An olive-oil fiasco that taught me two etiquettes in one week My first week bouncing between Madrid and Santiago felt like speed-dating two cousins who
My layover epiphany between “bacano” and “chévere” Two winters ago I flew Santo Domingo → Bogotá → Lima on a 4-day dash that promised ceviche,
The 92nd-minute goal that tuned my ear to accents, not tactics I was crammed into one of Santo Domingo’s noisy colmados, the kind with plastic
The night my living-room became a linguistic quiz show I was holed up in my Santo Domingo apartment, battling post-beach sunburn, when my Colombian neighbor
A Buenos Aires coffee that cost me a blush I’d flown into Ezeiza on a red-eye from Santo Domingo, still thinking in Caribbean Spanish. At
Iberian lisp meets mariachi drawl—my first taxi ride in CDMX After ten years flipping between Santo Domingo and Medellín, I landed a consulting gig in
A breakfast order that pinballed between languages Last spring I crossed from San Diego into Tijuana before sunrise, craving a proper birria taco. I stepped
A wrong turn and a paint-splattered lesson I was hustling through Medellín’s Comuna 13, chasing the last cable-car ride, when a neon tag froze me
“Perdonar, que vaig fatal de temps”—real-life déjà vu at a Barcelona metro gate Fresh off a three-hour hop from Santo Domingo, I swiped my T-casual
A Bus, a Baby, and a Language Time Machine One humid morning in Santo Domingo I jumped on a guagua—our battered local bus—only to spot