The US Navy came to Vieques, Puerto Rico in 1941, appropriating two-thirds of the island, and presenting an ultimatum to the residents: move or we will force you to move. The land taken by the military was previously used for agriculture, the mainstay of the island's economy at the time. When employment opportunities provided by the Navy ran out, Viequenes were left jobless and with no prospects. Today roughly half the inhabitants are unemployed and the only major employer on the island, General Electric, plans to leave this summer.

The Navy has used the land for target practice, munitions dumping, and - at it's base Camp Garcia - the training of soldiers. Research has shown that the toxins and particulates from the Navy's bombing have had a detrimental effect on the island's environment. The cancer rate is about 26 percent higher than that in neighboring Puerto Rico. Indeed, many locals won't eat fish caught off the island because of these high levels of toxins. The fishing industry has been decimated anyway by the battleships that patrol in the shallow waters.

So, all things considered, Vieques may seem a strange choice for a winter vacation. Nevertheless, here I sit on one of the beaches described as some of the prettiest in the Caribbean. Besides, at no time when I planned the trip was I expecting to wear a big target on my chest, stand out on Punte Este and wave at battleships. No, there simply would be no reason to have to duck and cover at any point during my time here. I also knew that there would not be any live-fire exercises on the island, I did my research or so I thought.

It doesn't take too long to do all the island-tourist stuff: Pina Coladas on the beach, hiking out to the far points of the island, snorkeling along the reefs, Cuba Libres on the beach, a trip to the Bioluminescent bay, watching the sun set, Medallas on the beach, and socializing with the bartenders. I think you get the picture. Even though a visitor to Vieques may never see a Navy serviceman here, you can never escape the Navy's presence nor the impact it has on life here. "Paz Por Vieques" and "Bieke O Muerte" (Bieke or Bieque is the native tongue for Vieques) are stenciled and painted everywhere. I suspect that if you leave your car parked for too long you run the risk of having one of these maxims applied to your paintjob. On the corner where I turn to go into town a boulder is painted in red and white. It says, in Spanish, "The atrocities of the empire have one limit…the patience of the people." In every taxi and every late night bar, the Navy is the only topic of conversation. Drunken Viequenes speculate on Navy conspiracies," They've put a camera in that speaker, I'm sure of it. They watch everything that goes on in Vieques."

The west end of the island, now in the hands of the US Department of the Interior in the form of a wildlife preserve, is strewn with remnants of the naval occupation. The old western fence is overgrown with vines and razor wire, rusted water towers and abandoned magazine depots dot the landscape and sections of land remain fenced off with signs that read "Peligro, Explosives". Highway 997, the island's main north-south road, runs past Camp Garcia and it is here that the conflict between the island and the Navy is at its most visible, and potentially most volatile. Police guard the gates night and day, while protestors camp nearby, maintaining a constant vigil. The posters, flags, peace slogans, and little white crosses are at their most concentrated right in front of the Camp Garcia gate.

The various municipalities of Vieques are perpetually starting new building projects, funded by grants from the Navy, though they are rarely finished. Half-erected structures litter the island, quickly being consumed by tropical plant life. Passing the forsaken sports mega complex a publico driver explains the situation to me. Vieques, he says, is like the adult child of the United States who continues to be financially supported long after it is time for her to move on and become independent. Vieques is the thirty year-old living in her parents' basement with no plans to move out and under no pressure to do so.

Two days ago I took a day trip to El Yunque in the Caribbean National Rainforest. On the walk to the Fajardo ferry, I noticed much more activity than I had become accustomed to on this tiny, slow-moving island. There were a lot of police and people milling about for so early in the morning. But alas, I hadn't had my coffee yet, so not much was being processed. I can handle only one goal at a time before I have my morning coffee, and the first one was just to board the 7am ferry and sleep during the ride.

Over an hour later in Fajardo, I drank my coffee while bargaining with a taxi driver to take me to El Yunque. He took me as far as the base of the mountain. The next 20 kilometers and 1500 vertical feet I had to walk, because I figured it would cost me about $60 (US) to get a ride to the top. The hike was worth it. The road to the top wound through dense forests of bamboo and palm trees, giant ferns and creeping vines. Snails the size of tea cups slowly crawl up trees that are home to the jungle sounds of the Puerto Rican Parrot and the Coqui tree frog. When I reached the top I could look down the valley and out across the ocean to Vieques. After a day of hiking and swimming in mountain waterfalls I trekked back down the mountain, getting a lift back to the ferry from a Puerto Rican man and his beautiful Spanish girlfriend. I was grateful; my legs were beginning to feel like tostones (the local dish of twice-fried plantains).