Not so Pura Vida

Staying in this hostel has exposed us to the dark side of travel. It’s a bit of a mixed bags of expats, hippies, Ticos, and random people who wander in and out that I don’t see regularly. Jared and I get along pretty well with everyone, but at the same time we don’t really fit in with anyone.

Our little corner of the hostel is the only quiet part of the place and consists of Jared and I, a Costa Rican woman with an infant in the room next door, and another Tican woman who has a young child across the hall. Sometimes the baby cries at night, but I would much rather be woken up by that cute little bugger than by some of the other shit going on in this place.

Beyond our peaceful little section lies a crazy 24/7 trust fund/retirement/stipend financed hedonistic expat party house. It’s a sure bet that someone is drunk at any given hour of the day. Sometimes we drink and hang out on the porch in the evenings before the party really gets going, but overall these people make ol’ jar and I look like total fucking puritans.

Our first morning here, we woke up and some southern guy was stomping around and hollering about his bathroom being covered in vomit. Then our second night here around 3 a.m., we heard this strange woman knocking on every door in the house including our room and asking for a man. One of the guys staying here is apparently dating a prostitute, and he tries to stay away from downtown because he doesn’t want to see her at work.

This morning, I was up cooking breakfast and four party zombies wandered in after staying out all night long. The first thing they did was grab a beer, which lead to half the hostel getting remaining drunk at 9 in the morning. Then the party made an executive decision to tear down a wall in the upstairs of the hostel that is obstructing a view of the mountains. The wall is a semi temporary piece of plywood over a huge grated window cut out. I saw the party go upstairs with a shovel in hand and the next thing I knew that half of the building was ripped open.

Last night, I was downstairs grabbing some water and a few party people were sitting at a table. They were just getting started with the pregame and they asked if I wanted to pull up a chair. I said, “No Jared is waiting for me upstairs we are watching a nature documentary.” They all laughed and said, “You fucking crazy kids.” Many of these people are at least 10 years older than we are, yet Jared and I are the geezers going to bed at 10 on a Saturday.

With all the free-basing, prostitutes wandering in and out, and wall excavation going on here, Jared and I seem to have gained a reputation for being the “good kids” amongst the mayhem. It seems absurd to me that we’d incur such a title. The reality is that we’ve actually been drinking almost every night, and Jared has now decided to take up smoking cigarettes because they are so cheap here ($0.80 – $1.50/pack srsly!). However, we don’t go to bars and we don’t do hard drugs, so yes I suppose that we are good given the relative circumstances. The sun sets around 6 here so we go to sleep around 10, which is when some of these people seem to rise from their vampire coffins. There are a few people here who disappear for a few days at a time boozing, using, sexing, gambling, and whatever other trouble they can get into down here.

I prefer to go out walking in the city during the daytime in pursuit of minute interactions with the Ticans, or if that doesn’t work, walking in pursuit of interactions with minute Ticans. You can’t really pay to experience the good things about a place. It takes a little more work than that.

-L

Comment!