In Santo Domingo, on the banks of the Ozama River, the Fortaleza Ozama has weathered more than five centuries of Dominican history without ever falling into the hands of an attacker. It held the father of Dominican independence captive, served as a political prison under the Trujillo dictatorship, and withstood tank fire during the 1965 civil war.
Now a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the oldest European-built fortress still standing in the Americas continues to preserve, almost intact, the memory of a nation.
An arrival in chains, August 27, 1844
On August 22, 1844, Juan Pablo Duarte was arrested in Puerto Plata. Five days later, on August 27, he entered the Fortaleza Ozama in Santo Domingo. The government led by Pedro Santana had just declared him a traitor to the nation. Duarte, who had planned and led the young Dominican Republic to independence, was imprisoned in the dungeons of the Torre del Homenaje, the watchtower overlooking the Ozama River. He remained there for only a few days.
On September 10, 1844, he was deported to Hamburg, far from the country he had just helped bring into being. Two other figures of the independence movement, Francisco del Rosario Sánchez and Ramón Mella, also found themselves behind the walls of that same fortress amid the climate of political suspicion that prevailed during the first weeks of the young republic.
The oldest fort in Europe still standing in the Americas
Fortaleza Ozama stands in the Colonial Zone of Santo Domingo, on the east bank of the river that gives the Dominican capital its name. Construction began in 1502 under the authority of Spanish Governor Nicolás de Ovando, who had just taken office on the island. Construction was completed a few years later, around 1507 or 1508, according to Dominican sources. The result is, to this day, the oldest military structure of European origin still standing in the Americas.
Its main tower, the Torre del Homenaje, stands about eighteen meters tall and served as a lookout post to monitor the Caribbean coast and spot enemy ships or pirate attacks. In the 18th century, in 1787, a gunpowder magazine with walls three meters thick, the Polvorín Santa Bárbara, was added to the defensive complex. Despite several attempts to attack it over the centuries, the fortress was never taken by force.
Such longevity is rare in a region where stone rarely withstands the test of time as well as memory does. Three centuries later, another Caribbean fortress listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the Citadelle Henri in Haiti, would be built for the opposite reason: to protect a hard-won independence rather than to establish colonial rule. Two forts, two centuries, two histories of power that echo one another without being alike.
A Prison for Three Generations of Dominicans
The political history of the fortress does not end in 1844. Under Rafael Trujillo’s dictatorship, between 1930 and 1961, the cells in the Torre del Homenaje, nicknamed Las Solitarias, served as interrogation rooms for political opponents. The future Dominican president Juan Bosch was detained there in the early 1930s.
The writer Juan Isidro Jimenes Grullón, who would later recount those years in a book with the blunt title *Una Gestapo en América*, was also held in these dungeons, as was the poet Fabio Fiallo, who was imprisoned for his opposition to the U.S. military occupation. Three generations of Dominican dissidents, separated by nearly a century, thus found themselves behind the same stone walls.
The Breach of 1965
In April 1965, in the midst of the Dominican Civil War, the fortress once again became a military target. Constitutionalist fighters stormed the garrison, then held by police under the command of Colonel Germán Despradel, to seize its weapons.
A tank shell blew a hole in one of the walls, a mark of a clash that cost the life of one of the attackers, Illio Capocci. In the years that followed, the site’s use as a military and prison facility gradually faded, until it was completely transformed into a heritage site open to the public.
The Legend That Doesn't Stand the Test of Time
One name comes up often in accounts of the Fortaleza Ozama: that of Christopher Columbus, who is described as one of its famous prisoners. The story is appealing, but impossible. Columbus was arrested and sent back to Spain in chains in 1500, two years before construction of the fortress even began in 1502.
This confusion, though proven false by Dominican historians, continues to appear even in official tourist materials. It speaks volumes about how a place so steeped in real history sometimes ends up attracting, on top of that, made-up stories.
From a prison to an immersive museum
Today, Fortaleza Ozama houses a museum that uses 360-degree immersive projection to recount five centuries of Dominican history within the very walls where those events unfolded. Visitors who climb the steps of the Torre del Homenaje today pass by the same river that Spanish sentries once watched over, and the same courtyard where Duarte spent his final days on Dominican soil before going into exile.
One question remains, one that the fortress itself never quite answers: how many other places throughout the Caribbean still silently hold entire swaths of national memory that have yet to be told.
Fortaleza Ozama is a Spanish fortress whose construction began in 1502 in Santo Domingo. It is considered the oldest standing military structure of European origin in the Americas and has been part of the UNESCO World Heritage Site “Colonial City of Santo Domingo” since 1990.
No, this widely held belief is chronologically impossible. Christopher Columbus was arrested and sent back to Spain in 1500, whereas construction of the Fortaleza Ozama did not begin until 1502, two years later.
Yes, the fortress is open to the public in the Colonial Zone of Santo Domingo and now houses a museum that traces its history through an immersive experience. Please confirm visiting hours and guidelines directly with the Dominican heritage authorities before planning a visit.
In a classroom in the Distrito Nacional in Santo Domingo, she taught Spanish and social studies to elementary school students. On the stage in Nha Trang, Vietnam, Joheirry Mola was crowned Miss World 2026, bringing the crown back to the Dominican Republic 44 years after the country’s first victory, achieved by Mariasela Álvarez in 1982. This is the story of a teacher who made her classroom and a global pageant one and the same cause.
Joheirry Mola, a schoolteacher from the National District
Joheirry Mola Domínguez is 24 years old and comes from the Distrito Nacional, the institutional heart of Santo Domingo, which she had already represented in the national pageant that led her to Miss World. A graduate of the Ibero-American University (Unibe) with a degree in business administration, she teaches Spanish and social studies to elementary school students. She is also a correspondent for the show “Ventana a Quisqueya” on Univision New York, where she covers news about the Dominican diaspora in the United States. This dual life, balancing the classroom and television studios, became the foundation of her candidacy for Miss World—a pageant she viewed less as a beauty contest and more as a platform to discuss education.
Joheirry Mola's Victory in Nha Trang, Step by Step
On September 5, during the finals of the 73rd Miss World pageant, Joheirry Mola won the title, beating out Spain’s Elisabeth Reynés, who was named first runner-up. Her journey took her through several elimination rounds, from the Top 40 to the Top 6, after winning the Top Model challenge for the Americas and Caribbean region. During the decisive question-and-answer round, she was the only contestant in the Top 6 to answer entirely in Spanish—a choice she described as a way to champion her language rather than a mere matter of protocol, in a pageant where English dominates the proceedings.
44 Years After Mariasela Álvarez: A Victory That Unites the Dominican Republic
This victory makes her the second Dominican woman to be crowned Miss World, following Mariasela Álvarez in 1982. The 44-year gap between the two crownings gives this victory special significance in Dominican Republic, where the news was hailed as a national event and widely discussed far beyond the pages devoted to beauty pageants. President Luis Abinader publicly praised the achievement: “Today, you made history by winning the Miss World crown for the Dominican Republic, 44 years after our first victory.” ” Vice President Raquel Peña, First Lady Raquel Arbaje, and several ministers also extended their congratulations to the new queen, praising in particular the message of education and service she embodies.
Mariasela Álvarez herself did not hide her emotion at her compatriot’s victory. “Forty-four years later… finally!” she exclaimed, before adding that she had cried “as if she were my own daughter” and confiding: “I didn’t want to die without seeing this.” A statement that, more than any number, captures the symbolic significance of this long-awaited moment for an entire country that hadn’t held this crown since 1982.
Joheirry Mola: A Crown Dedicated to Education
What sets Joheirry Mola apart—beyond her championship title—is the project she has been leading for several years. She is involved with Voices of Tomorrow, an initiative that teaches English to children from vulnerable communities in Greater Santo Domingo, based on the belief that mastering a language opens doors that few other things can open as quickly. “Language should not be a privilege, but a bridge connecting our childhood to the world,” she explained after her victory. Another of her quotes sums up her approach to holding the title: “As a teacher, I’m happy to share my knowledge with my students, but I want them to know that life is about having a purpose and serving others.”
Joheirry Mola’s family her mother is from La Vega and her father from the National District initially viewed her participation in beauty pageants with caution, but eventually came to fully support her, urging her above all to stay true to her values. A year after winning the national title of Miss World Dominican Republic in 2025, she now wears her global crown even in her classroom, where her students will soon be reunited with her.
The question now is what Joheirry Mola will do with this unprecedented exposure caught between the international spotlight of a competition followed around the world and the children of Santo Domingo, for whom she says she wants to continue fighting.
Joheirry Mola Domínguez is a 24-year-old Dominican schoolteacher and communications professional from the Distrito Nacional in Santo Domingo. She teaches Spanish and social studies and was crowned Miss World 2026 on September 5, 2026.
This makes Joheirry Mola the second woman from the Dominican Republic to win Miss World, 44 years after the country’s first victory, which was achieved by Mariasela Álvarez in 1982.
The final of the 73rd Miss World pageant was held on September 5, 2026, in Nha Trang, Vietnam. Joheirry Mola defeated Elisabeth Reynés of Spain, who was named first runner-up.
Early in the morning in La Ciénaga, in the Central Cordillera of the Dominican Republic, hikers load up their mules before heading deep into the forest. The trail climbs steeply. The vegetation changes with altitude, from tropical foliage to pine trees, then to cloud forest, until nights arrive when the cold takes you by surprise right in the middle of the Caribbean. After two or three days of hiking—sometimes longer, depending on the hikers’ fitness levels and the weather—Pico Duarte comes into view, the highest peak in the entire Caribbean.
Pico Duarte, in the Dominican Republic, stands at 3,101.1 meters according to a precise GPS survey conducted in 2021 —a few meters higher than the 3,087-meter figure long cited by the Dominican tourism board. In either case, no other peak in the Caribbean—whether in Cuba, Haiti, Jamaica, or Puerto Rico—is higher. A mountain peak, not a beach, offering a different perspective on the Dominican Republic.
Pico Duarte, the highest peak in the Central Cordillera
Pico Duarte straddles two national parks— Armando Bermúdez National Park and José del Carmen Ramírez National Park—in the Cordillera Central, the mountain range that runs through the center of the island of Hispaniola. These two parks protect most of the country’s mid- and high-altitude forests, a mountain range that Dominicans sometimes refer to as their “tropical Alps.” Some of the pine trees covering the slopes of Pico Duarte belong to a species found nowhere else in the world: the pino criollo (Pinus occidentalis), which is endemic to the island.
The ascent passes through several vegetation zones—tropical rainforest, pine forest, and then cloud forest—before reaching a summit where nighttime temperatures sometimes drop close to zero degrees, a far cry from the most common image of the Dominican Republic as a tropical destination. This same Central Cordillera is the source of the Yaque del Norte, the country’s longest river at 386 kilometers, which originates on its slopes before flowing across the entire northern part of the island.
A summit that changed its name three times
Pico Duarte has not always been known by that name. In 1851, the German-British explorer Robert Hermann Schomburgk made the first recorded ascent of the peak and named it Monte Tina. Later, the Swedish botanist Erik Leonard Ekman, who spent a great deal of time exploring the island’s mountains in the early twentieth century, distinguished between its two highest points, naming them Pelona Grande and Pelona Chica.
Under Rafael Trujillo’s dictatorship, the mountain became known as Pico Trujillo, a name the regime imposed on several of the country’s iconic landmarks during those years. After the dictator’s death in 1961, it was renamed Pico Duarte, in honor of Juan Pablo Duarte, one of the founding fathers of the Dominican Republic and a leading figure in the country’s independence, which was proclaimed in 1844. The name of the country’s highest peak thus embodies, in and of itself, a part of its political history.
A three-day hike to reach the summit
The hike up Pico Duarte usually starts from La Ciénaga, via Manabao, before reaching the camps at Compartición or Valle de Lilís. Allow two to three days of hiking, depending on the route chosen and the group’s physical condition. A guide and mules to carry the gear are required; these can be arranged through hotels in Jarabacoa or directly at the La Ciénaga outpost.
Jarabacoa, nicknamed the “City of Eternal Spring” for its mountain climate—with temperatures ranging from 16 to 25 degrees year-round—serves as the gateway to the summit. This industry supports an entire local economy of guides and muleteers around Pico Duarte, which is very different from the coastal hotels or the resorts in Punta Cana.
Pico Duarte remains relatively unvisited compared to the beaches in the north or east of the Dominican Republic, despite its status as the highest peak in the entire Caribbean. But its elevation continues to be measured and remeasured—as the 2021 survey once again demonstrated—proving that a peak, even the region’s highest, is never fully understood. Three names in a century and a half—Monte Tina, Pico Trujillo, and then Pico Duarte—also tell the story of a country that long sought a name for itself before choosing to honor one of its founding fathers rather than a dictator. Does the Dominican Republic tell its story best from a beach, or from a mountaintop where it’s almost cold?
Pico Duarte, in the Dominican Republic, stands at 3,101 meters according to the 2021 survey. No peak in Cuba, Haiti, Jamaica, or Puerto Rico is higher than it.
It was first named Monte Tina after its first ascent in 1851, then Pico Trujillo during the dictatorship of Rafael Trujillo, before being renamed Pico Duarte in 1961 in honor of Juan Pablo Duarte.
Allow two to three days of hiking from La Ciénaga; a guide and mules are required to carry the equipment.
In the Dominican Republic, an encounter can begin with three words that might baffle anyone who translates Spanish literally. A friend arrives, a message pops up, a conversation begins, and out comes this familiar phrase: “¿Qué lo que?” It doesn’t require a complicated explanation. Above all, it establishes a connection. Behind this phrase lies a social convention, a way of speaking, and, now, three very recognizable letters: KLK.
What does "¿Qué lo que?" really mean?
The closest equivalent would be “what’s new?”, “what’s going on?”, or, in English, “what’s up?”. SpanishDictionary classifies the expression as a regionalism used in Dominican Republic and as a greeting. In other words, a literal translation isn’t very helpful. In conversation, “¿Qué lo que?” primarily serves as a casual opening. The response, therefore, doesn’t need to be a detailed account of one’s day. Like many greetings, the expression can simply establish a sense of closeness between two people. Context, tone, and the nature of the relationship matter just as much as the words themselves. This is where local speech eludes overly literal translations.
A phrase that depends on tone and context
Saying “¿Qué lo que?” is not the same as using a neutral phrase in every situation. It’s informal in tone. Its power lies in everyday conversations among family, friends, or people who share the same cultural codes. An expression is never just a definition. It also indicates who is speaking, to whom, in what situation, and with what degree of closeness. Vocabulary thus becomes an indicator of social life. In the Dominican Republic, this phrase is one of the elements associated with a local way of speaking.
From “¿Qué lo que?” to KLK
The story becomes more interesting when it moves from speech to the screen. In written exchanges, the phrase is commonly shortened to three letters: KLK. This abbreviation preserves the sound and intent of the greeting while adapting to the speed of digital messaging. The phenomenon is prominent enough to be addressed in institutional discussions about Dominican speech. In 2022, a meeting organized by the Academia Dominicana de la Lengua on the way people speak in Santo Domingo was titled “¿KLK ciudad? ¿Cómo habla la ciudad de Santo Domingo?” .” The choice of KLK in this title shows just how effectively these three letters can function as an immediately recognizable linguistic sign in the Dominican context.
When Three Letters Become a Symbol of Identity
The connection between “¿Qué lo que?” and Dominican identity also extends beyond the island’s borders. A study presented in 2024 at the Hispanic Linguistics Symposium examined several elements of the Dominican lexicon among 25 residents of Long Island, New York. In particular, the researchers observed that “que lo qué” was associated with Dominican identity by the participants. The expression was also strongly linked to perceptions of friendliness. The study thus demonstrates how certain words travel with communities and continue to evoke social associations far from the territory where they are used.
This finding does not mean that all Dominicans use “¿Qué lo que?” in the same way, nor that the expression alone sums up Dominican Spanish. The Academia Dominicana de la Lengua points out that speech patterns vary by region, with each area having its own rhythms, sounds, and words. It is precisely this diversity that makes it unique.
A short phrase, a bigger story
With “¿Qué lo que? ”, three words are all it takes to start a conversation. With KLK, three letters are now all it takes to convey that same sense of complicity on a screen. Oral tradition, digital writing, and the diaspora—this formula reminds us that a language also evolves through everyday usage. Perhaps that’s what makes these expressions so valuable. They don’t just exist in dictionaries. They circulate among people, change form, and sometimes become identifying markers. After “KLK,” what other Caribbean expression deserves to be decoded to understand what a region reveals through its way of speaking?
“¿Qué lo que?” is a colloquial Dominican expression used as a greeting. Depending on the context, it can be similar to “what’s new?”, “what’s going on?”, or the English phrase “what’s up?”
KLK is the abbreviation for “¿Qué lo que?” and is used primarily in written and digital communication. These three letters help preserve the spirit of this Dominican greeting in messages and on social media.
“¿Qué lo que?” is strongly associated with Dominican linguistic usage. Beyond its meaning, the expression can serve as a marker of closeness and identity, even within Dominican communities living outside the country.
In Santo Domingo, Kundengo Minier and César Namnúm were recently honored for more than five decades dedicated to traditional Dominican music and sound. But during the concert A Ritmo de Son, the two men weren’t just there to receive an award: they picked up their instruments, shared the stage, and reminded everyone that a musical heritage remains alive as long as it continues to be played.
A tribute that ends with music
There were plaques of recognition and tributes. But above all, there was music. Kundengo Minier and César Namnúm shared the stage during A Ritmo de Son, a concert led by Roberto Bobadilla and the Son Urbano ensemble. The evening blended sound, dance, and cultural memory. The two musicians performed several songs, including “Ven mi morena”, “Celo al aire”, “Isabel”, La Paloma and A la loma de Belén. Their collaboration culminated in “Cuarto de Tula”. A moment that summed up the spirit of the evening: the two men were not being celebrated for a chapter that had closed, but for the music they continue to share.
The Centro Cultural Banreservas and the Fundación Arte y Cultura Raíces sought to recognize careers spanning more than five decades dedicated to the preservation, research, and dissemination of sound. Behind this tribute lies a question: How does music endure across generations without becoming merely a memory?
Kundengo Minier: Passing on Knowledge Through the Hands
At Kundengo Minier, the answer lies first and foremost in the performance itself. A guitarist and cuatrista, he also builds his own instruments. For more than fifty years, his career has been dedicated to preserving and promoting the sound and other forms of expression found in traditional Dominican music.
This aspect gives his journey a special power. Passing on music isn’t just about preserving recordings or recounting what it once represented. In his case, this transmission also involves the physical aspect: crafting an instrument, understanding its tones, holding it in one’s hands, and continuing to play. Heritage thus becomes tangible. It lives on in craftsmanship and in the gestures that others can observe, learn, and then replicate.
César Namnúm: Keeping Memory Alive
César Namnúm represents another way of bringing this music to life. A musician, speaker, and writer, he is known for his work researching, promoting, and disseminating traditional Dominican music and other musical forms. While Kundengo Minier embodies, in particular, instrumental practice and instrument-making, César Namnúm reminds us that a tradition must also be recounted, documented, and shared in order to continue to thrive.
These two paths complement each other. One shows how a culture is passed down through hands and instruments. The other highlights the importance of speech, research, and dissemination. Together, they give the word “preservation” a much more vibrant meaning.
Dominican music isn't just for show
Maybe that’s what the evening A Ritmo de Son showed most clearly. After the tribute, the music continued with Son Urbano and a set list that included, among others, “La Zona merece un son”, Son a Villa Francisca, Son de San Antón or even Tribute to Piro Valerio. The audience was swept up in the rhythm and the dance. The sound, therefore, was not presented as a museum exhibit to be viewed from a distance. It filled the space, brought the musicians together, and got those who had come to hear it moving.
Preserving traditional music also means ensuring that it continues to be heard and performed. It means creating spaces where it can be performed, where its stories can be told, and where new audiences can discover it.
Who will take over?
After more than five decades of work, Kundengo Minier and César Namnúm embody two complementary ways of passing on Dominican music. Their recognition celebrates what they have already accomplished, but also draws attention to what still needs to be shared. For a musical heritage does not survive solely through those who have carried it for fifty years. It also depends on those who subsequently choose to learn it, play it, tell its story, and share it.
The question raised by this tribute therefore looks as much to the future as it does to the past: after Kundengo Minier and César Namnúm, whose hands, voices, and stages will keep the Dominican sound alive?Preserving traditional music also means ensuring that it remains heard and practiced. It means creating spaces where it can be performed, where its stories can be told, and where new audiences can discover it.
Kundengo Minier is a Dominican musician, guitarist, cuatrista, and instrument maker. For more than five decades, he has been helping to preserve and pass on traditional Dominican music and sounds.
César Namnúm is a Dominican musician, speaker, and writer. His career has focused primarily on the research, promotion, and dissemination of traditional music and other musical expressions of the Dominican Republic.
Kundengo Minier and César Namnúm were honored in Santo Domingo for more than fifty years dedicated to the preservation, research, and promotion of Dominican sound and traditional music.
In the southwestern part of the Dominican Republic, the landscape seems to defy geography. Lake Enriquillo, said to be the largest lake in the Caribbean, lies in a depression whose surface is 40 meters below sea level. It is a vast saltwater lake with no outlet to the ocean, home to American crocodiles and iguanas. Behind this very concrete scene lies a much broader question: how did such a unique lake come to be here, and what does it reveal about the territory that surrounds it?
Lake Enriquillo, a lake with no outlet to the sea
One of the keys lies in the very shape of the basin. The United States Geological Survey (USGS), a government research agency specializing in Earth sciences, describes Lake Enriquillo and the neighboring Lake Azuéi in Haiti as two salt lakes located in the Hispaniola rift valley. Both occupy a closed basin: their waters have no natural outlet to the sea.
This lack of an outlet changes everything. The lake’s water level depends heavily on rainfall, runoff, and evaporation. When water enters the basin, it is not drained into the ocean. Evaporation therefore plays a major role in the system’s balance, while salts remain concentrated in the water. This is one of the reasons why USGS researchers classify the lake as hypersaline.
The landscape is therefore never completely static. Landsat images analyzed by the USGS show dramatic changes over the decades. Between 2002 and 2016, a sharp rise in water levels submerged farmland and displaced thousands of families. In Lake Enriquillo, this geographical reality is also evident in the daily lives of the riverside communities.
A Shelter for Reptiles
Another unique feature of Lake Enriquillo can be seen along the water’s edge. The Dominican Republic’s population of American crocodiles is confined to this geographical area. In this dry, salty landscape, the presence of this large reptile gives the lake a particularly strong ecological identity.
Iguanas are also part of the scenery. Two species are found in this region, including Ricord’s iguana, a species with a very limited range on Hispaniola. Isla Cabritos, one of the recommended stops in the national park, is an iconic spot for observing this wildlife and understanding the site’s biological richness.
This biodiversity also explains the level of protection afforded to the territory. Lake Enriquillo has been listed since 2002 as a Wetland of International Importance under the Ramsar Convention. The lake is also part of the Jaragua-Bahoruco-Enriquillo Biosphere Reserve, designated in the Dominican Republic in 2002 and, since 2017, integrated into a transboundary biosphere reserve with La Selle, in Haiti, under the auspices of UNESCO.
When Lake Enriquillo Also Tells Us About the Climate
The lake is also of interest to scientists for a less obvious reason: its sediments preserve information about the climate of the past. In 2019, the USGS team retrieved several sediment cores from the lake, some of which were about five meters long. Their goal was to reconstruct the history of precipitation and droughts in the Caribbean during the recent Holocene.
Lake Enriquillo is thus more than just a geographical curiosity. Its sediment layers, fluctuating water level, and salinity form a natural archive that allows scientists to study the balance between rainfall and evaporation. What we see on the surface today can therefore help researchers better understand climate variations that have occurred over thousands of years.
About 40 meters that change the way you see things
What ultimately makes Lake Enriquillo so memorable is an apparent contradiction: the largest lake in the Caribbean is located in one of the driest regions of the Dominican Republic, below sea level, yet it is home to remarkable wildlife and preserves part of the Caribbean’s climate history in its depths.
The figure of about 40 meters catches the eye. But above all, it opens a door to a region where geology, climate, biodiversity, and human lives remain intimately intertwined. What if some of the Caribbean’s most fascinating destinations were precisely those whose landscapes first force us to rethink what we thought we knew?
Lake Enriquillo is located in the southwestern part of the Dominican Republic. It lies in a closed basin and is about 40 meters below sea level.
Lake Enriquillo has no natural outlet to the sea. The water that flows into the lake evaporates, leaving the salts concentrated, which explains its hypersaline nature.
Lake Enriquillo is said to be the largest lake in the Caribbean. Located below sea level, it is home to American crocodiles and iguanas, among other species, and its sediments preserve evidence of the region’s past climate.
In Barahona, in the southwestern part of the Dominican Republic, a blue stone bridges geology, craftsmanship, and national identity. Larimar is not only prized for its color: its history is tied to a specific region, to those who mine it, and to those who craft it. From the Sierra de Bahoruco to the jewelry workshops, its journey illustrates how a local resource can become cultural heritage, a symbol, and a cause for conservation.
In Barahona, a stone begins its journey
In 1974, Dominican artisan Miguel Méndez became interested in a blue stone known in the Barahona region. Together with geologist Norman Rilling, he helped identify its deposit and develop its use in jewelry. Méndez also gave it its name: “Larimar,” a combination of “Larissa,” his daughter’s first name, and “mar,” the Spanish word for “sea.” Behind this name, which has become familiar in the Dominican Republic, lies a history deeply rooted in a region, a family, and a tradition of craftsmanship.
Larimar: Why Is This Stone So Unique?
Larimar is a blue variety of pectolite that Dominican authorities claim is unique to the country. Its deposit is located in the Sierra de Bahoruco, in the southwestern part of the Dominican Republic, specifically in the communities of Los Checheses and La Filipina, in the province of Barahona. Its color, which ranges from light blue to deeper shades, gives it an instantly recognizable visual identity.
But its uniqueness lies not only in its appearance. It stems above all from its geographical origin: Barahona is not merely a backdrop for the stone; it is the place that gives it its history. This geographical context changes the way we view it: behind every crafted piece lies the concept of a heritage that the country intends to preserve.
When stone passes through the hands of artisans
Extracting this stone is just the beginning. Once it’s out of the ground, the material must be sorted, cut, polished, and then transformed. That’s where artisans play a vital role. Jewelry, pendants, rings, and decorative pieces give the stone a second life and transform a mineral resource into a cultural artifact. In December 2025, Dominican authorities reported that at least half of the extracted material remained in the country to be processed locally, particularly in the fields of handicrafts and jewelry.
This transformation represents a significant challenge: retaining more value within the region rather than simply exporting raw materials. It also helps maintain a visible connection between the stone’s origin and the processes that give it its final form before it enters the international market.
How did Larimar become a Dominican symbol?
This relationship between the stone, the region, and the craftsmanship has gradually transcended commercial boundaries. On November 4, 2011, Law 296-11 designated Larimar as the “National Stone” of the Dominican Republic. Since the passage of another law in 2018, November 22 has also been designated as National Larimar Day.
These recognitions lend an institutional dimension to what the artisans and communities of Barahona have been building for decades. Choosing this stone, then, is no longer simply a matter of selecting a blue stone. The stone evokes a place, a history of transformation, and an identity that the country has chosen to officially recognize.
Protecting the name “Larimar Barahona”
The next question was almost inevitable: How can this designation of origin be protected when the stone is exported? The answer today lies in the “Larimar Barahona” designation of origin. Its international registration under the World Intellectual Property Organization’s Lisbon System allows the name to be legally linked to the territory from which it originates.
In June 2026, the Dominican Ministry of Energy and Mines reported that this designation was protected in 28 countries. The goal goes beyond combating the misuse of the name. It also aims to improve traceability and encourage cutting, polishing, and jewelry making in the Dominican Republic.
From Barahona to the World: The True Story of Larimar
The story of this stone ultimately tells of much more than just a geological curiosity. A material buried in the Sierra de Bahoruco became a resource, then a craft, a national symbol, and now a heritage that the Dominican Republic seeks to protect beyond its borders. In this story, Barahona remains, even today, both the starting point and the central thread.
Perhaps this is where the true heritage value of this stone lies. Its uniqueness stems not only from its rarity, but also from the connection between a place, people, and the processes that transform the stone. Protecting this connection also raises a broader question: in the Caribbean, a region rich in traditions deeply rooted in their territories, how many other forms of craftsmanship could, in turn, become cultural heritage that is better recognized, better passed down, and better protected?
Larimar is a blue variety of pectolite associated with the Dominican Republic. Its deposit is located in the Sierra de Bahoruco, in the province of Barahona.
Larimar has become a national symbol associated with Dominican identity, craftsmanship, and expertise. It was designated the national gemstone of the Dominican Republic in 2011.
The “Larimar Barahona” designation of origin protects the connection between the stone and its region of origin. In particular, it aims to preserve the stone’s traceability, authenticity, and the value created locally through its processing.
Standing in front of a screen displaying 1,083,448 visitors, Minister David Collado presented the results for July 2026. Behind this record-breaking tourism figure in the Dominican Republic, authorities want to highlight concrete impacts on employment, suppliers, and government revenue. But the figures also reveal a concentration of arrivals in just a few regions.
A New Milestone Reached in July
The Dominican Republic welcomed 921,718 tourists arriving by air and 161,730 cruise ship passengers in July, for a total of 1,083,448 visitors. This figure represents a 2.9% increase compared to July 2025, a 6.4% increase compared to 2024, and a 60.6% increase compared to 2019.
In the first seven months of 2026, the country welcomed a total of 7,700,118 visitors: 5,885,259 arrived by air and 1,814,859 by sea. The cumulative total is 7% higher than in 2025 and 10.4% higher than in 2024. Tourism in the Dominican Republic thus confirms a growth trend that is not based on a single exceptional month.
Punta Cana accounts for 58% of air arrivals
This is a national record, but the distribution remains uneven. In July, Punta Cana Airport handled 537,204 passengers, accounting for 58% of all air arrivals. Las Américas received 219,494 passengers, or 24%, while Cibao handled 119,662, or 13%. Puerto Plata accounted for 3%, compared with 1% each for La Romana and Samaná.
This breakdown highlights Punta Cana’s significance to tourism in the Dominican Republic. However, other destinations are also experiencing strong activity. Nationwide hotel occupancy reached 76%, with 92% in Bayahíbe, 83% in La Romana, 82% in Miches, and 80% in the Bávaro–Punta Cana area.
183,000 jobs generated by occupied rooms
Authorities estimate that hotels support more than 183,000 direct jobs and that approximately 605,000 people depend economically on the tourism industry. The kitchen is the largest source of hotel jobs, with 42,460 positions. Restaurants account for 28,991, and bars for 14,443.
In addition to these occupations are services, maintenance, security, tours, transportation, and retail. Yanira Eusebio, a beverage vendor on Guayacanes Beach, explained that the renovation of her sales stand and customer service training had helped her increase her income. Her story serves as a reminder that tourism in the Dominican Republic is not limited to hotel resorts.
Salaries, Suppliers, and Taxes
In July, the total payroll for hotels reached 4.77 billion Dominican pesos. Purchases from suppliers totaled 11.59 billion, or more than 374 million pesos per day. The sector also paid 8.729 billion pesos in taxes, according to data presented by the ministry.
The supply chain amplifies these benefits. According to Deputy Minister Jacqueline Mora, 92% of the farmland that supplies hotel kitchens is located outside the Eastern Region. Consequently, a portion of the spending generated by tourism in the Dominican Republic benefits producers located far from the popular beaches.
Do visitors leave the hotels?
Six out of ten tourists reportedly participated in activities outside their accommodations, including excursions, tours, snorkeling, or buggy rides. This tourism activity can support tour guides, transportation providers, restaurant owners, and small businesses. It also allows visitors to explore regions and cultural heritage sites beyond the scope of an all-inclusive vacation. Satisfaction levels remain high: an average of 4.4 out of 5, with 91% of respondents saying they would like to return and 59% stating they would recommend the destination.
What the record doesn't show yet
These results illustrate the sector’s economic strength, but not its full distribution. They do not specify job stability, wages by occupation, or the share of revenue retained in each municipality. Nor do they measure the impacts on housing, water, waste management, or coastal areas. The next challenge for tourism in the Dominican Republic will therefore be to transform record visitor numbers into sustainable value. After 1,083,448 visitors in July, the question is no longer just how many people are arriving, but how many local communities, workers, and businesses are thriving alongside them.
The Dominican Republic welcomed 1,083,448 visitors in July 2026. This total includes 921,718 tourists arrived by air and 161,730 cruise passengers.
According to data from the Ministry of Tourism, hotels support more than 183,000 direct jobs. In July 2026, they are said to have paid 4.77 billion pesos in wages, purchased 11.59 billion pesos in goods and services from suppliers, and generated 8.729 billion pesos in taxes.
Punta Cana remains the country’s main gateway for tourists. In July 2026, its airport welcomed 537,204 passengers, or 58% of air arrivals, ahead of Las Américas with 24% and Cibao with 13%.
In Santiago de los Caballeros, in the Dominican Republic, some Victorian houses still feature their ornate balconies, zinc roofs, and bright colors. Yet behind these facades, time is taking its toll. Abandonment, deterioration, and squatting are undermining part of this heritage. According to urban planner Reynaldo Peguero, approximately 400 Victorian and Republican-era buildings remain in the city. Each one tells more than just an architectural story: it tells the story of a neighborhood, a family, and sometimes a chapter in the nation’s history.
This reality gives a concrete face to the ongoing debate in the Dominican Republic. On July 24, 2026, the Senate approved, on second reading, a bill on the protection and acquisition of cultural heritage. The bill must still be reviewed by the Chamber of Deputies before it can be sent to the executive branch. It is therefore not yet an enacted law. Behind this bill lies a practical challenge: restoring an old building requires resources, while allowing time to take its toll can erode its value. The solution, therefore, cannot rely solely on property owners or the government alone.
Dominican Republic: Where Property Meets Memory
The bill recognizes public or private properties of historical, artistic, architectural, archaeological, documentary, scientific, or ethnological value as cultural heritage. It also covers intangible heritage, underwater heritage, and certain collections. The owner would retain ownership of the property but would be required to comply with specific obligations: to maintain it, to allow inspections, and to seek authorization before making certain alterations.
The most debated measure is expropriation. Under certain circumstances, the government may acquire private property when a lack of maintenance threatens its preservation, when its preservation so requires, or when a public interest is established. The procedure must comply with the legal framework and provide for compensation.
The issue, therefore, goes beyond a simple conflict between the government and property owners. When a historic house collapses, it is not just a private building that disappears. It is traditional craftsmanship, family memories, and a way of living in the city that are lost. The property belongs to one person. But the memory it holds can belong to an entire community.
A living heritage, not just a backdrop
In the Dominican Republic, Reynaldo Peguero is calling for better identification of vulnerable buildings and for coordination among public and private stakeholders. Saúl Abreu, executive director of the Association for the Development of Santiago, also believes that the government should consider acquiring properties of significant heritage value. The goal would not be to preserve these houses in their current state, but to give them a new purpose: as a museum, cultural space, training center, or institutional building.
This approach aligns with a key principle for the Dominican Republic: preservation does not simply mean maintaining a facade for visitors. Heritage remains alive when it continues to be visited, shared, and passed down. Without active use, restoration can become an empty shell. Without residents, artisans, historians, and community organizations, legal protection alone is not enough.
The bill also provides for a right of first refusal for the government when an owner wishes to sell a cultural heritage property. It would establish guidelines for work on national monuments, the export of certain objects, and archaeological excavations. Penalties ranging from 10 to 50 times the public-sector minimum wage are also being considered.
Who will decide what is worth saving?
However, the text raises several questions. How can one determine that a property owner is no longer fulfilling their duty to preserve the property? What support will be offered to them before expropriation? How can fair compensation be determined? And above all, will the government subsequently have the necessary budgets, specialists, and time to restore the acquired properties? These questions are essential. A preservation law must not become an arbitrary tool. It must be based on transparent inventories, independent expert assessments, accessible appeals, and a long-term strategy. It must also recognize that some property owners want to preserve their properties but simply lack the means to do so.
In the Dominican Republic, therefore, the debate is not simply a matter of choosing between private ownership and public intervention. It calls for the development of shared responsibility. The government can provide oversight and funding. Property owners can maintain and pass on these buildings. Local communities can document them. Citizens can restore these places to their rightful place in daily life. Ultimately, the question is simple: when a building embodies a part of our shared history, can we wait until it disappears to realize how important it was?
The project aims to prevent the loss of buildings, objects, or collections of heritage value. Controlled expropriation could be considered when abandonment or lack of maintenance threatens their preservation.
No. The bill was approved on second reading by the Dominican Senate, but it must still go through the legislative process before it can be enacted.
Protection could apply to historic buildings, works of art, archives, collections, archaeological sites, and other tangible or intangible assets recognized for their cultural value.
From July 13 to 17, 2026, researchers, students, and heritage professionals will gather in the colonial city of Santo Domingo. For its 31st edition, the International Congress of Caribbean Archaeology is promoting a powerful idea: the sea that separates these territories is also the one that tells the story of their connections.
Santo Domingo, a meeting place for Caribbean researchers
In a few days, the INDOTEL Cultural Center will welcome experts who will come together to share their findings. Some are studying the archipelago’s earliest settlements. Others are researching agricultural societies, slavery, underwater archaeology, or the traces left by the colonial period. The International Congress of Caribbean Archaeology will be held in the heart of the Colonial City of Santo Domingo, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The choice of venue is no coincidence. In this part of the Dominican capital, the different layers of history remain visible in the streets, buildings, collections, and archaeological sites.
Organized by the Academy of Sciences of the Dominican Republic and the International Association of Caribbean Archaeology, the International Congress of Caribbean Archaeology will also bring together students, heritage managers, and members of the public interested in these disciplines. The main sessions are scheduled for July 13–17, 2026.
The Caribbean Sea as a passage
The theme of this edition, “Archaeology: Building Bridges Across the Caribbean Sea”, challenges a common perception of the region. The sea is no longer seen merely as a distance separating the islands. It becomes a space of movement, migration, exchange, and transformation. The research presented should cover periods ranging from prehistory to the colonial era. It will shed light on how populations moved between the continental coasts and the island territories, as well as between the islands themselves.
This is where the International Congress of Caribbean Archaeology goes beyond the scope of a mere scientific gathering. It invites us to reexamine Caribbean identities through material evidence: pottery shards, human remains, traces of dwellings, ritual objects, shipwrecks, and food traces. Each element has the potential to challenge a narrative that has long been accepted as fact.
International Archaeology Conference: Topics That Go Beyond Museum Display Cases
The announced focus areas demonstrate the breadth of the topics covered. In particular, the scientific program must incorporate the region’s earliest inhabitants, the archaeology of enslaved groups, rock art, underwater archaeology, DNA and isotope studies, as well as the links between the environment, climate change, and human occupation.
The International Congress of Caribbean Archaeology will also feature roundtable discussions, keynote lectures, and presentations in Spanish, English, or French, with simultaneous translation. This linguistic diversity is essential in a region where research is often scattered across various academic and publishing spheres. The organizers have announced visits to Dominican museums, exhibitions, and archaeological sites to connect the scientific discussions with the field.
A Regional History That Is Still Incomplete
After 31 editions, the International Congress of Caribbean Archaeology serves above all as a reminder that the region’s history is never fully written. New methods can shed new light on already known archaeological remains. New excavations can shift chronologies. New comparisons can reveal connections that contemporary borders have made less visible.
For Caribbean people, the issue goes beyond simply understanding the past. It also concerns how to protect sites, share discoveries, and make this knowledge accessible beyond specialized circles. In Santo Domingo, archaeology will therefore not only seek out what has disappeared. It will seek to understand what connected Caribbean societies even before their histories were told separately. What if the next great narratives of the Caribbean were still right beneath our feet, in a cave, or at the bottom of the sea?
The 31st International Congress of Caribbean Archaeology will be held July 13–17, 2026, in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic. Researchers, students, and heritage professionals will present papers on the region’s history, settlements, and archaeological heritage.
The conference will take place in the colonial city of Santo Domingo, primarily at the INDOTEL Cultural Center. This choice places scientific exchanges at the heart of a region marked by several periods of Caribbean history and designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
The theme of this 31st edition is “Archaeology: Building Bridges Across the Caribbean Sea.” It highlights the sea as a space for movement, exchange, and connections between the islands and the mainland, rather than simply as a border.
