Imagine if Dorothy stayed in the Emerald City to look for trouble

If it’s rainy and dark, and I have beans & rice in front of me, I MUST be in Costa Rica!

Not the fancy-shmancy Costa Rica – famous for celebrity hideouts, hot spring resorts and out of the way beaches – the capital city known primarily for prostitution, feline-sized insects and chicken wings. I have not a single pair of shoes that enjoys coming to Costa Rica and generally-speaking they all beg to jump in the bag when I travel. When the news of two ruined pairs, from this trip alone, reaches my closet I’ll be lucky if I don’t return barefoot.

I can’t speak publicly about my disdain for the taxi drivers here in San Jose. To do so would surely implicate me when the next lying, cheating, leering, dangerous, foul-mouthed, grouchy @#$% gets what’s coming to him.

After 6 trips already this year, the sad truth is that visiting a brothel (other than the Del Ray), and an unexpected trip to the remarkably dodgy P’lufo’s strip joint, remain highlights. Honorable mention however goes to the wings at Hooligan’s and the consistent gratuitous run of CSI on AXN – 4th and 5th place atop the list respectively. 

The best part though of my broken-Spanish, alter ego life – in my home-away-from home – is without a doubt the people. If not for Monkey, Buttons, Marcie, Harv, PLo, Alex, Deep, Rolo, Marco, Shanny, Angel, Uncle, Jefe, Katz, Bake, Cyns, Riccardo, the beautiful Mexicans, my fabulous team and above all my dearest friend Kitty I might just choose my own ending – drowning by way of Salsa Lizano of course!  Pura Vida San Jose, see you again soon.


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