Costa Rica: A revelation in paradise

Costa Rica: a revelation in paradise

Up to this point in my life, the military let me travel to foreign countries. The Navy taught me that everyone in every port was out to get me and take my money. In many cases this was true as I knew many a sailor who lost their entire paychecks on different scams. One such scam involved swapping the wad of money in the sailor’s pocket for newspaper, while another includes a pretty girl who lays down with the unsuspecting service member her in her room, then the “father” busts in and says in their culture that means you’re married and you have to pay for a divorce or be forced to live there. These are just a couple of the briefings they would give us before we went to shore. That latter came to be on my Costa Rica trip.

Let me set this trip up. I was fresh out of a 9-year relationship; fresh, as in the day before we left she said she wasn’t going. Spite alone got me on that plane. If the song “Drunk on a Plane” had been released, it would have been my theme song.

I get to Costa Rica and land in Liberia . I take a taxi ride to my hotel and on the way I ask him if we can stop for a drink since it was an hour ride. I find Imperial beer and lots of it. I can’t tell you how much I liked this beer. I got a six pack and proceeded to finishing it off.  I make it to the hotel and wow. Finally I make it to paradise in Playa Flamingo Hotel. I drop my bags and proceed to the swim up bar, which was all-inclusive. You’ll never guess what happened. Yup I got tanked at a swim up bar.

Up to this point I was just Travis, another tourist on vacation, doing what all the other tourists do. But sitting there, talking to old couples on anniversaries, newlyweds on honeymoons, and one couple talking about having a beach wedding, it was about all I could handle at that time. From that point on, I did everything I was told not to do in a foreign country. Well not everything – I didn’t try to smuggle drugs – but I sure went off the tourist script.

Once it got dark, I walked to the beach and there was a bunch of street vendors on a dirt road that runs between the hotel and the beach. I met a guy, who drove a little car that looked straight out of “Fast and Furious,” who tried selling me Cuban cigars.

Now let me preface this by saying I am from West Texas, so I speak just enough Spanish to get my ass whipped. That said, I have certain phrases that I use, mostly in Mexican restaurants. I also speak what is known as “Peggy Hill” Spanish – Donde esta banyos? Mas cervesa porfavor” – so when I asked him “Donde esta senioritas?” He smiled and said a string of words that to this day I wished I knew. I hopped into his car and we were off. (Let me add that my failed attempt at spelling Spanish is on purpose and how I sound when trying to say it.)

First, we stopped in Brasilito, at a place now called Indira, where he walked in to talk to the owner. There were some ladies of the night walking around and I thought back to my question of the senoritas. I was like “oh snap!” I bet he thinks I am talking about a prostitute. So when he comes back I try to make it known I want a dance club. I make the, “I wanna dance” gesture, which I’m sure looks like some weird chicken dance to him, but he must have understood as we rolled out for Tamarindo.

Tamarindo was much more of a city than the previous stop. It was packed with taxi cabs and people walking around. We stopped at a bar to get a drink at my request and my tour guide, for lack of a better term, disappears after making another string of words I still wish I understood. I was enjoying another Imperial beer,  when he returned with a pretty hot chick in a mini skirt. She still wasn’t the type of senorita I was looking for. She didn’t speak English and repeatedly gestured for $500 with her hands by holding up 5 fingers and doing zero zero with the other..

Being stingy with my money, I was offended at that amount she was asking so I tried to politely decline. Somehow I understood enough that even though I declined, she still wanted fifty bucks just for showing up.

At this point I decide to have some fun with the situation and try to explain in my broken Spanglish that I will not give her money for nothing and make some obscene gestures. I decline everything and she eventually walks away. At this point I’m sobering up some and concerned with where I’m at, and some of the warnings the Navy had briefed me on a lifetime ago started coming back to me. At that point I asked my driver to take me back to the hotel.

On the way back he stops at the Indira bar he took me to earlier and goes up to  talk to the boss. I got another drink while I was there and met the owner Andre while we sat at the bar.

It’s hard to describe this place. The place looked like it was put together from stuff that washed up or was pulled from anything. There was none of the usually trendy things you would expect to see in a bar. The bar itself was made of crates and an old surf board as the bar top. There were some even some raggedy looking chickens that strutted around the bar and roosted in the rafters.

So as I sat there drinking a very attractive woman walks in with some people and sits close to me at the bar. I try to strike up a conversation but she unfortunately says “no habla Ingles.” My guide goes and talks to her and, from the look on her face, I assume he is still trying to find me a “senorita.” She walks out and he comes over shrugs and smiles. Not knowing what to say I just buy him a beer.

By this point I have made friends with the owner and, even though he doesn’t speak English, we both understand booze. By the time I leave there are several locals who adopt my sleeveless style. He is drinking Mamajuana. He pours me some and I do it like a shot. Through an arm gesture he tells me it is an aphrodisiac. It tastes like a weird wine and, after reading the bottle, I am still not sure what I drank. We had a fun time drinking it anyway.

After a while, another very attractive woman walks in and orders a shot of tequila. I’m thinking she probably doesn’t speak English either, so I toast her and she says “cheers.” Wait what? “Hey how are you this fine evening?” “Just fine how are you.” Finally! Someone who speaks the king’s tongue!

We start talking and she tells me she is from Columbia. I made a few cocaine smuggling jokes; just jokes. My driver, at that point, wants to go. Not wanting to leave, I slip him some cash, thank him for his services and decide to just hang out there. I figured I was about five or so miles away from the hotel (in my drunken stupor it seemed way closer). I figured, worst case scenario, I could walk.

We hung out and talked for a bit. The woman who my guide ran off came back and sat with us. I finally have a translator, by way of the first woman, so I’m buying cheap drink and we’re all having a good time.

After a bit she says she was having a party at her house and was just stopping by. I decided it would be a good idea to go and we all hopped in her Geo Tracker, which wasn’t nearly as nice as my driver’s. On the way she stopped and got what I assumed was marijuana.

When we got to her house, we started to party, dance and have a great time. It’s about this time that things started going downhill for me.

I’m not sure which one, but one of the women takes a big hit of marijuana, grabs me, and shotguns me. Now, not having ever been a fan of smoking anything, I was a little taken back but I was pretty tanked and really didn’t care anymore.

Within 30 minutes I’m done. I mean this in the biblical sense. I am done-done. I was so done that thoughts-no-longer-translated-into-words-done. The girl who doesn’t speak English sees this and takes me to a back bedroom.

Now any other time in my life this would have been a huge bonus, but this night I am done-done. Now,  for some unknown reason, that briefing from the Navy comes into my mind and I’m sure she is going to lay me down and rob me in some way.

I’m pretty helpless, and realize this, so I tell her “It’s ok. I know you’re going to take my money.” I repeat this several times. All I can hope at this point is that in the morning she doesn’t have to call someone to dispose of a body or that I wake up in a tub of ice. My world goes dark.

When I woke up a few hours later in a dark room I didn’t quite panic, but I was on the verge. Not many times in my life have I been that helpless.

I realized my shirt was off. I don’t recall taking it off. Not a good sign, so far. I calm myself and realize I am at least not in a tub of ice. I look down at where my kidneys would be and realize I am whole. I move down and feel my shorts are still on. Ok cool, at least that much is good. I then reach for my wallet and realize it’s still there. WHAAAAT? I pull it out and feel there is still money in it. No way, I’m thinking. I roll over and the girl who doesn’t speak English is asleep beside me. I curl up beside her and silently thank her as I fall back asleep.

That is how Day One ended in Costa Rica.

The next morning I was awakened by the girl who doesn’t speak English to her playing a guitar and singing a very beautiful song that was probably making fun of the white American who thought he could party like the locals, but I couldn’t tell either way. The other girl was cooking breakfast and after that we went out for a great lunch at The Monkey Bar. What a start to my trip. It allowed me to see just how wonderful Costa Rica really is, but it wasn’t the part of my trip that changed my life.

After a few days of having the local girls show me around, I started doing a few touristy things. I talked to some fellow tourists about meeting Justin @ Costa Rica Wet and Wild, who ran the adventure tours, and we agreed to get up early and do a large tour the interior of the country.

So, being at an all-inclusive resort, and with a plan in place, we proceeded to get pretty tanked. So much so that the next day when I drug my ass out of bed for our adventure tour, I was the only one there besides Justin.

He said, “I can’t take just you alone, so do you wanna just ride some 4-wheelers?”

I replied, “Only if there is a Bloody Mary on the trip.”

So off we went. Once I had my first couple drinks I started to feel human again. We rode all over the place. He took me to do a zip-line. I held up like a champ and even went upside down on one. He took the best picture of me atop a mountain overlooking the water . When it was over he asked if I wanted to do a booze cruise. That sounded great. Where do I sign up?

This is the part that changed me, like as in my soul.

Once we were underway, I had a revelation. I realized this is what I wanted to do with my life. Now there was a deck hand who spoke English, and a captain who didn’t, so I spent the rest of the trip asking the deck hand a hundred questions.

Over the next few days Justin took me all over, he knew of all the cool places and all the fun things to do there. Plus he knew all the great nightlife spots. The best part though, we were sitting on an outdoor patio enjoying some ceviche and imperial beer. Most people ride small motorcycles or scooters, sometime with two or three people on them.

One out of every five that drove by would wave at me and say “Hola Senior Chack” (Hello Mr. Shack)

I would wave back and yell “Pura Vida.” Which basically means “The good Life”

After a while one of the girls at the table asked who I was and how long I had been there.

I replied “No one really and I had been there only week.

She said she lived there for nine months and I knew more people than she did.

I just laughed took a long drink a said “Pura Vida”