Bienvenidos A La Zona Militaria!

We've come to a place that is really quite beautiful in a whole different way than where we were staying before at the cave house. It feels like the end of the earth a little bit here. Have you seen the movie Y tu' Mama Tambien? It's like at the end when they end up at the really awesome beach.

This place is the exact place where Christopher Columbus landed when he "discovered the Americas." This place has history. Bloodshed.

Our little misadventure began when we had an early dinner at a beach shack. We talked to the old man who partially owns it for a long time about the disparities between rich and poor. We offered the same response that we've been offering for what seems like eons now when having this conversation: we told the guy that maybe they don't have all of the fancy things that we have or any of the opportunities but that they have something that's even more valuable...family love.

After the guy left we spoke together about how really it's a pretty stupid argument on our part and really hollow, but how it's also valid too. We discussed whether or not we're cultural relativists -are we the kind of people who believe that having no opportunity or choices is inherently as valuable as having plenty of opportunity and choices? Do we find excuses for a culture's horrible aspects in order to justify the other more endearing aspects? The fact that we can ponder this question with full bellies in a foreign country discredits our answers or ideas to a certain extent. The word "privilege" comes to mind. But if you try to sort out the modern guilt from what's real where does that leave you? And hasn't the gift of traveling- of seeing all kinds of cultures around the world- given us some insight? Why should we discredit that?

After all of this my little family swam in the beautiful turquoise ocean together playing catch with a bright yellow ball.

We sat on the beach for a little while. I shooed away a mangy dog who insisted on lying on our beach towel.

Next thing we knew a military helicopter swooped into the bay. We watched it swarm around the whole area. Then it came back- but this time even lower. Then it looked like it was landing behind us. I asked the people around us, who were all running to catch a better glimpse of it, if it was normal. One guy said that it was. We knew that it wasn't.

We picked up and walked back in the direction of the beach shack where we'd had dinner before, and where we parked the car in an isolated field next to a grazing donkey. We didn't make it the whole way when the helicopter landed right behind this very beach shack. We stood in the ankle deep water afraid to move. Babba held Dew Drop. I held the yellow ball like a flag to announce that we're innocent.

Logically I knew the helicopter wasn't here for us. We're tourists. We're a family. But suddenly there were swat team guys with M-16's wearing all black combat uniforms and masks approaching us. Walking straight towards us. Insert here every four letter word that you know. The army swat team guys were coming right at us and there was nobody else in their path. What's more scary than that? They kept getting closer and closer. We stood there- Dew Drop kept asking what was going on. We said we didn't know but that it was really important to stay chill right now and not move. We didn't want to scare her. I could see the family from the restaurant watching us and feeling sorry for us standing out there unprotected, but they themselves were too scared to come to our rescue.

So we waited. We could feel the propeller blast on our bodies. Our hair was blowing in the wind. My heart raced. There was an instictual fear that they were coming for us, that someone had tipped off that there was a family staying in this village who didn't match, and maybe rumor had spread that the daughter of this family was Haitian or illegal or something? I don't know what I thought. It was a culmination of everything I've heard about the immigration and race situation on this island combined with our own very limited experience of feeling singled out. was trying to rationalize it all by placing my own anxieties into it. It felt like judgement day.

The helicopter landed about 40 feet from our car, but in helicopter terms that's really close. The swat team started inspecting our rental car. I worried suddenly that our car's previous renters had been some kind of narco-trafficers or something and stashed their contraband in our car. Or something. Some explanation.

The swat team guys kept sweeeping the area with their machine guns ready. You couldn't see their faces. There was no denying how real the whole thing was. Were we getting rounded up or arrested? They were walking straight towards us and not stopping. Were we going to be caught in the cross fires of some kind of stand off with a wanted criminal? A cross fire is a cross fire and I want no part of any of it- especially with my family. This whole episode kept going on and on and on.

I'm really no fan of guns. Especially guns that were designed specifically to kill humans. Like the M-16's these guys were carrying. I don't like masks either. I like to see people's eyes. Especially if they're carrying big guns.

I found myself yearning for our American passports, which were stashed back at our little cabin that hangs off the side of the mountain overlooking the sea. Our passports would prove our worth- would guarantee justice, right? I had a flash of me running down the beach to the swat team guys with my American passport in hand. That tells you something about priveledge doesn't it?

Finally the restaraunt family walked out to us and consoled us. They told us that they were scared too- that this has never happened before. The mother of the family showed me that she had goosebumps on her arms too. We walked back to their little shack with them an ordered a beer. The hellicopter was still parked right there. The flame of the wood fired stove danced wildy from the hellicopter wind. Dew Drop climbed a tree ( a tree hugger's solace in stressful situations I suppose). The swat team guys lurked around the place more and I tried not notice until they were right behind Dew Drop's tree that she was cimbing. I coudn't take the sight of my baby with these army guys in masks right next to her anymore and had to carry her to the other side of the shack even though it scared her that I was acting scared. It just got to that point. It didn't matter if she was crying at least she was safe with me.

Later the military guys packed up their scariness and flew away without explanation. Rumor spread that they were hot on a lead to capture some drugs that had been buried in a cave. But most people believed that they'd done all of this to show who's boss (they are...obviously)

Traveling is all about scratching these surfaces. A beautiful beach? Yes. Beautiful people? Of course. Miitarized? Damn right. And traveling is about weighing these things. Is it worth it? Why not just stay home and be comfortable? The native people on this very beach were living peacefully in nature when Christopher Columbus came with all of his implements of terror and oppression. It's still going on. There is no easy answer. Mi corazon se duele. Y mi cabeza tambien. Mucho.