Learn. Speak. Belong.

From a Birthday on the Malecón to My Ongoing Equipment Quest I still remember the evening I tried to throw my first Dominican-style birthday bash on the Malecón. Picture a gringo—me, James, tall, sunburned, and stubbornly monolingual at the time—walking into a rental shop filled with vinyl chairs stacked like dominoes. I knew “silla” and […]

El Salto de Fe: The Day I Signed My First Paragliding Waiver in Medellín I still remember the smell of mountain pine and gasoline the first time I rode a moto-taxi up to San Félix, the paragliding mecca perched over Medellín’s green bowl. Ten years in the Dominican Republic had taught me how to negotiate […]

A Hill Too High? My First Brush with Colombian Race Bureaucracy I still remember the chill of that Bogotá morning, the kind that seeps under your fingernails even if you grew up in Boston like me—or adopted the steamy comfort of Santo Domingo for the last decade. I had flown in the night before, confident […]

Cómo me sumergí: My First Tank in Taganga I still remember kicking off my fins on Taganga’s tiny beach, sand sticking to the neoprene while “Despacito” floated from a nearby colmado. The instructor handed me a battered slate and asked, “¿Estás ready para tu prueba de flotabilidad?”—a Spanglish cocktail as fizzy as a chinola soda […]

Marching Into the María Trinidad Sánchez Notary Office: My First Seasonal Clause Surprise I still remember the faint scent of salty air that clung to my linen shirt as I walked into the notaría in Nagua. Ten years in the Dominican Republic had already gifted me a healthy fear of surprise fees, yet the phrase […]

I was standing in the sleek lobby of a Bancolombia branch in Medellín, palms sweating the way they once did back in Santo Domingo when I opened my first Dominican cuenta de ahorro. Ten years in the Caribbean will toughen your stomach to spicy mangú and high-velocity motoconchos, but the prospect of discussing interest rates […]

The First Time the Hammock Chose Me I still remember the salty breeze that sneaked through the streets of San Pedro de Macorís the first Sunday I went hunting for my own columpio de sueños—my dream hammock. Ten years into island life, I had mastered the usual survival phrases: ¿Cuánto cuesta?, ¿Dónde está el baño?, […]

I still remember the Tuesday my flip-flops squeaked across the lobby of la Universidad Autónoma de Santo Domingo. The humidity had already plastered my shirt to my back, and the registrar’s line snaked past a half-broken watercooler playing merengue through its gurgles. Ten years in the Dominican Republic have toughened my patience, but that first […]

Opening Sparks: A Personal Anecdote from Medellín Last December I was sipping a guarapo outside a corner “tienda mixta” in Medellín’s Laureles neighborhood, thinking about nothing more philosophical than whether to order another pandebono, when ¡pásela, pásela por la causa! cut through the music. A group of volunteer firefighters—bomberos voluntarios—were weaving between cars with shiny […]

I still remember the sweat rolling down my back in the air-conditioned oficina pública in Santo Domingo. I was twenty-three, clutching a folder full of photocopies, waiting to register my first tiny marketing agency. The clerk leaned over the grimy counter and murmured, “Sin el RNC no eres nadie, mi hijo.” Without the RNC you’re […]

From a Ripped Pair of Jeans to a Whole New Lexicon Ten years in the Dominican Republic have taught me that the fastest way to humble an overconfident expat is a wardrobe malfunction. Mine came on a Bogotá layover when my favorite jeans split clean from zipper to belt loop. I limped into La Candelaria, […]