Pura Vida in Costa Rica

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Once again, too much rum equals too much fun, and it all ended up in our hotel where cheesy erotic paintings and blankets (women with pink nipples, jaguar print) bore witness to all manner of mayhem. Tucan’s Adventure Tours are not age-limited like other companies, but that doesn’t mean people don’t like to party. It just means they’re not 19 YEAR OLD English boys GIVING IT before going to UNI to become ACCOUNTANTS. “I regret not doing tours like this earlier,” shouts Maureen from Perth over Black Eyed Peas (who else?) while a Costa Rican hooker dry humps a client on the dance floor. “If my daughters could see all I’ve done, they’d take away my passport!” Whoops, sorry ‘bout that Maureen.

[A short note on Lizano Salsa: It's the national sauce, a kind of mixture between Worcester sauce, curry, with a dash of Tabasco. You'll find it on every table, and it's impossible not to enjoy a meal that has been complimented with Lizano, and perhaps a few drops of chili. If the bottle explodes in my backpack on the way home, I take solace knowing that Lizano is available all around the world. Condiment lovers: Make room in the fridge for one more bottle.]

The village next to Mario Antonio is sleepy, but the beaches are sensational, and it was a perfect spot to skinny dip after a big night out that began at a restaurant built around the US Cargo plane that sparked the Iran-Contra affair. Just before the waiter lit the cocoracha - a hideous drink that is true to its name, cockroach - I looked down the table marveling at my luck to score a great group of people to travel with, three times in a row. Val, an excellent guide with a keen sense of adventure (and seemingly unlimited propensity to party) agreed wholeheartedly. So cheers for all that, one last night in San Jose, farewells at the bus stop, shit, missed the bus to the Caribbean, hey thanks Pablo for the ride to the other bus stop, the notorious Coca Cola Bus Station (this is meant to be bad? Come on!) and here I am waiting for a bus to spend my last few days…somewhere. Now, I type these words at a hostel that sums up my mood perfectly - Tranquilo - surrounded by impossibly tanned, beautiful and healthy looking surfer dudes and dudettes. Even the Austrian girl with the Dengue Fever in the room next door looks like a supermodel. “It’s like ugly people are not allowed in here, or something,” says Cat from Florida, who has been making a pilgrimage here every season for seven years. This village has no name, apparently, but lies between Malpais and Santa Theresa, and was recommended to me by Elizabeth of northern California who I met at the bus station and decided to follow after a flipping a coin (two out of three). Within hours, I meet some interesting folk from Iceland, South Africa, Israel, the US, and get invited to a house party, and curse that I only have a few days here, when I could quite easily stay a month. And so, after five weeks of chocka-blocka itinerary, it’s fitting to end off Central America on such pure and utter randomness. Along with the unforgettable memories of adventures, natural beauty, banging parties, and wonderful new friends I met along the way. Pura Gonzo!

Hostel Tranquilo
Santa Theresa, Costa Rica

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