This Caribbean Island Is Back From the Brink—and Ready To Share Its Treasures With the World

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The paintings of Italian-born artist Agostino Brunias, who made a profession of depicting the island in subdued, stylized settings that covered up the harsh realities of colonial control, were my first visual introduction to Dominica. However, as soon as I step onto its winding roads, which begin to twist shortly after I arrive, it becomes evident that this region, which is situated in the center of the Lesser Antilles’ curve, is anything but tame. The two-toned leaves of its bois canot trees, which change color from green to white when they sway in the wind, shimmer and bristle with the power of the volcano. It lulls with the erratic sound of its numerous waterfalls, scatters rainbows haphazardly across its breathtaking horizons, and enchants from the depths with its vibrant coral reefs. And it roars come storm season.

The indigenous Kalinago people of Dominica survived invasion by the French and British, who imposed slavery on the Africans who now make up four-fifths of the island’s population and left a linguistic legacy of English and French-based Creole, by mastering the lush tropical rainforest that covers more than 60% of the island. If you visit Trinidad for roti and Jamaica for jerk, you should travel to Dominica for green things like bush rum and flower teas. There are a ton of medicinal herbs in the forest.

The Jungle Bay Dominica resort, located smack dab in the center of the Soufrière jungles, leans into nature instead, maybe realizing the futility of fighting against the earth’s generosity. When I finally get there, the kitchen is closed. Joanne Hilaire, the operations manager, tells me that they never let guests go hungry, though, so I can feel the warmth of Dominica’s welcome. The cook is preparing an excellently stewed dish of beans with taro, rice, and plantain for our late dinner, off the menu, while I have a refreshing ginger-lime cocktail that is a local favorite. When I wake up the following morning, I find that my villa’s doors open onto a private veranda that faces southwest toward Soufrière Bay, where the Caribbean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean converge. I let the light wake me for the remainder of my stay by leaving my blinds open.

I Forgot to Leave Lunch Money for My Son, but He Said, ‘Don’t Worry, Mom. I’ll Look in the Cereal Box Where Dad Hides It’

This story is a striking look at the strain that financial struggles and secrecy can place on a marriage. Jess’s discovery of the hidden cash speaks to the tension between her hard work and her husband’s misguided attempt at “protecting” her. The emotional weight here is amplified by her sacrifices — working multiple jobs, sleepless nights, and the constant juggle of responsibilities.

Marcus’s fear-driven decision to stash money, while aiming to shield his family, ends up creating a sense of betrayal. Jess’s response — to take a day for herself using the hidden funds — is both a release of her frustration and a way to reclaim her sense of self-worth. This choice reveals the emotional toll of the secret, as well as the need for open communication in a partnership. Marcus might have felt justified, but Jess’s actions remind him of the importance of honesty and the partnership they’re meant to share.

If I were in Jess’s shoes, I’d likely feel just as frustrated and hurt, though it’s clear Marcus’s intentions weren’t malicious. Still, financial secrecy, especially in challenging times, only breeds resentment. The ending gives hope that Marcus has learned this lesson and that they can rebuild trust.

What would you have done? Would a hidden stash be a dealbreaker or a chance for a fresh conversation on shared priorities?

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