WHAM! WHAM! The whole motorhome shook with the force.
Someone was banging on the motorhome door and side.
“What the?”  I exclaimed as the interior lit up like daylight. I peaked out the window and saw several army vehicles surrounding us - their spotlights pointed at our doors and windows. Full dressed soldiers were surrounding us - pointing their guns at us. 
Everyone was awake and looking at the door where the pounding got harder. The motorhome shook as the door was pulled at. Bill headed towards the front, pulling on his pants as he went. From outside we heard shouting.
“Quienes son ustodes? Que estan aciendo aqui?”   Translated as: Who are you, what are you doing here?”
Bill reached the door turned the lock and the door and screen door were yanked open. They slammed against the outside of the motorhome - a brilliant light was pushed through the opening. We could not see beyond the light.
The rest of us were quiet and watching. I was still on the back bed, Randy had scooted, sleeping bag and all back closer to the back bed but was still on the floor, and John Mc was sitting up getting out of his sleeping bag. The three youngest were still under their covers their terrified eyes staring at Dad as he stood by the open door. 
The light moved in through the door, Bill backed up to get out of the way as the light pushed further inside. Holding the light was a very big man holding a very big handgun.  He was dressed entirely in khaki fatigues; a leather belt circled his waist and from it hung a big leather holster that was now empty.
“Who are you? Where do you come from? What are you doing here?” repeated the soldier in charge. He pushed Bill back and climbed the steps to come inside. A younger man with a machine gun was right behind him. Once inside he stood and checked out the entire motorhome from front to back. The motion of his head stopping only to carefully scrutinize each person.  Bill was standing up against the kitchen sink where he had been pushed. As the man looked at Randy he started to stand. The younger solider took a step towards the back. Randy sat down again.

Now he turned to Bill and repeated his questions. “Who are you?” “Where are you from and why are you here?” He didn’t lowered his gun or relax.
Bill answered in English (oh oh) “We are Americans from California. We drove all the down the Pan American Highway to see your beautiful country and visit friends.”
“Passports?”
Bill took all the American passports out of the drawer and gave them to him.
He checked the pictures against each of us and handed them to his companion. Who then spoke up - “You are American? Do you have contraband or drugs with you?” he asked in stilted English.
“Who are they?” he asked pointing to all of us.
“Yes, this is my family - cinco ojos and mi esposo from California.” (In the back I am about to faint - he just told the soldiers that he is with his 5 eyes and his husband! - egad!) “We are visiting the familia in that casa,” he said as he pointed to Horacio’s house. “We don’t have any drugs. We are just traveling.”
The officer motioned with his pistol to the younger man to check out the doors and cupboards. He lowered his machine gun and walked towards the back. He opened the bathroom, stuck his head in and looked around, then opened the closet, refrigerator, oven and a couple of drawers. He walked back up front and shook his head No.

He walked down the stairs and went outside, said something and the spot lights started to go off.
The officer still inside handed the passports back to Bill and in halting English told him we were free to spend the night that he was just doing his job. He took one last look around and turned to leave, finally holstering his gun.  He closed the door behind him. Soon we heard the vehicles pulling down the road.
I was out of the bed like a shot yelling at Bill “Are you crazy? What were you thinking? Your ojos? “
He looked at me and smiled, “It worked didn’t it.”
“Besides I was listening to them talk, they were just on routine patrol and needed some real life practice - we were it. We were never in any trouble or danger. “
I spent the rest of the night with Paul and Gil on the dinette bed. By now it was 3:00 in the morning so none of us really got much more sleep.
Quite early Horacio was out knocking on the door wondering what had gone on during the night. They had heard the commotion, seen the lights and the soldiers but felt they were best staying inside and letting Bill handle things.
After breakfast we headed back to Mar del Plata and El Griego’s. The drive from Buenos Aires to Mar del Plata is a long boring drive, so much so in fact that for the first time ever John Mc did some of the driving. This decision was made after Bill fell asleep at the wheel.  I saw his head nod and yelled at him. He jerked awake and pulled over to change places with John Mc.

We were back in “our spot” at the campground. Now was time to switch out the winter clothes for the summer ones. Of course Randy had to check out his motorcycle, make sure it still ran etc. The weather was warmer but it still rained usually once a day. New bathrooms were being built for the campground so the guys kept busy helping build them.
One day we drove into town and visited with Mecha and left a note for Bill’s cousins. We always timed our excursions so the campground road would be dry. Didn’t want any more slipping and sliding in the mud.
Days passed and we had to make up our minds about what we were going to do. Our visitor visas were good for only 180 days and time was almost up; the only way to renew them was leave the country for a while and then come back.
So on cool and misty morning of Sunday October 8th we took off for the road. This time we were headed north to drive the RV to Brazil. All the tanks were topped off and again we left the trailer and Randy’s Honda in the a-frame.
A night visit and a decision to travel again
Around the beginning of September we decided it was a good time to visit our friends that had moved back to Argentina from the US. - Horacio, Rita and their daughter. We knew them when they lived in the San Fernando Valley north of Los Angeles.
They were living in Olivos about 20 kilometers away from us. Bill had to take all our paperwork and pictures and go to the Ministerio de Industria part of the Aduanas to get permission for us to drive the motorhome out of Buenos Aires Federal District to a different province where Olivios was located. While he was busy doing the papers we prepared everything for road travel. Filled tanks, emptied tanks, put loose stuff away and we were off.
It was so nice to see friends from home. They had been back in Argentina for almost two years. We had a good visit and Rita invited me to do the laundry while there as they had a brought their washer and dryer from the US with them. Between visiting, eating and laundry the day slipped away. We talked about driving home but instead decided to spend the night in the motorhome parked in the street in front of their house.  They lived in a well taken care of middle-class neighborhood of medium sized homes. The street was tree lined and the homes mostly two-story dwellings made of brick with white trim and tile roofs. Finally we retired to the motorhome and all settled in to sleep.