Puerto Rico

Puerto Rico hit differently from the moment the plane banked over the Caribbean — that water below is an almost unreal shade of turquoise, shallow reefs visible right through it from 30,000 feet. Landing in San Juan felt like stepping into something between a Latin American city and a tropical island, all at once.

Most of my time ended up in Old San Juan, which is small enough to walk end to end but dense with things to stop at. The cobblestone streets are uneven blue-grey adoquines that ring under your shoes, the buildings are painted in terracotta and mustard and cream, and the whole place sits right on the water with the Atlantic on one side and the bay on the other. Castillo San Felipe del Morro is the obvious centrepiece — that wide green lawn rolling up to the fort walls with the lighthouse sitting on top, the wind constant and strong off the ocean. I spent longer than I expected just lying on that grass.

The food was a highlight I hadn't really prepared for — mofongo stuffed with shrimp, grilled fish, thick red bean soup, all of it heavier and more satisfying than I expected from somewhere so warm. The real ending to each day, though, was the sunset from the coastal hill near El Morro. The sky went orange and gold over the Atlantic, palm trees silhouetted against it, the old city quiet behind. That's the image that stayed with me.