Labadee, Labadah, Life Goes On . . .

February 29, 2012

I know you recall the old Beatles song. If you are too young to understand the reference, just ask your parents. But early in the morning when on port days in Labadee you hear that gentle tune being hummed or lightly sung several times as you head down the I-95. Or if your office is across from our Bar Manager, Damir, you heard it sung in more full-throated tones. Except instead of Obladee, Obladah, the words have been changed to Labadee, Labadah.

Labadee, Haiti is Celebrity’s private resort area on the coast of Haiti. It is a narrow peninsula which gives us beaches on two sides.  The protected side is Columbus Cove. The windward side is a long stretch that fronts the open Atlantic. With plenty of beach, several open air food and beverage areas, a few attractions for the more adventurous, and a Village ‘Artists’ Market’ where local vendors can sell their wares, it has just about everything that anyone wants in the Caribbean. The first time I visited the island our entire department left the ship together to check out a private resort around the point from Columbus Cove, Belly Beach. It is place where crew can go if they want to escape the need to be ‘onstage’ with guests even when they are relaxing. The second port day in Labadee, I stayed on the ship as I was working ahead so that I could get off the ship to join Dani and Rosie at Ring Dance. At some point I needed to truly explore Labadee to understand the guest experience. Honest, that is my only reason for taking a three hour break on the island.

I left the ship shortly after 1pm, hoping to catch the tail end of the crew BBQ in Columbus Cove. In swim trunks, t-shirt and sandals I did my best to blend into the tourists and leave my shipboard responsibilities aside. It was about a ten minute walk to the barbeque area and I barely made it before the feast shut down at 1:30pm. I grabbed a sampling of the local fare, a diet coke (which is provided free at the crew barbeque but costs us on the ship!) and settle in the back of the open air pavilion to watch the world go by.

That’s when I had my one disconcerting and troubling moment of the day. I heard someone calling in the rhythmic cadence of Haiti. I couldn’t make out where the voice was coming from.  Yet the voice was persistent and I continued to work on identifying its source. Eventually I could distinguish forms mostly hidden at the far side of a deep grove of trees and underbrush at the boundary of the property. There were four teenage boys calling out trying to get my attention across this swath of jungle. A few seconds later I realized that the foliage was not the only barrier as there was a tall barbed wire fence, similar to what you would see in a prison virtually hidden in the trees. But this barrier separated our private paradise from the reality of Haiti. I understood the reason and know that it is common in that country separating the privileged from the poor. But suddenly the food felt dry in my mouth.

With my mind spinning on the reality of Haiti, I walked through the artist’s village hoping to find something that appealed to me so I could buy something and perform the typical American ritual for absolving our guilty consciences. Sadly, being a guy who really doesn’t yearn for material possessions I could not justify a purchase. Upon reflection, I was glad that our department takes up a constant collection of clothes and donated goods that we deliver to Haiti every time we stop. But I wondered if any of our guests understood the dichotomy of the experience they were enjoying.

For the first time since sailing the Caribbean, I finally got in the water. I found a quiet end of the Cove and stripped down to my trunks and hit the water. The warm sea enveloped me and I floated in mindless reverie. For the next hour I simply let all the stress of the first six weeks of my contract melt away by alternating the warm sun and sand with the refreshing embrace of the sea. My overactive mind finally let itself shut down and get lost in the peace of the moment. Knowing that I had to be onboard shortly after 4pm, I started the slow walk up the beach and climbed the rocky path over the edge of the point back to the tip of the peninsula. Before I caught the path back to the ship I made the decision to check out the Atlantic side. I’m glad I did.

There it was, in all its glory, the longest zip line over the Atlantic. Starting high up on the hill above the water a zip line emerged from the canopy of the trees above and ran down the entire coast over the Atlantic reaching the beach only after barely skimming over the water in its last few feet. I watched the thrill seekers enjoying the ride, as close as most of them would ever come to flying without an airplane. And as I watched, I knew one thing for certain. I needed to do this before we left the Caribbean.

My liberty almost complete, I rejoined the path to the ship, refreshed and as relaxed as I had been in over a year. And as I walked onto the ship, I found myself humming. In a few minutes I would reach my stateroom, shower, and put on my uniform. I had a class to teach in about half an hour, reports to file, and guest encounters to engage in.

Labadee, Labadah, life goes on, oh! La, la, la, la, life goes on.

And the adventure continues . . .