Dr. Sand & Mr. Grass '18
successfully Defending the 7th place crown
We step off the plane, our cumbersome winter jackets draped over our shoulders, symbols of the frigid hellscape we've managed to escape.
It's all clear blue skies and mojitos ahead of us now. We roll up to our airbnb, the Villa Bonito, and receive a warm introduction from Silvia in Spanish, some of which we understand. We sit around the pool, our legs dangling into the water up to our shins, looking around and smiling at each other. So it begins.
It's time to explore the island. We debate the merits of black sand beaches versus white sand beaches, ultimately deciding that black sand is a bit too reminiscent of dirt. We go the black sand beaches anyway for the novelty of it. We stop to eat at a small cafe perched on the edge of a cliff and sit outside in the sunshine. We order the classic papas arrugadas and drink mojo sauce straight from the bowl. We watch as wave after wave crashes violently into the sea wall below as the mist soars impossibly high and stays, floating in mid air, as if sprayed by God himself.
From there we climb high into the mountains, our cherry red Fiesta zipping along the dizzying switchbacks in a scene straight out of the latest Ford commercial. The windows are down and Armando Young's Loved Ones plays on max volume. The volcano looms large outside to the right; the Atlantic glistens on our left. We pull over to the side of the road to take in the view. Everyone points off into the distance as the disposable camera clicks.