As we cross the border from Haiti into the Dominican Republic, I'm once again hit by the drastic difference: Vibrance and green on one side, empty stalls and brown fields on the other.
The Haitian government aims to provide temporary shelter for each of the more than 1 million made homeless by the Jan. 12 quake, but given the pace of the aid delivery so far, that goal seems lofty.
The soft green grass, swimming pool, barbecue pit, and heat lamps all feel a bit surreal compared to life outside the gates, but I like what Ambassador Ken Merten has to say.
Over the past two weeks, the disaster-relief soundtrack at night has shifted with my locations in Port-au-Prince.
I track down baby Jenny's mother, Nadine, in Canapé Vert. She's desperate to be reunited with her two-month old daughter in Miami.
Haitians need work. But a visit to a clothing factory in Port-au-Prince, shows no signs of life yet.
Five young women stand outside an Port-au-Prince industrial park, waiting to start work, and talk about the challenges of daily life.
Time spent with medics of the International Medical Corps offers an inspiring window on those still working hard two weeks after the quake.
Port-au-Prince's General Hospital is now kind of a mini United Nations with all the foreign medical volunteers who traveled here on their own dime to help out, but foreign bossiness is getting on some Haitian doctors' nerves.
Banks are reopening, police are getting back to work, gas stations are once again becoming operational. Oh, and soft drink distribution should be at 100 percent by the end of next week.
Along Main Street, people pick through the ruins of other people’s lives. Some may call it looting. I call it survival.
At the Plaza Hotel, people are watching tennis on television. I love tennis, but can no sooner think of watching it than I can imagine spending a day at the spa.
After a night shoot, the ABC crew I'm with heads to a posh eatery, but the contrast with the nearby tent city rankles.
There is an organized world within the tent cities that have cropped up all over Port-au-Prince since the Jan. 12 earthquake. I meet a young woman who gave birth the day of the earthquake and a boy who races a toy car he made from trash.
One week after the earthquake, a 15-day-old baby and 76-year old woman were found separately underneath collapsed buildings. I find solace in these stories and wonder about the courage it must take to survive such situations.
Since the earthquake, the mostly Haitian medical team has treated hundreds of people, operating 18 hours a day. Haiti's recovery may feel like a sprint now, but it's going to be a marathon.
A trip to the hospital in the sprawling slum of Cité Soleil and the General Hospital: Too many patients and too few resources.
To my surprise and delight, my earlier report of the demise of an entire Haitian family is 'greatly exaggerated.'
Five days after the Haiti quake, a Miami-Dade County rescue team digs into a collapsed home, attempting to pull three children out.
President René Préval holds his first press conference after the quake. It's typically low-key and unassuming.