My twenty-fifth birthday spiralled out of control before we'd even left for the weekend. What had been intended as a quick jaunt into nature, a rekindling of the lessons and values learned over my last birthday in Brazil, became as much of a beautiful mess as the entire year leading to it. After a months of betrayals, misfortune, and crippling depression, i'd finally succumbed to the bottle, and started drinking at age twenty-four. In a lavish stupor i somehow found myself head chef at a beachfront restaurant attached to a party hostel in Central America. Describing our clients, a motley crue of young backpackers, aging hippies, retired veterans, frat boys, Mileswarm hipsters, disillusioned libertarians, outcasts, and burn outs, as wild would be gentle. Incomparisism, our staff was absolutely feral.
Most days started around a quarter to seven, preparing the kitchen while sipping on a man-mosa. Light beer, a splash of orange juice, the drink helped shake off the dust while i warmed the ovens. Open from seven in the morning till nine in evening, with a little siesta in the afternoon; ten, to twelve hour days, with no weekends off had become my norm. Not that that was mandatory. If anything the owner encouraged breaks, rest, and ease- but i was hellbent on turning the failing kitchen around, and bringing something special to the stomachs of those that ventured off the beaten track to that lonely little island.
As much as i tried to ignore the big two-five, it sat glaring for months. The unreal precedent i'd set the year before regarding my birthdays, and how i wanted to celebrate them loomed (link). Desperate not to succumb to the easy, tempting, fates of self pity, nor to escalating my partying, i needed something challenging, inspiring, and memorable. The day had to be something new, something special. i didn't want to party, or anything shallow. i needed adventure, a feat of sorts. Perseverance, pyramids, nature, something beyond the beach, something that reminded me how lucky i was to be alive.
A fortuitous late night conversation with a bandmate steered to river rafting in La Fortuna, Costa Rica . Promising the only grade five rapids in central America, he swore by the majesty, and ferocity of the river. A little research uncovered acclaimed bungee jumping, the highest in Central America, in a town two hours away. My visa needed renewing anyways, and with two fun, extreme activities, set in rich jungle, Costa Rica ticked all the boxes. My decision was made.
Excited for the solo adventure, i couldn't help from verbalizing my intentions the week before i left. The utterance caused a ripple within the fates. Lead bartender, and close friend, Caleb overheard my plan and immediately asked to join. Word got round of our trip to one of our other other coworkers, Saffron, who attempted to latch on without hesitation. With a loud personality, with as much volume as her heart, she was an absolute handful. We were reluctant, and opposed at first but her consummate, and hilarious begging bent us to her favour and the pair became a trio. Forgetting of course she was a package deal. Wherever Saffron roamed, her friend Pavi always followed in tow. Polite, sarcastic, flamboyant, the handsome Israeli, who lovingly referred to himself as our resident Gay-sraeli, was a welcomed addition.
Our crew bloated again the following morning with the serendipitous arrival of one of my best friends. Returning from a surfing trip, Miles had come back to the island to visit his girlfriend before setting off for four months across South America. With a flight over the Darian Gap booked from San Jose to Bogota, our adventure was en route, and i was thrilled to have him.
We organized a taxi to the first ferry before sunrise, bright and early the day before my birthday. Too excited to sleep, it was well after midnight during another bout of heavy drinking before i stumbled to my room for a few hours of shut eye.
The weekend went off the rails immediately. i rose at five to find i was the only one who slept. The others looked at me wide eyed, deep in a psychedelic trip. In their giant disced iris i saw the reflection of headlights trooping towards the bar as our ride arrived. Sensing my concern Caleb wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pointed to a pile of backpacks in the corner. Somehow a bolt of cosmic wisdom had him corral everyone to gather their bags before the compounds had kicked in. Wanting to return the joy, i brought their attention to my pack, a doubled up plastic bag stuffed with my change of clothes, swimming trunks, travel towel, banana suit, two books, and toothbrush. My day pack had been stolen a few weeks prior, and with no time to go shopping ahead of our trip, this was the best i could do until we made it to the mainland. The gang howled with laughter as they clambered into the van, a few of us climbing to the roof to enjoy the breeze and the last of the starcrested sky. Miles handed me a cold one and we set off.
Around the corner our taxi made an unexpected stop. Silhouetted by a streetlight stood a lone, deformed figure. As we got closer the shadows corrected, and what appeared to be an enormous head took the shape of a giant sombrero. "Ah, Jus, so we have had another addition," Caleb leaned over while cracking a beer for himself, "Jay's coming."
i'd heard of rumours of the notorious wild man's return to the island. Despite the hooligans that frequented, and the shenanigans that ensued, he was the only person ever to be banned from our bar. The crew piled out, Caleb and i scaled down to greet the infamous Gonzo. We shook hands and i took him in, his loud Hawaiian shirt, scandalous short shorts, and bare feet.
"No shoes?" i asked.
"Stolen, that your bag?" he pointed with a brew in hand.
"Stolen."
"i won't buy shoes, if you don't buy a bag."
"That works for me," another handshake sealed the bet, we returned to the roof and out came a bottle of rum. Brown fiery fermented sugar cane juice kissed our lips as the sun crested.
The ferry's bar opened as soon as the rickety vessel left the shoreline. Not a soul batted an eye as we grabbed another round. Together we giggled over cosmic absurdities as we cracked more cans. We drank, and made merry with the morning commuters as we puttered over the water. Saffron sang on the top deck while Pavi clapped a beat, delighting the locals while the rest of my comrades gawked at the sunrise and contorting clouds. After a quick breakfast on the other side at a road stand we kicked off to the border. Caleb boasting that in all his travels, this Costa Rican crossing was the only in the world that served beers.
Gooned by noon our ramshackled crew waltzed over the borderline. i was drunk enough to think my banana suit was appropriate attire to pass through the frontier. Those on the tail end of their psychedelic sparkles snickered as our gang stumbled across no man's land, led by Jay and his enormous sombrero. Our paths intersected with a conservative group of backpackers. Decked out in fresh laced boots, wraparound sunglasses, clean rucksacks, and a solid, pompous stick up each of their asses. We'd all seen too many of their type. In those years there was a bit of a stigma regarding Nicaragua by those travelling North as opposed to South from Guatemala, El Salvador, and such. Well trotted Costa Rica seemed to attract more precious German, British, and American travellers than the other countries combined. The previous ones i'd met that "dared" to venture up north were always quite ready to pat themselves on the back for their "bravery." The group's eyes moved from my banana suit and plastic shopping bag luggage to Jay's bare feet in horror. "They stole everything," i whispered in exaggerated terror.
We cackled at their frightened expressions as we marched to get our passports stamped, and they second guessed their decisions to visit lovely Nicaragua. The Costa Rican border guards were in much better humour than the stale Germans. They assured us that the brews next door were nice and cold, and welcomed us with high-fives, and happy "pura vidas." Bottle caps popped, and suds were sucked as we plotted our way forth.
Saffron, the only part of our party fluent in Spanish, went about seeing how we could continue to La Fortuna. We'd missed the buses, and debated how much an expensive cab ride would be worth to us. Our crew too big for the small taxis, and with no vans on offer, it looked like we were stranded for the next few hours until the next round of buses returned, or would have to fork out for multiple rides.
Buzzed, bored, and appalled at the thought of paying a fortune for a lift after hitchhiking from the United States to Nicaragua, i marched to the beginning of the highway and prepared to cast my thumb for a ride. From the other side of a lifting gate a giant white semi truck crept forth. Banana suit high and proud, i raised my arm to match it. The crew's howls halted as the air brakes hissed, and the tractor trailer stopped. i climbed to the window, recited my Latin thanks and pleasantries, and asked where he was headed. En route to Panama, the driver offered a lift to a connecting highway leading to La Fortuna- over halfway to our destination. Astounded by the good fortune, though a little sheepish, i confessed there was another catch, and pointed to my five friends. With a hearty laugh he leaned to the window and waved everyone inside. In under two minutes i'd found our ride.
The gang scrambled with their bags, beers, and loud cheers as they piled in. Our new friend beamed when the loquacious Saffron sat up front with him while the rest of us squeezed onto a bed in the back cab. The ride was rowdy, joyous, and our driver a good sport, declining cold cans, laughing along with absurd conversations, grateful for flirtatious Saffron's company. Under her spell he was oblivious to Pavi's less than subtle advances, nor the fiends' babbling shenanigans.
The countryside sailed beside us. It was a raucous, ripping ride. Filled with stories, laughs, song, and the occasional unsavoury snort. While at times our new friend seemed overwhelmed by the bedlam, Saffron's affections kept him calm and us in his good graces. A few hours later we were dropped off to the side of the road, at the intersection of two rudimentary highways. We sang our thanks and waved him goodbye as he thundered his air horn.
Late in the hot afternoon, not a soul passed. We did the only logical thing. We sought another bar. Of course, as if preordained, the only building amongst the dust and weeds was pounding electronic music. Strange for two in the afternoon in a lonely part of the country, we washed away any critical thought, and sauntered over. Jay led the way to the noise, prattling something about poking his head in to ask for directions. Halfhearted sentences fell short of convincing ourselves that we were merely inquiring about bus times, and cab numbers as we saddled up at the bar of the bizarre club and ordered another round. Despite the venue being void of any other patrons it was fully staffed. There was something odd about the place. Everything themed in cheap silver paint with red vinyl seats and accents, giving a budget seventies sci-fi vibe. The second Lord of the Rings film was projected across multiple walls, disco balls twirled, lasers and smoke machines cranked as high as the music. The workers were all women, decked out in uniforms that belonged at a hooters. Tight white tank tops and red short shorts. All extremely flirtatious. The ones that weren't bartending were meticulously cleaning, polishing, and wiping tables. We kept drinking, and it took an embarrassing amount of time for us to piece together where we were. It wasn't until one of the staff began making outlandish, seductive movements with her hips while moping, wiggling her ass, and winking at us that Saffron pieced it out. "Boys, i think we're in a brothel..."
As soon as she said the words out loud the scene came into focus. The excessive cleavage, the phenomenal customer service, constant fingers traced across our shoulders as staff passed by, exaggerated laughs and attention as we stumbled through Spanish pleasantries. With a unanimous shrug we accepted another round, though declined their other business propositions, before hitting the road unfazed.
Outside the Sun was blinding. i continued to try and work my hitchhiking magick while my friends sat in the shade. Of the few cars that passed, none stopped. After a long, sobering hour, providence smiled and a rickety chicken bus pulled over. We squeezed aboard the crowded commuter, and continued forth for a few bumpy, uncomfortable hours. Mountains, and gorgeous coned volcanos loomed in the horizon and we arrived in La Fortuna at sunset. It took no time to find cheap accommodation, less of course for road beers. Our bags dropped, we skirted out into the night, looking for adventure on the eve on my birthday.
Our hostel managed to point us in the direction of a rafting company. and we secured a booking for the morning, as well as organized a bus to take us to Monteverde for bungee jumping when we returned. With the birthday excursions locked in, we went off for a night of luxury.
Fed by boiling bowls of the Arenal volcano, La Fortuna hosts numerous hot springs which a handful of hotels capitalized on. We found a spa-like resort a few kilometres away with volcanic springs feeding scattered water bars, hot tubs, steam rooms, cold plunges, and waterslides. At this point my memory gets hazy, i remember a wristband that got us a buffet dinner, a few drinks, and full access to the amenities. Burning rum, corny structures and slides, goofy dance parties in front of lame DJs, i remember laughing, i remember some of our party getting a talking to from staff, of what kind of disorder, i don't imagine too bad. Touristy, gauche, it was a blast. Eyes red with chlorine, gut bloated from enough hops, barley, and yeast to make a loaf of bread, the night was a drunken dream. While i remember the moon illuminating our path home alongside the gorgeous volcano, and leaving after midnight- i can't recall whether the decision to go was our own volition or not. Regardless, we walked arm in arm under the lush Puerto Rican canopy, my friends singing their birthday wishes as my internal calendar turned another year older, and i closed the first quarter of my life. i woke to a morning ready to welcome in my next chapter of adventure and chaos with a dusty head.
Thank’s for reading! Stay tuned for the second part of the story!
-Mr. Write