My departure gate has a familiar buzz to it. An air of bonhomie, bordering on the raucous, and Spanish that’s too fast to follow along or understand. DL 1943 is a locals-only flight, and I’m the lone outsider amongst the diaspora queuing up to board it. I might as well be at 175th street, waiting for an uptown A train! Much like the A, running express between 59th and 125th streets, the flight to Santo Domingo is a blur, and it’s well past everyone’s bedtime by the time I make it to Casa Sánchez.
I awake to that unmistakable tropical feeling. Moisture-laden air, a scorching sun amidst a dazzling blue sky, a colorful courtyard full of fruit-bearing trees, and a hearty desayuno to look forward to.
brat's ramblings 