My carry-on still smells faintly of mangú and guandules from the last time I flew out of Santo Domingo’s Las Américas International Airport (SDQ). Two weeks later, as I touched down at Medellín’s José María Córdova (MDE), the aroma was replaced by coffee beans and a whisper of cool Andean air. Ten years of hopping between these two gateways have taught me that the sinews of travel are not just the aircraft or the boarding pass—but the Spanish Vocabulary you wield when the security agent raises an eyebrow or the customs officer asks, “¿Algo que declarar, señor?” In those moments, grammar books evaporate and real-world Spanish either saves the day or sends you fumbling for Google Translate. Let’s stroll through those corridors together and get you sounding as sleek as a brand-new passport stamp.
The First Impression: Check-in and Small Talk
The Dominican Warm-Up
At SDQ, voices blend into a fast-paced merengue. The check-in clerk might flash a half-smile and ask, “¿Primera vez pa’l norte o e’ que vive allá?”
First time heading north or do you live over there?
That clipped pa’l (para el) is quintessentially Dominican. A confident nod and a casual “Voy y vengo, mi hermano. Trabajo allá pero el sazón se queda aquí”
I’m coming and going, brother. I work there but the seasoning stays here
sets the right tone. The exchange is informal, peppered with dropped syllables. The moment you match their rhythm, you’re no longer the gringo with the overstuffed maleta—you’re part of the morning chorus.
The Paisa Politeness
Meanwhile, at MDE, the melody softens. Medellín’s paisas greet you with a courtly calm. The agent behind the counter leans forward and says, “¿Sería tan amable de mostrarme su pasaporte, por favor?”
Would you be so kind as to show me your passport, please?
Notice the conditional sería and the obligatory por favor. Matching that politeness with “Claro que sí, muchas gracias.”
Of course, thank you very much
polishes your first impression better than any premium credit-card status ever will. In Colombia, soft vowels and measured pauses carry as much weight as your boarding zone.
Navigating Security: Different Questions, Same Goal
The metal detector is the great equalizer, yet each country frames the experience through its own linguistic lens. Mastering the Spanish Vocabulary that springs up here keeps your shoes, belt, and dignity intact.
Dominican Security Lingo
The officer at SDQ points to the X-ray belt with a quick, “Todo to’ suelto en la bandeja, mi jefe.”
Everything loose in the tray, boss.
The word bandeja becomes your best friend, while mi jefe is the everyday honorific that means you’re on good terms. If your laptop lingers in the bag, expect a brisk, “Sácalo, que no muerde.”
Take it out, it doesn’t bite.
Dominicans slice articles and endings: “todo” becomes “to’,” an accent that can be daunting until you lean into the melody.
Colombian Security Lingo
In Medellín, the same scenario unfolds with velvet gloves. The guard smiles: “Señor, le pido el favor de colocar los objetos metálicos en la bandeja.”
Sir, I kindly ask you to place metallic objects in the tray.
Your polite compliance — “Con mucho gusto.”
With great pleasure
— earns a nod. Should you forget a water bottle, expect a gentle yet firm, “Recuerde que no está permitido líquidos mayores de cien mililitros.”
Remember liquids over 100 milliliters are not allowed.
That phrasing feels almost legalistic, reflecting Colombia’s penchant for institutional formality.
Customs Chats: Declaring with Confidence
Spanish Vocabulary for customs is less about charm and more about clarity. Yet culture still flavors every clause.
The DR’s Direct Style
After the baggage carousel at SDQ, you hand over the customs form. The officer’s eyes skim and he asks, “¿Trae alcohol o electrónico’ caro’?”
Are you bringing alcohol or expensive electronics?
Dominicans truncate consonants, turning “caros” into “caro’.” A quick, “Apenas un laptop personal y una botellita de ron pa’ mi suegro.”
Just a personal laptop and a little bottle of rum for my father-in-law
often suffices. Keep sentences short, peppered with local flavor but framed with honesty. If you must pay duty, the officer may shrug and say, “Eso e’ lo que hay.”
That’s the way it is.
No drama—just pay and move on.
Colombia’s Formal Flourish
In MDE, you’ll likely hear, “¿Tiene algo que declarar ante la DIAN?”
Do you have anything to declare to customs?
Here, DIAN is the Colombian IRS equivalent. Your response—“Solamente artículos personales y un par de regalos sin ánimo de venta.”
Only personal items and a couple of gifts not intended for sale
—keeps you in the clear. If further clarification is needed, an officer might elaborate, “Valor total por encima de diez millones de pesos requiere pago de impuestos.”
A total value over ten million pesos requires tax payment.
The tone remains cordial but unyielding to negotiation. The Andean formality stands tall, even if the agent looks your age and sports sneakers.
Pronunciation Pitfalls and Regional Slang
Bouncing between SDQ and MDE is like toggling between two radio stations on the same frequency. They share vocabulary roots, yet one crackles with Caribbean syncopation while the other hums like a classic bolero. Understanding those differences widens your Spanish Vocabulary and, more importantly, your cultural empathy.
In the DR, syllables vanish: “para” morphs into “pa,” “usted” truncates to “ute’,” and consonants drop like dominoes. Meanwhile, in Medellín, syllables remain intact but gain a sing-song lilt. The iconic double L sounds like a soft ‘j’—so “llave” becomes “jave.” Mispronounce it and you risk revealing your outsider status faster than flashing a U.S. driver’s license.
Dissecting slang is key. A Dominican might say, “Eso ta’ jevi”
That’s cool
while a Colombian opts for, “¡Qué chimba!”
How awesome!
Same sentiment, different street cred. Learning both gives you a bilingual passport inside the Spanish language itself.
Spanish Vocabulary Table
| Spanish | English | Usage Tip |
|---|---|---|
| bandeja | tray | Essential at security; keep pronunciation crisp in Colombia, softer in DR. |
| declarar | to declare | Customs word you can’t avoid; pair with ante la DIAN in Colombia. |
| maleta | suitcase | Dominicans may shorten to maletica; Colombians love diminutives. |
| pa’l | for the / to the | Dominican contraction of para el; use sparingly unless confident. |
| chimba | awesome | Regional Colombian slang; informal, avoid in formal settings. |
| jevi | cool | Dominican slang; pronounced “heavy,” breaks the ice quickly. |
| quitarse los zapatos | to take off one’s shoes | Security line staple; plural reflexive form shows politeness. |
| pasabordo | boarding pass | Preferred in Colombia; in DR, you’ll hear pase de abordar as well. |
Example Conversation at the Customs Desk
Oficial (DR): ¿Trae algo que declarar, caballero, además de ese sonrisa?
Officer (DR): Bringing anything to declare, sir, besides that smile?
Viajero (yo): Solo ropa y un café que compré en el duty free.
Traveler (me): Just clothes and a coffee I bought at duty free.
Oficial (DR): **¿Seguro que no hay un ron escondido?** (Dominican playful tone)
Officer (DR): **You sure there isn’t a rum hidden somewhere?**
Viajero: Si lo hubiera, lo compartiría con usted, jefe.
Traveler: If there were, I’d share it with you, boss.
Oficial (CO): Buenas tardes, señor. ¿Declaraciones?
Officer (Colombia): Good afternoon, sir. Any declarations?
Viajero: Ninguna, solo artículos personales.
Traveler: None, just personal items.
Oficial (CO): **Le agradezco que sea tan juicioso con la información.** (Colombian courtesy)
Officer (CO): **I appreciate you being so diligent with the information.**
Viajero: Con mucho gusto, y ¡qué chimba su servicio hoy!
Traveler: With pleasure, and your service is awesome today!
Oficial (CO): **Parce, muchas gracias. Bienvenido.** (Colombian friendly tone)
Officer (CO): **Buddy, thank you very much. Welcome.**
Final Reflections: Sharpening Your Ear Between Islands and Andes
Switching from the staccato cadence of SDQ to the velvety vowels of MDE forces your brain to refocus, like toggling camera settings from beach glare to mountain mist. Each landing gifts you a fresh set of auditory puzzles, and over time your Spanish Vocabulary morphs into a living scrapbook of these moments. You’ll begin saying “jevi” one day, “chimba” the next, and soon discern a Panamanian’s accent or an Argentine’s intonation without even trying.
My best advice is to lean into the contrasts. Mimic the Dominican guard’s clipped consonants during your layover, then soften your consonants for Medellín’s immigration line. Keep a pocket notebook—or a voice memo—where you jot down every new phrase that brushes your ear. By making airports your linguistic gym, each flight becomes a training session in how to learn Spanish as an expat under real-world pressure.
Have you bounced between two Spanish-speaking countries and felt your accent stretch like taffy? Drop your stories or fresh Spanish Vocabulary discoveries in the comments below. Let’s keep this bilingual ping-pong game alive and help each other travel lighter, speak louder, and connect deeper.
¡Nos vemos entre las nubes y las aduanas!
James, tu pana del Caribe y las montañas
