I run alongside an abandoned firing range and across a flat field that ends against the rise of a steep hill. A trail leads up the slope. There is no sign warning Danger: No Entry! as in so many places on Guantánamo Bay Naval Base. I take a quick look around and begin to climb at a jogging pace. As I scramble up the trail, I repeat aloud my hill-climbing mantra: “Every hill has a crest.”
The view from the top is spectacular. I can see 360 degrees around the naval base. Most of the buildings and activity are east of the bay; the west side is sparser, quieter. The Guantánamo River flows down from the distant mountains, and an inlet near its mouth leads to the smaller Mahomilla Bay, where manatees float. I long to run past the fence at the edge of the military installation and along the peaceful coastline that stretches to the far-eastern tip of Cuba.
