Beyond the Glimpse: 11 Days of Living and Leading in the Dominican Republic
At a restaurant in Constanza, DR.
The humidity hit me the second I stepped out of the airport in Santiago. It clung to my skin like a reminder that I was far from home, and yet, something about it felt familiar. The airport itself, buzzing with people offering rides to resorts, pulled memories from my childhood—Puerto Rico, my homeland, and even Nicaragua, where airports hum with that same particular chaos of arrivals and departures.
This was the beginning of my 11-day journey through Constanza and Sosúa with Global Glimpse—a program designed to cultivate leadership, cultural immersion, and community among students. What I didn’t realize at the time was how much the trip would leave its mark on me, not just in memories but in the way I carry myself as a leader.
Constanza was our first stop—a mountain town tucked into higher elevations where summer days averaged a crisp 70 degrees. Known for its strawberries and fields of fresh produce, it felt quieter, slower, and deeply connected to the land. Sosúa, by contrast, was pure coastline—a beach town full of shops, music, and the perfect place to pick up souvenirs. Between the two, I experienced the rhythm of the Dominican Republic’s variety: mountain mornings filled with mist and market stalls, and evenings where the sea seemed to swallow the horizon.
What stays with me most aren’t the grand moments, but the small ones. Like my first bite of mangu, the national dish of mashed plantains. Tangy, savory, comforting—it reminded me of mashed potatoes but with a brightness all on its own. Or standing in the aisles of Constanza’s grocery store, giddy about discovering a sparkling passion fruit drink I couldn’t stop buying.
Global Glimpse placed leadership in the hands of its students, rotating who led the group each day. I watched as students who started out shy slowly grew into their voices—standing taller, giving direction, offering confidence. I, too, grew. Not in the big, dramatic sense, but in my interactions, in how I supported people, and in how I leaned into the responsibility of giving others the best possible experience.
Community showed up most vividly in the home I shared for a time. My host family welcomed me with a generosity that was both humbling and joyful. They offered me whatever they had—watermelon on a hot afternoon, or a space at the stove as we made potato salad together for lunch. Their kindness was simple but profound, reminding me that connection is often built on the smallest acts.
Even the Fourth of July felt different, refracted through this new setting. One of our guides surprised us with sparklers and cake, and the hotel staff made us a poster to mark the day. It wasn’t fireworks and barbecues, but it was a celebration just as meaningful, reminding me how traditions change and adapt depending on where you are.
Of course, not everything was easy. I was reminded quickly that I get motion sickness—Dramamine became my closest companion. And while many expect the Caribbean to be relentlessly hot, Constanza’s elevation meant packing layers and adjusting to an unseasonably cool summer. These small challenges, though, became part of the story too.
On the final day, our alarms went off at 2 a.m. The journey home had begun. I was exhausted, barely coherent, but the emotions were sharper than the sleepiness. It was bittersweet. To leave meant saying goodbye to a country that had opened itself to me, to peers who had stepped into their leadership, and to the small daily moments that had stitched together into something much bigger.
Looking back, the Dominican Republic wasn’t just a trip—it was a lesson in humility, community, and growth. It reminded me that leadership doesn’t always mean taking charge; sometimes, it means supporting quietly, making space for others, or simply sharing a slice of watermelon on a summer afternoon.
