Costa Rica Begins!!!
Timoteo Flynn-Valadez, Written July 13th - 25th
Awaking to another percussive storm, we rush through thunder and rain to arrive just in time to be cheated on a “direct route” from Bocas to San Jose which gets us across the border to Costa Rica but leaves us stranded with nothing but the help and affections of Julio Caesar AKA “Sugar Papi,” Monica's new found lover and our Guardian Angel. Padre de Azucar conjures a bus for us and a bunch of other hopeless Europeans and ozzies, who had also been left up shit creek without a paddle. After boarding our saving grace of a bus, Rachelle and I drank every time the driver made a driving offense which soon results in us dozing through a Song of Ice and Fire on audiobook as we watch the CR countryside become more and more familiar to Rachelle. We eat dinner with our weary and red eyed bus driver and Monica stops him just in time as he's pulling away without us while Rachelle and I are busy buying beer and plantain chips for her parents at a roadside buffet.
Finally arriving in San Jose, the three of us take full advantage of the reserved room Rachelle’s parents, Shoshana and Jose, cannot enjoy due to their canceled flight. We fall asleep watching Fresh Prince as a bit of comfort TV, goofing about and I managed a ninja fart attack on Rachelle’s face, a triumph I shall remember even in death. We enjoyed the luxury accommodations of the hotel at Rachelle’s parents expense, we woke up to hot breakfast, some beer by the pool and then off to the Artesian Market of downtown San Jose. Wandering through the thick aisles of heckling souvenir vendors, we escape with our wallets, but just barely.
Dropping by Zapote to visit Rachelle’s host family, I entertained the children while she caught up with her host mom then rendezvoused with her real padres who had just touched down at the Adventure Inn Hotel. We went out to eat some excellent tico food at a dive bar recommended by our Uber driver, chi-frijo being the highlight of the meal; a simple layered dish of pico, carnitas, avocado and chips burying beans and rice.Afterward sauntering across the street to Castro’s Discoteque where Rachelle won best karaoke, and I made ears bleed with Rachelle and my rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody. Boogied down all night after the shitty pop music turned to salsa and merengue, keeping it funky fresh with my white boy moves and practiced the one-two-threes of salsa’s hips, slips and knees.
Mañana we moved hotels to Don Carlo in downtown San Jose after bidding farewell to Monica who was en route to Mexico City. Wandered the streets with the ‘rents for the day, got lost on scary streets at night while Shoshana spewed excuses in two languages for her lack of the “Cabrera compass”. Some sketchy blocks later we finally stumble upon our destination, El Sotano, the hippest joint this side of the isthmus, so sick, bad and dope it could make any jive turkey jiggle it’s tail feathers. One rad little dungeon where the cool cats hang slapping vinyl and having intimate jam sessions where anyone is free to drop in and play, so long as you ain't no whack sukka’. After grooving to blues beats, across the street I lose $30 at a greasy casino.
Next day the rents head off to Manuel Antonio and we go crash at Casa Areka, a quaint clean hostel outside of the city with walls covered in vintage celebrities where Michael, a soft spoken sweetheart graciously welcomes us. After unburdening ourselves we are off to the Mercado Central, a labyrinth of vendors and stalls, where we hustle for a full grocery list for under five dollars. Shops with every aspect of life explode out of the tightly packed streets selling everything from squawking birds, live sharks and produce; to power drills, motor bikes, flat screens and stolen bling. Back at Michael’s we make ourselves a fabulous meal of fried garlic papas, grilled onions, seared steak and guacamole, with leftovers to spare for breakfast.
After eating we half nap while watching more Fresh Prince until it is minutes prior to the highly anticipated dance class lead by the mejor maestro,Felipe, where we refine our step skills and I learn some grapevine moves which make me sweat and smile profusely. Graced by the charming instructor’s company, we grab a beer with Felipe where he and I discuss the rapid evolution of technology, startrek, immortality and his upcoming production which he wrote and stars in as a future salesmen offering select virtual reality packages, the cheapest of which is heaven.
Then it’s off to a loud packed club, Hoxton’s, an all too familiar scene where people who should be having a good time scan the crowd with somber expressions, looking for cheap thrills, as US pop music pumps up a crowd packed tighter than sardines. We walk back to our homestead on the quiet suburban streets, heads swimming with cocktails and ears buzzing with club beats. Twas’ a good night to be sure.
-Groceries for under $5 @ Casa Areka-
Timoteo Flynn-Valadez, Written July 13th - 25th
Awaking to another percussive storm, we rush through thunder and rain to arrive just in time to be cheated on a “direct route” from Bocas to San Jose which gets us across the border to Costa Rica but leaves us stranded with nothing but the help and affections of Julio Caesar AKA “Sugar Papi,” Monica's new found lover and our Guardian Angel. Padre de Azucar conjures a bus for us and a bunch of other hopeless Europeans and ozzies, who had also been left up shit creek without a paddle. After boarding our saving grace of a bus, Rachelle and I drank every time the driver made a driving offense which soon results in us dozing through a Song of Ice and Fire on audiobook as we watch the CR countryside become more and more familiar to Rachelle. We eat dinner with our weary and red eyed bus driver and Monica stops him just in time as he's pulling away without us while Rachelle and I are busy buying beer and plantain chips for her parents at a roadside buffet.
Finally arriving in San Jose, the three of us take full advantage of the reserved room Rachelle’s parents, Shoshana and Jose, cannot enjoy due to their canceled flight. We fall asleep watching Fresh Prince as a bit of comfort TV, goofing about and I managed a ninja fart attack on Rachelle’s face, a triumph I shall remember even in death. We enjoyed the luxury accommodations of the hotel at Rachelle’s parents expense, we woke up to hot breakfast, some beer by the pool and then off to the Artesian Market of downtown San Jose. Wandering through the thick aisles of heckling souvenir vendors, we escape with our wallets, but just barely.
Dropping by Zapote to visit Rachelle’s host family, I entertained the children while she caught up with her host mom then rendezvoused with her real padres who had just touched down at the Adventure Inn Hotel. We went out to eat some excellent tico food at a dive bar recommended by our Uber driver, chi-frijo being the highlight of the meal; a simple layered dish of pico, carnitas, avocado and chips burying beans and rice.Afterward sauntering across the street to Castro’s Discoteque where Rachelle won best karaoke, and I made ears bleed with Rachelle and my rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody. Boogied down all night after the shitty pop music turned to salsa and merengue, keeping it funky fresh with my white boy moves and practiced the one-two-threes of salsa’s hips, slips and knees.
Mañana we moved hotels to Don Carlo in downtown San Jose after bidding farewell to Monica who was en route to Mexico City. Wandered the streets with the ‘rents for the day, got lost on scary streets at night while Shoshana spewed excuses in two languages for her lack of the “Cabrera compass”. Some sketchy blocks later we finally stumble upon our destination, El Sotano, the hippest joint this side of the isthmus, so sick, bad and dope it could make any jive turkey jiggle it’s tail feathers. One rad little dungeon where the cool cats hang slapping vinyl and having intimate jam sessions where anyone is free to drop in and play, so long as you ain't no whack sukka’. After grooving to blues beats, across the street I lose $30 at a greasy casino.
Next day the rents head off to Manuel Antonio and we go crash at Casa Areka, a quaint clean hostel outside of the city with walls covered in vintage celebrities where Michael, a soft spoken sweetheart graciously welcomes us. After unburdening ourselves we are off to the Mercado Central, a labyrinth of vendors and stalls, where we hustle for a full grocery list for under five dollars. Shops with every aspect of life explode out of the tightly packed streets selling everything from squawking birds, live sharks and produce; to power drills, motor bikes, flat screens and stolen bling. Back at Michael’s we make ourselves a fabulous meal of fried garlic papas, grilled onions, seared steak and guacamole, with leftovers to spare for breakfast.
After eating we half nap while watching more Fresh Prince until it is minutes prior to the highly anticipated dance class lead by the mejor maestro,Felipe, where we refine our step skills and I learn some grapevine moves which make me sweat and smile profusely. Graced by the charming instructor’s company, we grab a beer with Felipe where he and I discuss the rapid evolution of technology, startrek, immortality and his upcoming production which he wrote and stars in as a future salesmen offering select virtual reality packages, the cheapest of which is heaven.
Then it’s off to a loud packed club, Hoxton’s, an all too familiar scene where people who should be having a good time scan the crowd with somber expressions, looking for cheap thrills, as US pop music pumps up a crowd packed tighter than sardines. We walk back to our homestead on the quiet suburban streets, heads swimming with cocktails and ears buzzing with club beats. Twas’ a good night to be sure.
-Groceries for under $5 @ Casa Areka-
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