Hechos A Mano

For years, I’ve had a complicated relationship with cigars. My first and only attempt at smoking a "stogie" was a disaster—a dizzying, nauseating mess that left me swearing I’d never touch one again. And yet, every time I walked past that little shop in Santo Domingo, it called to me. There is an undeniable, sophisticated allure to the ritual that I couldn't quite shake.

Through a small window, I’d watch the same man rolling leaf after leaf by hand. He moved with such rhythmic instinct, never looking at his fingers, that I often wondered if he was blind. It wasn't just labor; it was a performance of muscle memory 500 years in the making.

When I found out my friends back home had started a Sunday cigar tradition, I finally had my "excuse" to step inside. I expected to feel out of place, but instead, I found Samuel. In a world where tourist pitches can feel scripted, Samuel was a breath of fresh air—direct, honest, and incredibly patient with my mountain of questions.

He pulled back the curtain on the craft, explaining that Caoba doesn’t just buy and resell; they are part of the earth. Everything is grown on their own plantations north of Santiago. He even walked me through the "Platinum" process, where the tobacco is aged and soaked in Cognac (a far cry from the harsh experience of my past!).

I walked out of that shop not just with a purchase, but with a genuine education. Watching a cigar being hecho a mano (made by hand) is a lesson in patience. I may have entered as a skeptic, but I left with a deep respect for a tradition that defines the spirit of this island.

(Yes, that's him.)

The Cathedral of America

(official name: Metropolitan Cathedral Basilica of St. Mary of the America's First Ecarnación)

Nothing more needs to be said.  But, it's the oldest cathedral in the Americas.  Consecrated by Pope Julius II in 1504 and head Archdiocese of Santo Domingo.  The construction began in 1512 and was finished in 1541.

And here's the front of the Cathedral..

 

I’ll be honest: churches are easy to photograph, but they can be a bit… well, boring. Unless you’re looking through a Catholic lens, one ornate altar starts to look a lot like the next. Every time I step inside, I can’t help but hear Bill Maher’s voice from Religulous echoing in the back of my mind.

But then I remember where I’m standing.

Whether you’re religious or not, there is something undeniably "damn impressive" about a wall that has stood for five centuries. This is the first church in the Americas. It’s the literal ground zero for an entire hemisphere’s history, and you can feel that weight in the cool, silent air of the stone.

For me, the cathedral serves as the ultimate backdrop for my favorite morning ritual. It looms over Columbus Park, providing the perfect view while I wake up my senses with a couple of cups of Café Americano. There’s just something cool about sipping coffee while staring at 500 years of history before the rest of the city fully stirs.

On that note, the caffeine is calling.

Hasta la próxima vez...

Hawaii FIVE-O ?

My day-long mission to track down the new Metro Line #2 took me all over the map, but it wasn't all back alleys and "worst of the worst" neighborhoods. Every now and then, the urban grit gave way to something grander.

Case in point: The National Palace.

I’ve driven or walked past the seat of the Executive Branch dozens of times, but I’ve always been in too much of a hurry to actually stop. This time, I finally paused to catch it on camera. It’s an imposing piece of architecture, but the history beneath the foundation is what really sticks with me.

There’s a bit of irony in these walls: the Palace actually stands on the grounds of the old Presidential Mansion—a building constructed by the U.S. Military during the 1916–1924 occupation (not to be confused with our later "visit" in the mid-sixties). Standing there, you realize that in Santo Domingo, even the most polished government buildings are built on layers of complicated, messy history.

It was a brief moment of symmetry in a day spent chasing the future of the city's transit, but a necessary stop. Now, back to the hunt for that Metro line...

I didn’t set out to write a thesis on Neoclassical architecture today, but in Santo Domingo, sometimes you just have to roll with where the streets lead you. If the National Palace is the city’s architectural heavyweight, the Palace of Fine Arts is a close second. It’s an objectively gorgeous building, but it carries that same complicated shadow: it’s another relic built under the brutal dictatorship of Rafael Trujillo.

It’s a strange contrast to live with. I’m currently staying just two blocks from the Museum of the Dominican Resistance, and while I’m not heading back inside on this trip, the memories of my last visit are still vivid. "Informative" doesn't quite cover it; "horrifically shocking" is closer to the truth. If you ever find yourself in this city, you have to go. It’s the only way to understand the scars beneath the beautiful facades. (Check them out here: museodelaresistencia.org)

I could go on all day, but it’s hard to compete with the extremes of the best architecture and the worst of history. So, I’ll leave it there for now.

Hasta mañana...

P.S. On a much lighter (and life-saving) note: the stray dog factor here is basically zero. After literally fearing for my life while being chased by a pack of wild dogs in Colombia, believe me—this is the kind of travel intel that actually matters!

Circa 1492, Christopher Columbus and his 3rd landfall

You know the classic tune—1492, three wooden ships chasing the horizon, and a sudden bump into a "New World." I haven’t stepped foot on the first two landing spots yet, but I’ve officially checked off the third. In fact, this isn't even our first date; I was last here two short years ago.

So, why the encore in the Dominican Republic? Truthfully, my last visit left me with a nagging itch. The capital felt like it was teetering on a high-wire, leaning precariously between "rising star" and "falling back." I just had to know which way it tipped. Curiosity, as they say, is a powerful travel agent.

After three days on the ground, I’m still squinting at the answer. Perhaps I was hunting for a cinematic, night-and-day transformation—the kind of lightning-fast evolution I saw in Vietnam back in the early 90s. Yesterday, I spent my afternoon playing a high-stakes game of hide-and-seek with the brand-new Metro Line #2. I wandered through some of Santo Domingo’s roughest barrios where the air feels heavy and the stares feel long. I made it out with my skin intact and a story to tell, which is a victory in itself. Maybe the "tipping point" is more of a slow drift, and I should stop looking for a neon sign and just call it a win. I’m fairly certain I wouldn't have survived that particular "walking tour" two years ago.

Oh, and for the record? The Metro Line #2 is still a ghost to me. I never did find it.

Key West. Key West.. Oh... Key West

For 25 years, the Southernmost Point buoy was my "someday." Every time I saw that iconic striped landmark in a photo or a film, I’d promise myself: I’m going to stand there one day.

That day finally came, and it left me with one massive regret: What on earth took me so long?

Stepping into Key West isn't just a drive down the coast; it’s a total departure from the American mainland. With its meticulously preserved architecture, historic churches, and a soul that feels more like the Virgin Islands than Florida, this city is a masterclass in Caribbean charm. It’s vibrant, it’s wealthy in culture, and it’s utterly gorgeous.

If Key West is on your radar, don't let decades slip by like I did. Drop everything and book the trip!

Of all the stops on my Florida itinerary, I knew this one was non-negotiable—and wow, am I glad I made it! 🌴 The Truman Little White House is truly the crown jewel of Key West. I was completely caught off guard by how powerful this place feels; it’s one of those rare spots that hits you with a 'good' kind of heavy.

The preservation is flawless, and the staff? Absolute pros who bring every detail to life. It’s mind-blowing to stand where Thomas Edison once lived, where President Truman ran the country for 175 days, and where JFK retreated after the Cuban Missile Crisis. This isn’t just a house; it’s where history actually happened. Key West, you were everything I imagined and so much more. Now, time to catch that legendary sunset!

Art Deco.. South Beach (Miami) and the likes...

If you’re looking to plug back into the world and recharge your batteries, I truly don’t think there is a better place in the lower 48 than this. South Beach isn't just a destination; it’s an absolute powerhouse of a place. I’ve been here before—okay, many times before—but I can never get enough of the SoBe energy.

There is something about this city that speaks directly to my soul. It’s the rhythmic heartbeat of the people, the explosion of flavors in the food, the neon-soaked Art Deco curves, and that salt-heavy ocean air that hits you the second you step outside. It is, quite simply, perfection.

If you want to understand the bones of this place, do yourself a favor: take the Art Deco walking tour by the Miami Design Preservation League. Their welcome center is a masterclass in how this dream of a city was actually built.

But right now? I’ve got a different mission. I’m heading to Calle 8—the legendary Little Havana. My system is screaming for a café con leche. And I don’t mean the watered-down stuff; I mean the real deal.

It’s funny—the 77th Legislative Session feels like a blurry, distant memory now. The stress has been bleached out by the sun. I’m officially recharged, restless, and ready to move.

Next stop? Santo Domingo on Thursday. Yes, it’s SDQ again. I just can't stay away.

(Thanks Tom for keeping me honest.)

Neil Sedaka - One way ticket (to the blues) - 1959

The Ticket to Nowhere (And Everywhere)

I have to tell you, the timing of this song appearing was almost eerie. It felt like a sign, or a movie soundtrack kicking in just as the main character makes a life-altering choice.

On Friday, June 7th, I’m boarding a plane to Miami. But here’s the kicker: it’s a one-way ticket.

No itinerary. No hotel bookings. No return date. I have absolutely no clue where I will end up, and for the first time in a long time, I am 100% okay with that. There is a terrifying, beautiful freedom in having no agenda. I’m just going to land and see which way the air is blowing.

That said, I do have one burning quest in the back of my mind. I’ve wanted to see the Panama Canal for as long as I can remember—the sheer engineering madness of it, the scale, the history. I’m going to try and chase that dream down to Panama City and finally see it with my own eyes.

The batteries are charged, the bag is packed, and the plan is... well, there is no plan. Stay tuned, because this is about to get very real.