“You came alone?” Juan Francisco, my driver, asked suspiciously as the Suburban curved through the sleepy streets of the Dominican Republic.
It’s the kind of question that used to bother me, not because of its judgmental tone, but because it pokes at that quiet expectation that, as a Black man of a certain age, you shouldn’t be this one specific thing: alone. The implication being that you’re on this trip for a bit of mischief and plenty of shirtless selfies, or worse, something is wrong with you. And if the ride to the airport is long enough, we might just discover what that “something” is.
As I caught Juan Francisco’s curious gaze in the rearview mirror, I said, “Not exactly,” smiling as the palm trees flickered past the window. I knew something that only a privileged few discover after venturing out alone—whether in search of exploration, adventure, the luxury of silence, or simply a good meal: the secret of solo travel is that you don’t have to explain. Some things are better left unsaid.
I had just left a four-day stay at the W Punta Cana Adult All-Inclusive, the brand’s first resort of its kind, though nothing about it felt experimental. Designed by Zanobia Arquitectura, the resort blends local culture with W Hotels’ signature edge.
The crescent-shaped layout created a natural communal flow, with blue reflection ponds mirroring the sky, and palm leaves swaying to the lo-fi beats drifting from the Chill Pool, where someone was always ready to bring you another passionfruit and rum beverage.
After checking in and helping myself to one or two aforementioned rum beverages, I headed toward my room and along the way met two cousins on a long-overdue girls’ trip. Sans kids. Sans partners. Blissfully delighted by both absences. “We left everything that talks too much back home,” one said.
I respect that.
Often, as a solo traveler, I’m aware when I’m one of the few Black people in a room. But over these few days, I noticed quickly how diverse the guests were—in age, nationality, and story. The DR has always been layered like that: African, Spanish, and Taíno roots blended through centuries of migration, survival, and reinvention. I heard accents in Spanish, French, Mexican, English—even Irish—swirling together like a pot of asopao. A hearty stew considered by many a national comfort food — think Caribbean soul food made by someone’s abuela.
Usually, when abroad, I make a point to leave the resort and mix with locals. I’m hesitant to say that this time, I didn’t. The truth is, I didn’t need to. The W hotel’s 340 rooms and 12 restaurants and lounges felt like a self-contained city. My room faced the beach; the rain shower doubled as therapy; and the freestanding tub—by my exacting calculations—was “my size.”
A theory that I tested — twice.
Image: courtesy of W Hotels.
Yet, I’ll acknowledge that traveling alone in the beginning can be intimidating. You find yourself combating the inner anxiety of: Where do I eat? What should I wear? Who do you talk to? The answer is:
Whatever you want. Wherever you want. Whoever you want. And even better sometimes — no one at all.
One of the many geniuses of the resort is that it curated an experience that allowed both for immersive moments with other guests and quiet pockets of solitude.
That first evening, I was invited to a rooftop mixer where, as the sun melted into the horizon like honey it whispered, “Enjoy your stay.” There, I met another solo traveler and a writer from Amsterdam, both of us laughing as we swapped our worst travel stories.
I eventually wandered into the 33 ⅓ Speakeasy—a password-protected lounge where the DJ blended house music with Rihanna. Part dance floor, part conversation nook, part nostalgic arcade. After a few shots, I found myself locked in an intense Donkey Kong showdown before retiring with my dignity mostly intact.
The next day offered yoga, mixology, chocolate tastings, and spa treatments. The last few months have been more reflective, but this trip felt like it should be more about looking ahead, so I chose to sign up for a vision-board session. It was less “workshop” and more “arts and crafts time with intention.” The facilitators spoke mostly Spanish (as did many of the staff) — a subtle reminder to brush up on the local language before next time — but with scissors, glue, and magazine clippings, my inner first-grader took over. I pieced together a collage that simply said: travel more, write more, friend more.
Evenings brought curated dinners where menus read like love letters to the Caribbean—fresh, bold, alive. My final night began at an intimate gathering of creatives and writers trading their own travel adventures —many of that will never make print. Under a clear night sky, I found myself on the beach with another traveler I had bumped into several times throughout the trip. It was both of our final evenings, and we’d promised to reconnect “if the night allows.”
It did.
Image: courtesy of EBONY.
Far out on the water, we noticed a thin line of lights drifting through the dark. “Do you think it’s a cruise ship?” she asked. “Maybe,” I said. “But it’d be better if it were a pirate ship.”
We started geeking out — two adults talking like kids, not about Johnny Depp — real pirates: the maroons and freedmen who carved liberty on these same seas. The cabana attendant must’ve sensed a rhythm between us; because after a few cautious check-ins, he simply left a bottle of spiced rum and told us to enjoy.
Honestly, you’ve got to admire that kind of team spirit. But it wasn’t that kind of night. It was easier, quieter—something that didn’t need a name. Two strangers with little in common, talking about everything in common: family, friends, travel, and of course, pirates.
The next morning, I woke late (yes, alone), packed slowly, and moved through that soft afterglow that follows good food and better conversation. My heart was full. Somewhere between the cousins’ laughter, shared travel stories, and a mutual fascination with pirate history, I found what I think we’re all looking for. We’re all looking for connection. With people. With history. With ourselves.
This is why it was easy to smile when asked if I’m traveling by myself. I may have traveled to Punta Cana solo, but I was never alone.