Hey, fellow wanderer!

First, I need to say thank you.

Last week when I said this week was heavy, and I asked for help to keep researching… some of you sent matcha. Literal matcha. From corners of the internet I didn't even know were reading.

That's not nothing. That's everything. 🤍

One person wrote: "for finding the places I didn't know I needed to find." Another said: "for keeping it real." And yesterday someone sent one from Greece (because they get it, I think).

You turned what was supposed to be just a link into something that actually means something.

So this week's Providencia guide? This is for all of you.

SHORE NOTES

I promised you the whole island.

The one I called the flower of the ocean. The one where I walked a wooden bridge with locals who told me it's where couples go to stay together forever. And I didn't even care that I was alone because the moment was too perfect.

Here's what I didn't tell you yet: getting to Providencia is the kind of journey that keeps it safe.

You can't fly there directly. There's no airport. You fly into San Andrés first (another island, closer and busier), and then you take a small plane or a ferry. A little hop across turquoise water to get to the real thing.

And that's exactly why nobody knows about it.

The Caribbean has gotten loud over the last 20 years. Resorts and cruise ships and Instagram locations.

But Providencia? Reggae drifts through the air, scooters replace traffic jams, and the ocean glows in more shades of blue than you thought possible. There are no tall or large concrete structures in Providencia. A perfect paradise for rest.

That's not marketing. That's what still exists there.

THIS WEEK'S LETTER

I could tell you about every beach, every bar, every spot I found. But honestly? That's what the full guide on the blog is for.

What I'll tell you here is just the feeling.

I stayed at Fresh Water Bay. Small cabins right on the water. Far enough from everything, close enough to walk to the main beaches. My favorite beach was Crab Cay, which isn't really a beach. Just rocks and water and fish that glow so bright you think you're imagining it. I sat there for one whole afternoon doing nothing but watching the colors.

There's a reggae bar called Roland's on Manzanillo where bonfires happen at sunset and the music just… drifts. I went my first night and stayed until the ocean got dark. A group of locals basically adopted me. That's when I realized: this island doesn't perform for tourists. You just show up and join.

And there's a bridge to a tiny island called Santa Catalina. Locals say if couples cross it together, they stay together forever. I crossed it alone at 6am. The water was so clear I could see the bottom. No one around. Just me and the legend, and I decided it counts anyway.

The mistake I almost made: Day 2, wandering too far down a beach without asking locals first. Ended up in someone's backyard. Lesson learned. Hire a guide for the hikes, ask before you wander.

But everything else? Where to eat, which beaches to skip, how to get there, what to pack, when to go, the full story. It's all on the blog. I don't want to spoil the whole thing here.

This letter is just the feeling: this is what the Caribbean used to be everywhere. Before it got packaged into resorts and cruise ships. That's worth the extra effort to get there.

FROM MY TABS THIS WEEK

❤︎❤︎ My Costa Brava Guide — if Providencia feels too far, the Mediterranean is closer. Hidden coves, the villages that still feel like villages, and the exact same slow rhythm.

🍵 Fuel the next island letter — This guide happened because of you. Every matcha goes straight into finding the next place. The next one will too.

See you next Tuesday. With so much gratitude (and seriously, thank you).

Love, Maya

P.S. 💌 If Providencia is calling you.. go. The extra effort to get there is exactly what keeps it real.