thankfully evolved a long way from the parochial and casually racist attitudes of the 1920s. But the US occupation of Haiti still casts a long shadow, and what makes these books interesting today is how much can be carried forward to the present. The relentless focus on the country being open for business (even down to a prescient comment about the potential for mining), the closed circle of many expats in Haiti and even the paternalist need for an occupying army to stitch the country together (only after anti-American banditry is eradicated can Haitians ‘in time learn to govern themselves in freedom’) – all find their echoes in the 21st century. Some narratives apparently take a little longer to change.
I’m a sucker for old travel guidebooks. They’re like time capsules, revealing not just how countries change, but how travel – and travel writing – changes along with them. One of the favourites on my shelf is a 1986 copy of one of the original backpacking bibles, Lonely Planet’s Africa on a Shoestring. It’s a freewheeling sort of book that speaks to LP’s hippy trail roots. There’s not so much on the mechanics of getting from A to B, but plenty on scoring dope in Guinea-Bissau or how male travellers can hide their long hair when crossing into Malawi (their dictatorial President-for-Life hated hippies; the LP guide itself was a banned book). There’s also food for thought for nostalgists complaining how travel isn’t like it used to be. No-one is likely to be updating the section on where to find the best Chinese food in Mogadishu anytime soon, but the book also passes quickly over neighbouring Ethiopia, then inaccessible due to the murderous Derg regime in Addis Ababa, but now with a thriving tourist industry.
When talking about my Haiti guide for Bradt, I frequently tell people that it’s the first dedicated English guide to the country since the 1980s. So I was thrilled to recently pick up a copy of one of its forebears, previously unknown to me – Haiti: Voodoo Kingdom to Modern Riviera by John Allen Franciscus.
To foreign visitors at the time, Haiti was booming. Mass-market tourism was in, with Club Med opening its doors in 1980, just in time for the guidebook’s publication. Haiti was somewhere to forget your cares, renowned for sex tourism. Haiti was also a draw for foreign business. Under Jean-Claude Duvalier’s rule, sweatshops proliferated, manufacturing 90% of the world’s baseballs, with no inconvenient minimum wage.
We expect modern guidebooks today to be aimed at the middle-brow tourist in a hurry – plenty of ‘Best of’ lists, suggested itineraries and a dollop of insight. There’s none of that on display here. Indeed, the book’s over-sized format is hardly compatible with a day tramping around the tourist sites. Travel information such as hotel listings are briskly dealt with in the first dozen pages, before moving onto more interesting matters. It’s essentially an expat guide – the equivalent of those modern briefing kits given out to NGO workers or church volunteers on mission, just without any fussing over cultural niceties.
So, what did an American heading to Port-au-Prince in 1980 need to know?
History, for a start. There’s a decent account of the Haitian Revolution, even hat-tipping CLR James’s classic The Black Jacobins, despite its ‘Marxist-Trotskyite’ undertones. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the US occupation garners plenty of enthusiasm. While acknowledging that the American use of forced labour might have been a step too far, the book dutifully notes:
For nineteen years Haiti had its first taste of the practical outside world… In short, the marines improved whatever they touched.
In case you don’t get a clear enough picture of where the author is coming from, we’re left with a smiling portrait of Duvalier fils, and a reminder that a country like Haiti will always need ‘a strong hand and a benevolent dictator’ to keep things in order.
There then follows a short picture-led gazetteer to Port-au-Prince and the country at large. Relatively few foreigners these days visit the dock areas downtown or the decrepit Bicentenaire, and it’s bitter-sweet to recall that this area was once a dynamic area known for its modernist architecture and nightlife, and that tourists arriving by ship (as most did) would likely be reminded of the Bay of Naples or the French Riviera as they steamed into Port-au-Prince. Outside the capital there’s a decent room-by-room walking tour of the Citadelle, and even a few gems to follow up on for the next edition of my own Haiti guide. For instance, does anyone know what happened to the monument to Franklin D Roosevelt in Cap-Haïtien?
After a long diversion about the value of Haitian art, we get to the meat of the book. Readers are treated to the ins and outs of life as an American in Haiti. There are are long sections on business and employment law, how best to decorate your new home and even how much maternity leave female employees are entitled to should they get pregnant. Residents are advised to join a local club and church to get on in society, and spend 20 minutes a day on their French grammar (the thought that Creole, the first language of over 90% of the population, might be more useful never occurs). Those readers who nodded approvingly at the account of the US occupation would have found much to cheer them – an enviable lifestyle, plenty of servants (always servants, never staff) and ‘low cost labor.’ In today’s parlance, Haiti was certainly ‘open for business.’ Perhaps an updated edition should be due for those investors heading to the country’s new Caracol Industrial Park.
Of course, hard-working businessmen need to unwind, and it’s here that the author suddenly realises he needs to think like a guidebook writer, and provide some proper reviews. But the ‘voodoo’ shows aimed at the regular tourists don’t interest him or his readers, so off we go to the brothels that lined the Carrefour Road out of Port-au-Prince. The backrooms of bars are commended for cleanliness, the friendliest madams are cheered, and the rigorousness of venereal disease-testing noted. Reviewing the Copacabana Bar for example:
This gets high marks because it is an open pavilion and the fifteen girls are quite attractive. Here 60% of the girls are Spanish-speaking from the Dominican Republic. They range in age from late teens to early twenties and usually only spend a month under their visa restrictions before they return to their normal ordinary jobs in their own country. Their parents are not usually aware they have gone “professional.”
It’s all jaw-dropping stuff. But while the attitudes on display are abhorrent (Haitians are frequently referred to as ‘natives’), it’s a revealing look into the mindset of many foreigners travelling to Haiti at the time. The country was about cheap assembly factories and having a louche time – screwing Haitians, basically – so by his own standards the author actually does his job as a guidebook writer very well, hitting all the spots that his target audience need. There’s even a detailed section on how to get a quickie divorce.
For all the author’s assertions about the stability and prosperity of the Haitian regime, and all it offered to visitors, he’s painting an attractive fantasy for his readers. The good life was always an illusion for those suffering under the Duvalier dictatorship. As the book came out, the ‘AIDS scare’ of the early 1980s was waiting around the corner, about to cause Haitian tourism numbers to collapse virtually overnight. Any remaining visitors were driven away after the ouster of Jean-Claude Duvalier in 1986 and the troubles that followed.
Haiti: Voodoo Kingdom to Modern Riviera is certainly a flawed and problematic book, but as a window into a world that was about to come crashing down, it’s never less than fascinating.
My latest piece for Men’s Journal is about a pretty unorthodox travel destination – Nigeria. But bear with me, because in the southeastern Cross River state, butting up against the Cameroonian border, is one of the most incredible conservation projects I’ve ever encountered:
A promised encounter with Nigeria’s rarest apes and monkeys may sound like a come-on from a particularly inventive email scam artist, but a rainforest camp run by a pioneering primate charity can guarantee a mono a mono encounter with one of the princes of the forest.
A four-hour drive on red-earth roads through the forest southeast of Calabar, an old port, the Afi Mountain Drill Ranch is a dedicated wildlife center-cum-tourist attraction that hosts half a dozen troops of drills, baboons’ rare cousins. The white-rumped apes live independent but structured lives under the watchful eyes of Liza Gadsby and Peter Jenkins, an American couple that arrived in this verdant part of Nigeria on an overland tour in 1980 and have been trying to protect this endangered species ever since. The habitat serves as a sort of halfway house for animals affected by the bushmeat trade.
Pandrillus are a living example for both conservation and development organisations that if you want to effect real change, you need to be in there for the long hall. When Peter Jenkins proudly recounted to me that one of the organisation’s proudest legacies was making it socially unacceptable in the area to eat primate bushmeat, I asked him how long that had taken. His reply – nearly two decades. There are no quick fixes.
I’d first come across Pandrillus on my very first trip to Nigeria for Lonely Planet back in 2005. Although I didn’t make it up to Afi Mountain Drill Ranch until much later, I covered that trip as part of one of LP’s early blogging experiments. You can find that blog (hosted by MyTripJournal), to read here, written in a slightly breathless fashion, mostly because I was scrabbling down my thoughts in some slow and sticky Nigerian internet cafe. I like the entry about recreating the gleeful anarchy of Lagos in the comfort of your own home best, although it’s sad to note the entries about northern Nigeria – Zaria, Kano and Maiduguri – as the activities of Boko Haram have left these places decidedly unsafe for visitors. The new edition of LP West Africa (out in a couple of months) mentions them only in passing, as it was deemed unsafe to send an author there. A travel piece about the Kano Durbar will have to wait for happier times.
When I was writing my Haiti guidebook for Bradt, I was often asked which was my favourite place in the country. It’s a tough call, and always depended on my mood at the time. The view from the Citadelle? Swimming in Bassin Bleu? Sunset with rum sours on the beach at Port Salut? All good contenders, but I often plumped for Môle Saint-Nicholas, because it took me so long to get aorund to visiting, and was such a revelation when I did.
I’ve just written a short piece about its joys for the Adventure section of Men’s Journal:
Môle Saint-Nicholas, at the tip of Haiti’s northern “finger,” sits on a wide enclosed bay, fringed with a long strip of creamy sand. When Christopher Columbus made his first landfall in the Americas here in 1492, he noted the area’s “beauty and graciousness.” He neglected to mention that the entire region was thick with caves, hills, and reefs, making it an irresistible destination for future adventurers.
The area around Môle is rife for exploration. The low forest is threaded with miles of goat paths that are perfect for mountain biking. Some paths lead along the cliffs and down to the sea, while others plunge into enticing limestone caves as yet unexplored by spelunkers. Tracks too rocky for wheels offer further hiking possibilities, such as the 600-foot summit of Morne Cabris (“Goat Mountain”), with its ruined fort and dramatic views over the Windward Passage. Locals claim that on a clear day, it’s possible to see Cuba, just 52 miles away.
Welcome to the relaunched home page of guidebook author and travel writer Paul Clammer. Since 2004 I’ve written or contributed to over two dozen travel guides for Lonely Planet Publications and Bradt Travel Guides, including first editions of guidebooks to Afghanistan and Sudan. My most recent book is Haiti: The Bradt Travel Guide, published in November 2012, and the first standalone guidebook in English to Haiti since the 1980s. You can find out more on the book’s very active Facebook page.