I still remember the first time I stood outside the blue-painted gates of Colegio San Patricio in Santo Domingo, clutching a freshly stapled bundle of
My First Wrong Turn toward Cabarete Ten years ago, freshly arrived from rainy Manchester and still buzzing from thetaste of my first morir soñando, I
Last September, at precisely 3:07 a.m., my Merengue-soaked dreams were pierced by a bass line so thundering I thought an earthquake had hit Santo Domingo.
I still remember landing at Las Américas Airport a decade ago. My flip-phone blinked “no service,” and I shuffled to the first Claro kiosk, armed
From Botched Buzzcuts to Barber Shop Mastery I still remember the day I landed in Santo Domingo a decade ago. I was twenty-three, heat-struck, and
How a Night in Medellín Taught Me More Than Any Classroom I had just landed in Medellín for my semi-annual “get-me-off-the-island” vacation. After ten years
El primer mordisco—how a messy orange shirt changed my accent I still remember the first time I stained a brand-new white guayabera with the deep
Ten years ago, when I first left the humidity of Santo Domingo for the brisk plateau of Bogotá, I assumed my island-conditioned lungs would handle
Three weeks ago I found myself balancing a tower of pañales tier cake in one hand and a suspiciously rattling gift bag in the other,
My Baptism by Paperwork Fire The first time I walked into a Colombian notaría I felt like a bachata dancer who had accidentally stepped onto