Can you ever truly escape Christmas? In 2007, I discovered that you cannot, no matter how hard you try. I was living in New York, studying for a master’s degree. My boyfriend at the time, who lived in London, was flying over, and a Christmas spent in my tiny studio apartment did not appeal. Christmas in New York is renowned for being a sparkling, magical time – but that winter I remember freezing slush rather than picturesque snowfall; and negotiating my way through slippery streets clutching a bottle of super-strength cockroach killer was the closest I got to ice skating in Central Park.
We opted to go to the Dominican Republic for Christmas and new year, for reasons somewhat lost on me now, but which mainly centred around it being nigh-impossible to get directly to Cuba from New York at the time. We were looking for high temperatures, a beach, and an absence of traditional seasonal offerings. If Cuba was out, then the Dominican Republic would have to do.
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