By James, a 33-year-old Brit who perfected his Caribbean tan in Santo Domingo, discovered that chilled aguardiente tastes better in Medellín, and sti
The Notebook That Looked Like Spaghetti Two years into my Dominican life, I opened my battered cuaderno and saw chaos: verbs circled in red, finance t
Three months ago, a rogue popcorn kernel cracked the last bit of dignity my teeth had left. That snap echoed in my Santo Domingo apartment, but the re
A breakfast order that pinballed between languages Last spring I crossed from San Diego into Tijuana before sunrise, craving a proper birria taco. I s
My First Tejo Explosion and the Pint That Followed The first time I felt a mecha explode in a Tejo court, I was still shaking Dominican sand out of my