by Matthew Howe
Two months after a violent revolution, who would be stupid enough to go to Haiti to shoot a segment for a lame-ass reality show?
That would be me.
The show was called Repo Men, an early, unsuccessful, forerunner of the Operation Repos and Lizard Lick Towings that currently grace the airwaves. Repo Men hadn't even officially gone into production, but when the production team got word that a daring maritime repo man named Max Hardberger was going to repossess a 70,000 ton freighter in Haiti, it seemed a no brainer. Someone had to go and shoot this.
Two months after a violent revolution, who would be stupid enough to go to Haiti to shoot a segment for a lame-ass reality show?
That would be me.
The show was called Repo Men, an early, unsuccessful, forerunner of the Operation Repos and Lizard Lick Towings that currently grace the airwaves. Repo Men hadn't even officially gone into production, but when the production team got word that a daring maritime repo man named Max Hardberger was going to repossess a 70,000 ton freighter in Haiti, it seemed a no brainer. Someone had to go and shoot this.
I'd heard about the possibility of a shoot in Haiti and immediately rejected it out of hand. There had been another of their frequent revolutions not two months earlier, and the tiny island nation was in chaos. Only a fool would go.
Yet, when the producers called to pitch the shoot to me, (having been turned down, I later found out, by three other shooters) I suddenly found myself less averse to the idea. There was nothing to worry about, I was told, this Max guy was a total pro. We'd have security with us. The chaos had calmed down. Haiti was fine. The shoot would be perfectly safe.
And so, watching from outside my body, I agreed to do the shoot.
Many surprises awaited me.
The first was that the crew was a wee bit smaller than usual. I had been assuming we'd have the typical Producer, Associate Producer, soundman, shooter (me,) and hopefully a few ex-Navy SEALs along for protection.
But because flying to Haiti was so damned expensive, due no doubt to how few airlines actually wanted to risk sending their planes into the madness, the production was only sending a cameraman and soundman. Not only was I supposed to shoot this repo, I was now producing and directing the whole goddamn segment.
It was too late to back out. Tickets had been booked, a Satphone had been rented. I was give $750 in cash and told not to bother with receipts. That worried me more than anything. Producers are insane about receipts. You have to bring one back for every dime you spend or they literally go bat shit crazy on you. The fact that they weren't worried about receipts told me this wasn't just money for buying food and water on our trip, this was grease to get us out of any tight spots we might find ourselves in. Which meant they assumed there might just be some tight spots.
At the camera check-out, I met my soundman, Carlos. Good man, solid, sensible. A little green around the gills, just as I was, but willing to give it a shot. After all, a sense of adventure is a disease that runs through most people in the film biz.
So off to Haiti we flew. We were only bringing a small camera and sound package as there was simply no support for anything larger.
Yet, when the producers called to pitch the shoot to me, (having been turned down, I later found out, by three other shooters) I suddenly found myself less averse to the idea. There was nothing to worry about, I was told, this Max guy was a total pro. We'd have security with us. The chaos had calmed down. Haiti was fine. The shoot would be perfectly safe.
And so, watching from outside my body, I agreed to do the shoot.
Many surprises awaited me.
The first was that the crew was a wee bit smaller than usual. I had been assuming we'd have the typical Producer, Associate Producer, soundman, shooter (me,) and hopefully a few ex-Navy SEALs along for protection.
But because flying to Haiti was so damned expensive, due no doubt to how few airlines actually wanted to risk sending their planes into the madness, the production was only sending a cameraman and soundman. Not only was I supposed to shoot this repo, I was now producing and directing the whole goddamn segment.
It was too late to back out. Tickets had been booked, a Satphone had been rented. I was give $750 in cash and told not to bother with receipts. That worried me more than anything. Producers are insane about receipts. You have to bring one back for every dime you spend or they literally go bat shit crazy on you. The fact that they weren't worried about receipts told me this wasn't just money for buying food and water on our trip, this was grease to get us out of any tight spots we might find ourselves in. Which meant they assumed there might just be some tight spots.
At the camera check-out, I met my soundman, Carlos. Good man, solid, sensible. A little green around the gills, just as I was, but willing to give it a shot. After all, a sense of adventure is a disease that runs through most people in the film biz.
So off to Haiti we flew. We were only bringing a small camera and sound package as there was simply no support for anything larger.
We landed in Port Au Prince and were met by Max Hardberger and his assistant Ronald, who was a local. I kept looking for the security guys who were going to accompany us, but they never appeared. Ronald was our security. More to the point, the 9mm pistol on his belt was our security.
I got my first taste of the chaos when we wheeled our cart of gear and luggage out of the terminal to Max's SUV. Two guys came at us, both of them grabbing bags off our cart. I thought we were being robbed, but they only wanted to carry our bags for us and earn some tips. Not so much earn, as demand. The guys threw the two bags into the SUV then turned on me screaming for money.
I had plenty of cash, but no small bills. Smallest I had was a $10, so I handed it to one of them and told him to "split it with the other guy."
The guy gave me a look like I might be the dumbest human on the planet before running off, leaving me face to face with a very pissed off, untipped Haitian dude. I dug into my personal cash, found a five and handed it over. He started shouting that the other guy got a ten and he only got a five. Not fair.
It was getting ugly when Ronald came over and screamed something in Haitian Creole in his face. Loud. The dude backed down, took off with his five. First thing I learned about Haiti: the guy who yells loudest wins, though the gun on Ronald's hip didn't hurt, either.
We got the rest of our stuff loaded when a mom with three starving little kids hanging off her dress grabbed my sleeve, imploring me to help. She got a twenty, and Max got me into the SUV before "I gave away all my damned money."
Max, I could see right away, was a pretty amazing guy. Airplane pilot, freighter captain, author, adventurer, high-seas repo man, Max has the air of a guy who's seen a lot in his life. A true character who wasn't faking it. The guy had done some interesting shit. While he had great stories to tell, he never bragged.
I got my first taste of the chaos when we wheeled our cart of gear and luggage out of the terminal to Max's SUV. Two guys came at us, both of them grabbing bags off our cart. I thought we were being robbed, but they only wanted to carry our bags for us and earn some tips. Not so much earn, as demand. The guys threw the two bags into the SUV then turned on me screaming for money.
I had plenty of cash, but no small bills. Smallest I had was a $10, so I handed it to one of them and told him to "split it with the other guy."
The guy gave me a look like I might be the dumbest human on the planet before running off, leaving me face to face with a very pissed off, untipped Haitian dude. I dug into my personal cash, found a five and handed it over. He started shouting that the other guy got a ten and he only got a five. Not fair.
It was getting ugly when Ronald came over and screamed something in Haitian Creole in his face. Loud. The dude backed down, took off with his five. First thing I learned about Haiti: the guy who yells loudest wins, though the gun on Ronald's hip didn't hurt, either.
We got the rest of our stuff loaded when a mom with three starving little kids hanging off her dress grabbed my sleeve, imploring me to help. She got a twenty, and Max got me into the SUV before "I gave away all my damned money."
Max, I could see right away, was a pretty amazing guy. Airplane pilot, freighter captain, author, adventurer, high-seas repo man, Max has the air of a guy who's seen a lot in his life. A true character who wasn't faking it. The guy had done some interesting shit. While he had great stories to tell, he never bragged.
His assistant, Ronald, was equally cool. Ronald was from the Haitian port city of Miragoane, the town where the stolen freighter was currently docked. Ronald was a proud Haitian. He loved his country and wanted, in some small way, to help it crawl out of poverty and chaos. He was one of the most solid, resolute people I've ever met.
Off we drove to Miragoane to scout the repo. To get there on Haiti's rudimentary road system, we had to drive through the heart of Port Au Prince.
Port Au Prince is at once gorgeous and repellant, bustling with life and yet rotting at the same time. The streets are clogged. Take your worst NYC/London traffic and multiply by ten. Then take away all stop signs, traffic signals and cops and you'll have the scrum that was downtown Port Au Prince.
The streets are ruled by the Tap-Taps, the Haitian equivalent of busses. Most of the Tap Taps I saw were old pick-up trucks with covers over the rear beds and benches installed in the back. A railroad spike hangs off a rope by the tailgate. People climb on and pay a small fee. When they want to get off, they use the railroad spike to tap on the tailgate and signal the driver to stop, hence the name.
But the real charm of the Tap Tap is the crazy paint jobs. You talk color. Man! Crazy colorful, emblazoned with flags, starscapes, scenic vistas, Jesus, and even a Tap Tap with a larger than life Rambo on the side.
Municipal services were nowhere to be seen. The preferred method of garbage collection seemed to be to pile it on a street corner. Every once in a while these piles would be set on fire. Burning piles of garbage were everywhere. The smell was, well, interesting to say the least. There was commerce everywhere you looked, people selling food, small electronics, cigarettes, household goods, car parts, all of them lined up along the streets.
I have never seen so many mechanics. The roads in Haiti are awful. The 45 mile drive from Port Au Prince to Miragoane, which should have taken an hour, took six. There is little pavement, and most of the roads are rutted dirt track. (At one point we drove through a water-filled pothole so deep the water came up to the windows.)
Off we drove to Miragoane to scout the repo. To get there on Haiti's rudimentary road system, we had to drive through the heart of Port Au Prince.
Port Au Prince is at once gorgeous and repellant, bustling with life and yet rotting at the same time. The streets are clogged. Take your worst NYC/London traffic and multiply by ten. Then take away all stop signs, traffic signals and cops and you'll have the scrum that was downtown Port Au Prince.
The streets are ruled by the Tap-Taps, the Haitian equivalent of busses. Most of the Tap Taps I saw were old pick-up trucks with covers over the rear beds and benches installed in the back. A railroad spike hangs off a rope by the tailgate. People climb on and pay a small fee. When they want to get off, they use the railroad spike to tap on the tailgate and signal the driver to stop, hence the name.
But the real charm of the Tap Tap is the crazy paint jobs. You talk color. Man! Crazy colorful, emblazoned with flags, starscapes, scenic vistas, Jesus, and even a Tap Tap with a larger than life Rambo on the side.
Municipal services were nowhere to be seen. The preferred method of garbage collection seemed to be to pile it on a street corner. Every once in a while these piles would be set on fire. Burning piles of garbage were everywhere. The smell was, well, interesting to say the least. There was commerce everywhere you looked, people selling food, small electronics, cigarettes, household goods, car parts, all of them lined up along the streets.
I have never seen so many mechanics. The roads in Haiti are awful. The 45 mile drive from Port Au Prince to Miragoane, which should have taken an hour, took six. There is little pavement, and most of the roads are rutted dirt track. (At one point we drove through a water-filled pothole so deep the water came up to the windows.)
Because the cars take such a beating, everyone knows how to fix them. There are hundred of people sitting by the roadside with tools, jacks, oil, washer fluid, brake fluid, and boxes of random spare parts waiting for a customer to come by. They work on the cars right there, in the street.
We eventually broke free of the city, passing through some smaller towns along the way. More mechanics. More cinderblocks. Everything in Haiti is made with cinderblocks, blocks that they make themselves using crude wooden molds.
But no police stations.
Well, scratch that . We saw plenty of police stations. Every single one of them burned to the ground. Outside of Port Au Prince where US Marines were doing security, I didn't see any sign of law-enforcement authority. Haiti was literally in a state of total anarchy, yet seemed to be humming along just fine.
An hour out of town, Max tells us we're going to stop at the "Haitian McDonalds" for lunch. I'm wondering what he's smoking because I haven't seen any signs of any American fast food.
We pull into an open air market with food vendors. The choices are BBQ goat or some kind of steamed conch. Ronald warns us away from the conch. He points to the bay where a bunch of Haitians are currently harvesting conch to go on the grill, and then to the open sewer draining into the very same bay. "If you eat that," Ronald informs us. "You'll be sicker than you ever thought possible." Hear that Anthony Bourdain? A challenge for you.
I have the goat.
I pay with American money and get some Haitian money back as change. Haitian money is disgusting. New money hasn't been printed in decades and the bills in circulation are grease-stained, ragged, and literally falling apart. (I bring some home to show my wife, then throw it away. It's too gross.)
After lunch, which was delicious, by the way, we continue.
The stop gives us a chance to throw a microphone on Max and shoot an interview while we drive.
We eventually broke free of the city, passing through some smaller towns along the way. More mechanics. More cinderblocks. Everything in Haiti is made with cinderblocks, blocks that they make themselves using crude wooden molds.
But no police stations.
Well, scratch that . We saw plenty of police stations. Every single one of them burned to the ground. Outside of Port Au Prince where US Marines were doing security, I didn't see any sign of law-enforcement authority. Haiti was literally in a state of total anarchy, yet seemed to be humming along just fine.
An hour out of town, Max tells us we're going to stop at the "Haitian McDonalds" for lunch. I'm wondering what he's smoking because I haven't seen any signs of any American fast food.
We pull into an open air market with food vendors. The choices are BBQ goat or some kind of steamed conch. Ronald warns us away from the conch. He points to the bay where a bunch of Haitians are currently harvesting conch to go on the grill, and then to the open sewer draining into the very same bay. "If you eat that," Ronald informs us. "You'll be sicker than you ever thought possible." Hear that Anthony Bourdain? A challenge for you.
I have the goat.
I pay with American money and get some Haitian money back as change. Haitian money is disgusting. New money hasn't been printed in decades and the bills in circulation are grease-stained, ragged, and literally falling apart. (I bring some home to show my wife, then throw it away. It's too gross.)
After lunch, which was delicious, by the way, we continue.
The stop gives us a chance to throw a microphone on Max and shoot an interview while we drive.
Now the real story comes out and any worries I had are suddenly magnified.
The job is to repossess a 70,000 ton freighter that was stolen in the Dominican Republic by some Haitian warlords and taken to Miragoane. It's basically being held for ransom. Max has been sent to steal it back. Did I mention warlords? Did I mention there are no police?
Thought so.
Max has a "brilliant plan," but doesn't want to reveal it until we get to Miragoane where we can see the actual ship. I share a look with Carlos. No one told us about warlords.
We arrive in Miragoane late afternoon. The drive in is, well, stunning. You come off a high mountain and work your way down a winding dirt road to the town itself, the bay sparkling in the sun. Miragoane itself is the typical mass of houses pressed up against each other, the burned out police station, the piles of cinderblocks. The road runs straight to the bay, then makes a hairpin turn through the center of town.
On the other side of the hairpin is the port of Miragoane and our prize, the freighter. Max lets us get a few shots of it, but makes us keep a low profile. He doesn't want to tip anyone off. Now that we're on scene, Max lays out the plan. He has a hidden spot in some vegetation at the water's edge picked out. That's where he'll be controlling the repo from.
An ocean-going tug is due to arrive the next night around 9pm. It's going to come into the harbor and a crew from the tug will cut the freighter free of its chains. Now remember, we're stealing this freighter back from the warlords (for God's sake) who stole it and are trying to ransom it. Apparently most of the town stands to get a piece of the action, so we're stealing the freighter from the whole goddamn town, few of whom I suspect will be happy about it.
But like I said, Max has a plan!
The job is to repossess a 70,000 ton freighter that was stolen in the Dominican Republic by some Haitian warlords and taken to Miragoane. It's basically being held for ransom. Max has been sent to steal it back. Did I mention warlords? Did I mention there are no police?
Thought so.
Max has a "brilliant plan," but doesn't want to reveal it until we get to Miragoane where we can see the actual ship. I share a look with Carlos. No one told us about warlords.
We arrive in Miragoane late afternoon. The drive in is, well, stunning. You come off a high mountain and work your way down a winding dirt road to the town itself, the bay sparkling in the sun. Miragoane itself is the typical mass of houses pressed up against each other, the burned out police station, the piles of cinderblocks. The road runs straight to the bay, then makes a hairpin turn through the center of town.
On the other side of the hairpin is the port of Miragoane and our prize, the freighter. Max lets us get a few shots of it, but makes us keep a low profile. He doesn't want to tip anyone off. Now that we're on scene, Max lays out the plan. He has a hidden spot in some vegetation at the water's edge picked out. That's where he'll be controlling the repo from.
An ocean-going tug is due to arrive the next night around 9pm. It's going to come into the harbor and a crew from the tug will cut the freighter free of its chains. Now remember, we're stealing this freighter back from the warlords (for God's sake) who stole it and are trying to ransom it. Apparently most of the town stands to get a piece of the action, so we're stealing the freighter from the whole goddamn town, few of whom I suspect will be happy about it.
But like I said, Max has a plan!
The shipnapping warlords have stationed a guard watching the freighter in a house on a high hill. He has a cellphone. Yes. Haiti has cellphones. But the service sucks, and the only place you can get a call out from is a soccer field below the houses.
In order to dissuade the guard from making a call to the warlords to tell them their prize ship is being fucked with, then having them come screaming over to shoot our asses, Max has hired a Voodoo Priest, or hougon to cast an incantation on the field that night. Haitians, apparently, are terrified of voodoo and this will hopefully keep the guard off the field and stop him from getting a call out.
Which means all our lives are hanging on whether or not one Haitian dude is more afraid of a voodoo priest than he is of his AK-47 toting warlord bosses. Not to mention the whole plan hinges on the cell service sucking.
I'm starting to think $750 bucks is not enough grease to get us out if this goes wrong.
But it's not just voodoo working for us, Ronald has hired a bunch of people to run through the street screaming that the Marines are coming. He's been spreading rumors for weeks that the Marines are going to take Miragoane harbor as a base. Like most civilians, the citizens of Miragoane have no interest in getting involved with a possible shooting war between Marines and warlords, so Ronald is hoping most of them will just stay inside.
As the crew from the tug cuts the chains, more people will spread misinformation that it is the Marines moving the freighter to make room for one of their supply ships. Hopefully, the warlords are more worried about Marines than they are their prize freighter being stolen.
The crux of the plan is that no one will know they're stealing the ship. They'll make everyone think they're just moving it out of the way. Then, at the last second, men onthe freighter will throw a tow line to the tug and off they go. Only then will the fine folk of Miragoane and the warlords realize their ship is being stolen. It's then that Max, Ronald, Carlos and I will beat a hasty retreat.
All I'm thinking about is that hairpin turn. We literally have to drive right through the center of town to escape. There is no other road. That hairpin turn is the perfect spot for a warlord ambush. Max doesn't calm me at all when he says: "I'm glad we've got you along. If they stop us, have the cameras out. We can pretend we're a film crew from the news, so they might believe we don't have anything to do with the ship being stolen."
Nice.
In order to dissuade the guard from making a call to the warlords to tell them their prize ship is being fucked with, then having them come screaming over to shoot our asses, Max has hired a Voodoo Priest, or hougon to cast an incantation on the field that night. Haitians, apparently, are terrified of voodoo and this will hopefully keep the guard off the field and stop him from getting a call out.
Which means all our lives are hanging on whether or not one Haitian dude is more afraid of a voodoo priest than he is of his AK-47 toting warlord bosses. Not to mention the whole plan hinges on the cell service sucking.
I'm starting to think $750 bucks is not enough grease to get us out if this goes wrong.
But it's not just voodoo working for us, Ronald has hired a bunch of people to run through the street screaming that the Marines are coming. He's been spreading rumors for weeks that the Marines are going to take Miragoane harbor as a base. Like most civilians, the citizens of Miragoane have no interest in getting involved with a possible shooting war between Marines and warlords, so Ronald is hoping most of them will just stay inside.
As the crew from the tug cuts the chains, more people will spread misinformation that it is the Marines moving the freighter to make room for one of their supply ships. Hopefully, the warlords are more worried about Marines than they are their prize freighter being stolen.
The crux of the plan is that no one will know they're stealing the ship. They'll make everyone think they're just moving it out of the way. Then, at the last second, men onthe freighter will throw a tow line to the tug and off they go. Only then will the fine folk of Miragoane and the warlords realize their ship is being stolen. It's then that Max, Ronald, Carlos and I will beat a hasty retreat.
All I'm thinking about is that hairpin turn. We literally have to drive right through the center of town to escape. There is no other road. That hairpin turn is the perfect spot for a warlord ambush. Max doesn't calm me at all when he says: "I'm glad we've got you along. If they stop us, have the cameras out. We can pretend we're a film crew from the news, so they might believe we don't have anything to do with the ship being stolen."
Nice.
Our recee complete, we scram from Miragoane. We're going to stay the night in another town an hour or so south so as not to rouse suspicion. On the drive, Carlos and I are swirling vats of doubt and decision. What do we do? I mean, do we stick around for this crazy plan? The words of my producer friend echo through my skull. "Perfectly safe...perfectly safe." By no rational metric is this perfectly anything except perfectly fucking insane. The intelligent response to the situation is to slip out of the hotel that night, grab a Tap Tap for Port Au Prince and cower in the airport until our flight leaves in 40 hours or so. But I'm split. Spirit of adventure and all that. Half of me thinks this is the worst idea in history, and half of me thinks its the coolest idea in history. Getting this on camera would be the reality-show coup of the century.
We arrive at the hotel and I corner Carlos. He's been thinking the same thing I have. While he's worried about the ten million or so things that could go wrong with the plan, not to mention warlords skinning us alive in some dungeon, he's also kind of curious to see how this goes down. We decide to have dinner, get a good night's sleep and discuss it in the morning.
Dinner is in the hotel. We sit down with Max, Ronald and a couple of guys who work locally. They're great guys, and all speak three languages. Like Ronald, all they want is what's best for their country. I get a real sense of the potential this tiny nation has, the entrepreneurial spirit of the people, the real love and pride they have for Haiti, the frustration they feel at all the roadblocks to prosperity nature and politics always seems to be throwing at them. For dinner, I order duck creole. I want something well cooked to kill any bacteria and the description of the dish as a "savory stew" fits the bill.
The dish is a duck leg in a nice tomato sauce, appropriately spicy. As I eat I notice the bone structure is a little weird. I've had duck before but don't remember the bones looking so strange. I comment on this and one of our dinner partners tells me that when the hotel runs out of duck they substitute cat. Which means I just ate a cat leg.
No one else seems to think it's a big deal.
Somehow I keep my dinner down. We get a decent night's sleep despite a huge festival going on outside our window. Haitians love festivals. When I wake, I find the water has been turned off in my room, Fortunately Carlos has water so I get a shower in. Then we go down to find some breakfast and see what Max is up to. Carlos and I know this is it, if we're going to back out, the time is now. Max is in the lobby of the hotel, on the phone. He does not look happy. When he gets off, he fills us in. The tug that's coming to steal the ship has broken down. It won't be there in time for the repossession. It's going to be delayed a day, maybe two, maybe three.
I turn to Carlos. He has the same expression on his face. A mixture of relief and frustration.
We arrive at the hotel and I corner Carlos. He's been thinking the same thing I have. While he's worried about the ten million or so things that could go wrong with the plan, not to mention warlords skinning us alive in some dungeon, he's also kind of curious to see how this goes down. We decide to have dinner, get a good night's sleep and discuss it in the morning.
Dinner is in the hotel. We sit down with Max, Ronald and a couple of guys who work locally. They're great guys, and all speak three languages. Like Ronald, all they want is what's best for their country. I get a real sense of the potential this tiny nation has, the entrepreneurial spirit of the people, the real love and pride they have for Haiti, the frustration they feel at all the roadblocks to prosperity nature and politics always seems to be throwing at them. For dinner, I order duck creole. I want something well cooked to kill any bacteria and the description of the dish as a "savory stew" fits the bill.
The dish is a duck leg in a nice tomato sauce, appropriately spicy. As I eat I notice the bone structure is a little weird. I've had duck before but don't remember the bones looking so strange. I comment on this and one of our dinner partners tells me that when the hotel runs out of duck they substitute cat. Which means I just ate a cat leg.
No one else seems to think it's a big deal.
Somehow I keep my dinner down. We get a decent night's sleep despite a huge festival going on outside our window. Haitians love festivals. When I wake, I find the water has been turned off in my room, Fortunately Carlos has water so I get a shower in. Then we go down to find some breakfast and see what Max is up to. Carlos and I know this is it, if we're going to back out, the time is now. Max is in the lobby of the hotel, on the phone. He does not look happy. When he gets off, he fills us in. The tug that's coming to steal the ship has broken down. It won't be there in time for the repossession. It's going to be delayed a day, maybe two, maybe three.
I turn to Carlos. He has the same expression on his face. A mixture of relief and frustration.
A different decision faces us now. Leave as originally scheduled without getting the repo on camera, or stick around until it happens. I decide to cast my fate to the wind. Using the trusty satphone, I call the home office and report the delay. Do they want us to stay and film the repo when it happens, or come home as scheduled?
They want to know if there's a hard answer, when will the tug get there?
I ask Max. He tells me things work differently in this part of the world. Could be a day. Could be a week. No way to tell. After a few moment's deliberation, they pull the plug. Come home as scheduled.
I can't express the mixture of relief and disappointment I feel. I know how stupid this all was, I know how irresponsible it all was, but man, what a cool thing to have been a part of.
So Carlos and I come home. A week later, the tug shows up and the repo goes off without a hitch. Worse, it turns out not to have been so dangerous after all. It takes the tug's crew over two hours to cut the boat free, with a huge crowd watching them do it, with absolutely no trouble. Max and Ronald make their escape without anyone even looking twice at them.
When I hear that, all I feel is disappointment. Man, to have been there. (And while the repo may not have been so exciting, you can bet your ass the editors would have cut it into something exciting.) As for the show, they send a crew to shoot the ship once it's towed to the Bahamas. They also grab another interview with Max to fill in some holes. This gets cut together with what we shot. You can see it here. (scroll to the bottom video)
It's a lousy segment because it's missing the most crucial element, the repo. It's also a segment that tortures me. Because when I see it all I can think is: if only, if only.
Warlords 1, Me 0.
They want to know if there's a hard answer, when will the tug get there?
I ask Max. He tells me things work differently in this part of the world. Could be a day. Could be a week. No way to tell. After a few moment's deliberation, they pull the plug. Come home as scheduled.
I can't express the mixture of relief and disappointment I feel. I know how stupid this all was, I know how irresponsible it all was, but man, what a cool thing to have been a part of.
So Carlos and I come home. A week later, the tug shows up and the repo goes off without a hitch. Worse, it turns out not to have been so dangerous after all. It takes the tug's crew over two hours to cut the boat free, with a huge crowd watching them do it, with absolutely no trouble. Max and Ronald make their escape without anyone even looking twice at them.
When I hear that, all I feel is disappointment. Man, to have been there. (And while the repo may not have been so exciting, you can bet your ass the editors would have cut it into something exciting.) As for the show, they send a crew to shoot the ship once it's towed to the Bahamas. They also grab another interview with Max to fill in some holes. This gets cut together with what we shot. You can see it here. (scroll to the bottom video)
It's a lousy segment because it's missing the most crucial element, the repo. It's also a segment that tortures me. Because when I see it all I can think is: if only, if only.
Warlords 1, Me 0.
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