Marc De Ver­teuil

I felt like I was on the set of a movie I once saw. I've long for­got­ten the name, but it was about a war-torn Cen­tral Amer­i­can state.The scene was a lux­u­ry ho­tel in a be­sieged cap­i­tal city. In­side, the coun­try's elite sips cham­pagne, served by white-gloved wait­ers. Out­side, fight­ing rages. Gov­ern­ment tanks fire rounds at rebels, rebels launch rock­ets at tanks. Round af­ter round, city blocks are re­duced to rub­ble.

In­su­lat­ed by wealth and po­si­tion, the elite par­ties on in their sanc­tu­ary; but even­tu­al­ly, re­al­i­ty catch­es up with them.By the time an en­e­my has pen­e­trat­ed a cap­i­tal city, it should be clear to all that the bat­tle is lost. The movie comes to a close at the air­port. The wealthy flee their home­land and the rebels in­her­it a rav­aged coun­try. Every­one has lost.

Maybe my fan­ta­sy had tak­en me on a ride. There are no tanks or rebels at the door but the elite sur­round­ing me is re­al and my lo­ca­tion is some­what ex­clu­sive–that for­mer bas­tion of late colo­nial so­ci­ety, the Trinidad Coun­try Club. It's a par­ty to cel­e­brate the na­tion­al day of one of the more im­por­tant Eu­ro­pean coun­tries.

http://www.guardian.co.tt/dig­i­tal/new-mem­bers