Citadel de la Ferriere

For a country receiving imported - subsidised by foreign aid – rice and generally the ultimate developmental petri-dish for a World Bank economic rescue plan, I was pretty flummoxed to learn that Haiti has the largest historical strategic military structure, i.e. a Citadel, in the Western Hemisphere. The Citadel de la Ferriere is unseen from Okap (Cap Haitien) but it was literally bored from a 1000 metre above sea level mountain peak, which is the tallest in northern Haiti, and from there you can see over 50 km towards Okap and beyond.

20 mins away from the Citadel

It was built by the eccentric but very smart general, Henri Christophe, who became the 2nd president of Haiti (after the founding president Jean-Jacques Dessalines, disliked by some then for his autocratic ways but  today an national icon, was assassinated), and self proclaimed King of Haiti (wanting to outdo all pretenders, modelling his court along the lines of the Prussian royalty of the time). He appropriated all assets to the freed slaves, creating an agrarian system of self sustenance and surplus provision to government stores. The French still eventually made off with a lot of loot, ears down and tail between legs, after a thorough whooping of a  Napoleonic army against a well organised and motivated battalion of freedom fighters. At one siege that lasted 20 days, 1,300 rebels held off 18,000 French loyalists and expeditionary forces.

View of the town of Milot from Sans Souci Palace

 

Path to the Citadell looking back at the twin hills looking over Milot

Roi Christophe assembled the best educated lot to build a palace at Sans Souci at Milot,  at the beginning of the path to Citadel de la Ferriere, with the intention of building a new capital city safely inland under the watchful eye of the Citadel. The monolithic Citadel was built in just 7 years. Hundreds of lives were lost but the walls, some over 10metres thick, and the impressive array of weaponry in readiness of a French re-invasion showed the sheer motivation to make good the liberation. I was amazed as to how much can be done in such a short time without sophisticated machinery but with organisational precision (never mind the occupational fatalities) that would make today's construction managers blush with embarrassment.

Past the halfway mark and looking North towards the Atlantic

The San Souci Palace was largely destroyed in an earthquake in 1842, but my 78 year old guide – César, enthusiastically showed me the significance of the few visible bits of structure remaining, including a sculpture  from one of the Italian states with its nose chopped off  for some reason that César told me and I forgot! He also pointed out where the gardens, stables and schools were located including a canal system bringing cool, clean water from the mountain. The water still trickles down and its damn tasty.

What was left of the Palace with random tourist blocking the view (Oh, that'll be me)

César, born in 1933 in Milot – the town where San Souci Palace is located, started doing this work as soon as he turned 18 in 1950. Coincidently the president at that time put a lot of effort into building an all weather road up to the Citadel and restoring some of the run-down parts of it. Subsequent prezzies including the infamous Papa Doc François Duvalier threw in money to keep the maintenance going. Well, that's national pride for you, never mind all those corpses in unmarked graves, Mr Duvalier.

César, veteran tour guide

I was a bit concerned that I would get a guide that was no better than a parrot, like those awful open top bus tours you sometimes get in London but César skilfully told the story of Roi Christophe like he was there himself. I tell you, this story is best told with a folkloric lilt to it. For example, it is historically written that he committed suicide in 1820 but the César version has tales of a man possessed, driven to madness by voices in his head, leading him out of the Citadel without an escort but in civilian clothes, unable to cope with his visions and finally shooting himself with a silver bullet somewhere in the valley. Well, good old César kept talking and entertaining me as we struggled up the 3 hour walk to the Citadel. This is the same guy that got me running down the hill later on so I don't miss the Tap-Tap (modified pick-up public transport!) back to Okap.

Rock gardens near the Citadel

A bit of flora to contrast the clay rich but barren and deforested hills

His French was pretty good, and like a teacher he kept on pausing,  turning around, looking at me straight in the eye and asking me if I understood what he just said. In my mind I was always compelled to tell the truth lest he scans my brain for lies. I was the only tourist, of the few that came that day, who walked all the way. Horse ride vendors were constantly cooing for me to hop but I kept telling them, look I got legs! Otherwise I saw van loads of tourists (probably American, no prejudice to Americans, but I just had a hunch!) on their way up. At a stop in an intermediate car park I watched with glee some NGO officials and diplomats trying to hop onto a horse (or horse like creature, neither horse nor mule nor donkey, as somebody here told me). It was not a pretty sight.

The West end of the Citadel with the shape of the bow end of a ship

 Alfred Hitchcock, this is Vertigo! The crocodile-like Milot hills from Citadel

Before reaching the top the view is already amazing, with a folding mountain range to the East rolling towards Dominican Republic, mostly stripped of its trees and dark red earth, looking South towards the river pierced valleys and plains of the central plateau, west towards northern Haiti and finally North towards the deep blue Atlantic.

More entertainment awaited me, on top of the hoards of nattering and idle horse owners, snack and souvenir hawkers and 'guides' near the entrance, I found that one tourist had fainted (probably American). As his guide and a travel colleague were helping him come to, he vomited and somebody mentioned something about what he ate before coming up. He was part of the (probably American) lot of tourists that came up in a van. As I sipped my Coca Cola (from America but bottled in Port-au-Prince), wiping 3 hours worth of climbing-up-the-hill sweat, and sitting on an old canon, watching the scene unfold, I started thinking about what Mr. Henri Christophe would have thought of all this.

Neatly arranged peppercorns.....no, cannon balls

What should I do with all these cannons? Take a snap with my Canon

Mossy, rusty, unhappy, unwanted cannonballs

The guide took me towards the 2nd entrance to the Citadelle facing West towards it's exposed flank, protected by a fortification on a little hill. In the outer courtyard, there is a neat arrangement of canonballs of all sizes. Despite the vast redundant arsenal, an informer tells me that several cannons get stolen each week, sometimes the guides themselves sell them to tourists on the sly.

The Citadelle was built for the ultimate 18th century battle and seige. The thick stone walls and bricked roofing were built, with one end the shape of a ship's hull, to withstand a seige for many days. There are fake passages everywhere to fool the infiltrating enemy, and infact guide him to his peril in the form of a soldiers bayonet or a 100 metre fall from an outer wall.

Right, all I need is a matchbox...

The nerve centre of the whole project, the high command quarters

Where the hanging gardens and pond used to be, the 'interior of the ship's bow'', surrounded by living quarters

The fleet of high projectile French made medium range cannons as well as long range ship busting English cannons, salvaged from previous battles. The English ones were donated of course (my enemy is your enemy - some things never change). Some could launch cluster cannonballs that explode mid-range and release little cannonballs for multiple damage (an early form of smart bombing...effectiveness hasn't changed much today, looking at NATO experience in former Yugoslavia and Afghanistan).

The unmistakable British coat of arms with the 'Dieu et Mon Droit' motto

 

Napoleon's imperial insignia on the French canon

 

More French canon's not far from Henri Christophe's masoleum

 

A canon that actually looks like it was once ready to fire something

The Arsenal was pretty impressive until it blew up during  Henri Christophe's reign, killing his son. Today, as you walk around the Arsenal, you can see the cracks in the tortoise shaped building from the explosion over 200 years ago and smell the sulphurous funk that remains from the spent gunpowder.

The Arsenal

 

The interior of the Arsenal

There were all sorts of innovations in the fort, a cool room in the deepest part , with a water pool that can freeze at night, due to the high altitude and cool conditions, allowing storage of perishable foods like meats and vegetables. The roofs of the citadelle have curvy channels and drains that direct rainwater to supplement the groundwater wells, once again enhancing the self-dependency of the place, a virtue that is yet to return to Haiti today.

Don't take your child here to do 'kaka'.....a 30 metre drop!

 

Some more of that vertigo...

Red moss on the outer walls

There were entertainment facilities, including a billiards room, for the soldiers and education rooms for the children of the royals and higher officers. Haiti at the time seemed to have a critical mass of skilled people: architects, artists, carpenters, foundrymen, military strategists, teachers, doctors, engineers. It explains the short construction period, despite its labour intensivity and high casualties.

Views from the top

On that pictorial conclusion to a picturesque experience, I can only say that my favourite photo was that of  a simple, neat and clean adobe house on the way down. No blood-letting, no folklore, no military arrangements, the only hint of nationalism being the pride of ones home.

K.

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