From the Washington Post lifestyle section:
My Dominican daydreams began long before I boarded a plane for Santo Domingo. I dreamed of the crumbling stone Ciudad Colonial and the soft green unfurling of the mountainous countryside, the wood smoke drifting from tin roofs and the sea salt whipped off the break, the cacophony of dusty public bus yards and the bongo-heavy bachata spilling from tinny windowsill radios, the sweet hot oil of fried plantains and the pale malt of a cheap national lager.
