Costa Rica (2003)

In April 2003, our Aussie friends, being on the verge of overstaying their visas, needed to leave the country for at least a week and it couldn’t be Mexico or Canada.  They chose to go to Costa Rica to surf and Neff, Erin, our random friend Danielle and I decided to join them.  So four guys (Ryan, Greg, Adam and their friend Travis) and four girls set off to Central America without a clue between all of us.

Our plan was to spend a night in San Jose and then figure out a way to Tamarindo, the little beach town with apparently the best surf on the Pacific side of the country.   We left California and rolled into Costa Rica like a hot mess…we drank way too many bloody mary’s before boarding our flight, drank way too many little plane-sized bottles of alcohol on the flight and were the obnoxious, young twenty year olds / pirates at the back of the airplane (right, Erin had to wear goggles and an eye patch for the first day and every night while she slept due to a botched Lasik eye surgery).

We somehow made it through customs in San Jose and all piled into a van to take us to the city for one night…against better judgment, we let Erin book the hotel room accommodations for San Jose (one room for the 8 of us) and she managed to book the cheapest spot in the dodgiest neighborhood.  No joke, our cab driver wouldn’t let us out until we were in front of the hotel and he saw us inside safely.  This level of concern and security ruined our plans for sneaking the four guys into the room (because clearly the room booked was technically only for four girls) so we ended up having to splurge for a second room and hunkered down in the hotel for the night…The close proximity to night clubs (as promised by Erin and mapquest) was never confirmed.  We were too scared to leave. 

I can’t remember why, but the four of us girls left the next day on the bus for the beach and the guys made their way a little later.  Getting to the bus stop and finding the right bus was just another adventure and reminder that we weren’t in the best neighborhood and we definitely stuck out like the four privileged white girls that we were.  A creepy toothless man tried to capitalize on our lost-ness, following us around and offering advice, but we thankfully managed on our own... sort of, the four hour bus ride got us only so far (to Liberia I think) and we then had to find a taxi driver to take us the remaining hour’s drive to the beach. 

We rolled into Tamarindo to the strong smell of rotting fruit and mud (this was long before they had paved the roads and welcomed the full blown tourist industry) and no idea where to stay… the guys (still not sure where they were) asked us to find a place for the week, which was somewhat surprising given the previous night’s accommodations in San Jose.  We found a great new hostel called Botella de Leche and laid claim to the spot for the rest of the week. And man those days and nights were crazy.  Each bar in town had a happy hour or drink special perfectly coordinated so only one bar had a deal each night guaranteeing a big crowd and never missing out on the party. 

During the days, we spent our time on the beaches and trying to avoid making complete asses of ourselves… which was quite the challenge (Erin’s eye patch aside).  On our first day Erin got attacked by mosquitos (resulting in red bumps all over her legs for the remainder of the trip). She then added to her bug bites the following day with a red, swollen toe after she stepped on coral in the ocean (or as she claims, was bitten by a crab) and made more inflamed by itching it.  In addition, she managed to break one of the few toilets in the hostel and was almost swept away by a raging river…  One day we crossed a small stream to get to the beach where the guys wanted to surf.  Unfortunately the tide came up while we were on the other side and what was a small stream in the morning turned into a 30 foot wide river mouth later that afternoon… that we had to cross with all of our stuff if we wanted to get home.  We were doing fine until Erin started floating upstream into the estuary, holding her belongings over her head and with a look of surprise on her face.  Neff had to rescue her Baywatch style, tearing off her bathing suit cover-up and dropping everything she was carrying to run down the beach and pull her back to shore. 

The highlight of the trip however was the sailing, snorkeling and sunset cruise us girls took with Captain Ron, his gorgeous skipper Juan, the local Terri who owned one of the bars in town, her husband the local pot purveyor, and a couple on their honeymoon.  I don’t think the honeymooners liked us much...  After a few too many shots of rum with the captain and locals (one of which sent Erin rushing to the side of the boat to puke exclaiming “I don’t like tequila”) we decided to swim with the “dolphins” (there were no dolphins) by being pulled behind the sailboat holding on to some rope lines.  With life jackets on we were completely safe and our only risk was losing our bikini bottoms due to the speed at which we were being pulled.  To avoid that potential embarrassment we opted to take off the bottoms while in the water.  Yea, those poor honeymooners had to spend a few moments of their romantic sunset cruise with four drunk girls hooting and hollering and their bare white asses bobbing up and down in the water like dolphins playing in the waves.  

We wrapped up our week long trip and said good bye to the guys as they continued south to find more surf.  A little beat up from the week, we splurged for a rental car and nice hotel close to the airport for our last night in the country.