Frenchy's Rant

Not content with tempting the Grim Reaper the day before, we figured we’d give him an eyepoke. That’s right, we decided to strap into our Suzuki Shitera, rev the Singer sewing machine engine to the max, and go out and explore Costa Rica.

But before we left, I wanted to brush up on my Spanish a bit. As we learned the previous day, the cops don’t take bribes anymore, so I thought that, in the unlikely event we had another run in with the law, it might be beneficial to at least attempt to break down the language barrier. I’d brought along a copy of Lonely Planet’s ‘Mexican Spanish’ and decided to take a few minutes to learn some more words en Español.

That’s One Big Book – or – Un Libro Grande

To be honest, books like this are generally as useless as the Rosetta Stone DVD. Even if you manage to ask, “Pardon me, do you happen to have a tourniquet handy?” correctly in Spanish, you’ll never understand the answer, BECAUSE IT WILL BE IN SPANISH!! But still, in the event of an arrest, forcefully saying, “¡Quiero ponerme en contacto con mi embajada!” will certainly earn a laugh or two from my fellow prisoners.

It turns out the little Lonely Planet book is the exception, it’s quite useful, because it contains valuable phrases, from; “Quiero reservar un cuarto.” (I want to reserve a room,) to “Se perdieron mis maletas.” (I’ve lost my luggage – a very valuable phrase to know if you fly Delta much) Also included is what I thought would’ve been a helpful phrase; “¿Podemos pagar una muelta de contado?” (Can we pay an on the spot fine?) After yesterday’s encounter, this phrase’s usefulness was in doubt. But Lonely Planet guides aren’t really aimed at casual tourists, they are more for world tramping backpackers, whose needs are a bit… let’s say… different. For those people, the Lonely Planet thoughtfully added a section on getting laid.

Seriously!

Some examples:

“¿Tienes un condón?” – Do you have a condom?

“Tócame aquí.” – Touch me here.

“Lo siento, no se me para.” – I’m sorry, I can’t get it up (I swear!)

The only thing really missing from their guide is the phrase: “She was dead when I got here.” I’m sure the guy we met the other night at the bar that claimed to be in Costa Rica to ‘learn Spanish’ knew that one.

Exploring is a genetic defect of mine. In 2004 I rode a glorified dirt bike from Los Angeles to Alaska and back. Two years ago I rode a super crotch rocket across the US, just to see what was out there. The first three months of riding season this year are already overbooked, with Nashville, Scotland and Nova Scotia already planned out. Though I try, I can’t sit still, especially if I’m in a country that contains active volcanoes. Volcanoes? Active ones? LET’S GO! My curiosity always drives me to see what’s around the next corner. Always. I’m drawn to exploring like flies are drawn to… well… whatever flies are drawn to. Yes, we were in a resort with a beautiful beach, and yes we paid for a full week, and even though we were supposed to be on a vacation, having a vehicle, even if it’s just a Shitera, sitting idle while there are sights to see and lands to conquer, well, I just can’t do it. Poor Fiona sometimes just wants to relax, but that’s pretty difficult with me pacing up and down right next to her all day long. I can’t do it. I figure I’ll get plenty of rest when I’m dead.

And while driving with the Ticos might speed up the arrival date of that eternal rest period, we were willing to take that chance. So, packing a few T shirts and not much else, and safely locking the rest of our belongings in the hotel safe, we set off on yet another harebrained Frenchy adventure. Looking at the map, we decided to take the long way, driving all the way around the very beautiful Lake Arenal, take a peek at the volcano, then find a place to stay for the night. The next day we’d see what we felt like doing, and drive all day to do it. As far as vacations go, this plan sounds perfect to me.

An hour after leaving, we stopped for lunch at a little place called ‘Soda Nuvia’. A soda is basically a very small, open air restaurant, often without a menu, that local people eat lunch at. In Costa Rica these sodas can be found all over, from a busy town square to the dead middle of nowhere. Our waitress spoke no English, and there was no menu with convenient pictures of food to point at. I broke the ice by attempting to order my favorite dish, “arroz con zapatos” which made her laugh uncontrollably. Instead of ordering rice with chicken, it seems I asked her to bring me rice with shoes. Realizing this, we all had a chuckle. Fiona and I both got the chicken anyway.

After getting the hang of driving with the Ticos, I realized it’s really not that bad. In fact it’s a bit similar to driving in Ireland, except Tico’s drive on the right side of the road. In Ireland, people will race up behind you, just to see what you’re doing. Irish drivers are perfectly content to stick to your rear bumper. In Costa Rica, drivers are more concerned with what might be happening in front of you. When they come up behind, they’ll pass you, no matter what. After a while, it became a game of sorts, how long will it take from the time the driver identified me to the time it took him to risk his life showing me how much faster his four wheeled bucket of shit was than mine.

Passed By A Truck Full of Oranges?!?

Once we got inland, we had the roads mostly to ourselves, and the driving was much better.

Capitalizing on the strong winds that whip down from the surrounding mountains, Lake Arenal has become one of the top destinations for wind surfers, and we saw many of them flying across the waves. Lake Arenal was beautiful, and rounding one particularly sharp corner, we thought we might have glimpsed the actual cone of the volcano peeking out from the opposite end. Oh yeah! This might just be our lucky day, as the cone of Arenal Volcano is normally hidden by a thick blanket of clouds.We followed the road as it wound around the lake toward the volcano, stopping along the way when something grabbed our interest.

The closer we got to The Mighty Fire Mountain called Arenal, the later it got. Soon it would be dark, and I didn’t like the idea of driving on these roads in the dark. We needed to find a place to stay for the night.

Only problem was, there were no places to be found. Anywhere. In fact, other than some trees, there wasn’t much of anything on the road. We drove until twilight, when we came on the Tabacón Thermal Spa. It looked a bit pricey for our tastes, but when faced with no other real options, you can’t be too picky.

I walked up to the desk and confidently stated, “Quiero reservar un cuarto.” Without looking up from his computer screen, and without laughing, the clerk said, “240 a night.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out he wasn’t quoting the price in colones. Continuing to ignore me, he droned, “No volcano view, hot spring bus ride included, but not including breakfast.” Dredging up some more long forgotten Spanish, I replied, “El Paso.”

Two miles down the road we passed a place called Hotel Campo Verde. Little cabins dotted the hillside, so we stopped in. For $65 we had our very own cabin with one of the world’s most active volcanoes in our back yard. There are always other options, so sometimes it pays to be picky. Of course, clouds covered the top of the volcano, as they do nearly every day of the year, but we were assured it was there.

Volcano? What volcano?

Even this cabin, in the middle of nowhere, had a warning sign that read something like this:

Welcome to our cabin, be sure lock everything up, even your eyeglasses, dentures and pocket lint at all times. Leave it out and it will disappear. We are not responsible for stolen lint.

Valuable pocket lint secured, we drove into the little town for dinner. We had a choice of a little steakhouse or a bigger steakhouse. Both were empty. We chose the little one, figuring they’d be happier for the business. As we sat down, the one thing I’d come all this way to get away from was staring me right in the face.

The restaurant was vacant. The solitary waiter in the vacant restaurant was passing time by watching TV.

On that TV? WWE Smackdown.

But dinner was good anyway.

We returned to our little private cabin, locked up the rest of our valuables (maps, pens, gum, GPS, Costa Rica for Dummies book) and settled in to watch our own private volcano show. Arenal, one of the world’s most active volcanoes, violently spewed ash and hot molten lava down its sides for most of the night. It was truly a magical and memorable end to a magical and memorable day. **

Following the apparent Costa Rican theme of ‘Gouge the Gringo’, the ATV/Canopy tour turned out to be very expensive. In booking the tour, I paid the hotel approximately 480,000,000 colones in exchange for the opportunity to risk my life for an entire afternoon in the name of fun. At the appointed hour, Christian, our tour guide, showed up in his racing van, and continued the theme of ‘Tico driver insanity’ by passing every single thing in sight.

Costa Rica Route One – The Pan-American Highway

The roads in Costa Rica are all two lane affairs, even the mighty Pan-American Highway. Put an obstacle in front of a Tico driver on these small roads, and they instantly see the red mist. They will get in front of that obstacle, no matter the risk or cost. Pass a semi around a blind corner on a mountain road? ¡No Problemo! (Mountain road passes are explained more fully on Day Four) Not enough room to pass? Drive in the dirt on the inside! The only rule of the road is – Whatever it takes – GET IN THE FRONT! Something more interesting could be happening up there, you never know.

Though Christian did his best to kill us all, we arrived at the ATV lot in one piece, and after a brief orientation speech (literally, “Press this thing to go, grab these things to stop.”) we were on our way. Yes, we were on our way all right, right down the main road we drove in on! I thought to myself this can’t possibly be legal, considering Christian’s ATV was the only one with a license plate on it. That was about the only thought I had time for, as our tour leader was already about a half mile out in front. We struggled valiantly to keep up.

Our little ATV caravan drove through the small town of Brasilito, and we noticed the temporary bull ring that had been constructed in a vacant lot. Providing we survived the day’s activities, there was no way we were going to miss out on that kind of fun.

Christian swerved off the main road onto a dirt path. We followed as best we could, which was easy, considering the plume of fine dust kicked up from his machine. When I used to think of Costa Rica, I imagined a land of lush, tropical green rain forests. We couldn’t have been further from something like that, bumping down a dry and dusty trail, covered in a fine coating of sweat and mud. What fun!

About forty minutes later, we arrived at the Canopy Tour building. How convenient, they hide the rain forests well off the main roads! Like almost everything else so far, my idea of a canopy tour and the Costa Rican equivalent are as different as can be. My thought was we’d get into some kind of gondola, and travel along the tops of the rain forest trees, marveling at the monkeys, toucans, tree frogs, and other assorted wildlife from the safety and security of an enclosed mechanical device. The Costa Rican idea of a canopy tour is to strap on a tight harness, clip a clumsy looking pulley-like thing to that harness, clip your pulley-like thing to a thin wire suspended hundreds of miles above the ground, and then throw yourself off a perfectly good treehouse platform and shoot yourself across the gap on that nearly invisible wire to another platform.

Being the gentleman that I am, I let Fiona go first. That way, if it turned out to be not-so-safe, I wouldn’t have to go. Chivalry at its finest, I know. Fiona, being the complete nutter that she is, immediately clipped in and without even thinking ZIIIIIIPPPPPEDDDDD off to her death.

Oh dear God, how am I going to break the news to her parents? It’s all my fault. My moment of sadness ended when the whoops I heard from the other end told me she was still alive! That moment of sadness returned when I realized I would have to go next.

Believe me, it’s hard to fully appreciate a ‘canopy tour’ suspended three hundred miles above the ground by a dubious pulley system attached to a nearly invisible clothes line, with a too-tight harness cutting off all the blood flow to your lower extremities and mashing your balls into hamburger, jumping off a perfectly safe platform and hurtling out of control towards God-knows-what at eighty miles an hour, screaming in terror like a little girl with your eyes tightly closed. Or at least I imagine that’s how it would be for the less brave among us.

I release my stranglehold on the treehouse platform, and with my life flashing before my eyes, I rocket off into the great green beyond. WOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOO!! Somehow I survived my first flight, and had just ten more opportunities to die spectacularly before this portion of the tour ended. We flew through the trees like the man on the trapeze, and had the time of our lives. It did get better, until the guides decided they were bored, and started bouncing the zip line while I was on it. ¡Gracias amigos! It really wasn’t that bad, now that I am safely on the ground, still alive and writing this.

After cheating the Grim Reaper eleven straight times in a row, and all but exhausting my daily supply of adrenaline, I removed the ball-mangling harness and returned to our waiting ATV’s. Christian was standing by, just waiting to race us back to the ATV lot. Before we left, he asked us, “Did you see the monkeys?”

Monkeys? No! Of course my eyes had been closed for the better part of the past hour, but Fiona hadn’t seen any monkeys either. Christian pointed to a nearby tree, where a woman was taking pictures. In that tree was a family of wild howler monkeys, the Dad Howler eyeing us warily as we took pictures.

The woman, pointing frantically at the Daddy monkey exclaimed, “My God! Will you look at the set of balls on that one!”

After snapping the requisite pictures of wild monkeys and their big balls, we left, adding another layer to our dust coating, racing though the dirt on our way back to civilization. Somewhere past Brasilito, back on the main road, we ran into trouble. No, not an ATV wreck, something much worse.

The police.

Standing in the middle of the road, palm facing us in the universal sign to stop was a very angry looking oficial de la ley. We parked our all-terrain vehicles on the shoulder, and waited. The cop walked up to our guide first, gesturing to Christian’s license plate, and a rapid fire argument in Spanish began. Thanks to my many minutes of study with Rosetta Stone, I couldn’t follow a word of it, but I knew it wasn’t good. At one point during their discussion, I thought about adding “Hey, Your hat is blue!” but since his helmet was actually white, it probably wouldn’t have helped things much.

In a way it was kind of exciting though. Stopped by the cops in a foreign country. I figured we’d probably have to pay a small bribe to be set free, and was looking forward to telling the story of how we faced down the police at the pool bar later that night.

After a while of back-and-forth arguing, the officer grabbed a toolkit and removed Christian’s license plate. He tucked the plate in his boot, wrote about five tickets, handed them to our guide and just left. We were free to go, but poor Christian had racked up over $100 in fines. Turned out he had no license at all, the ATV had a plate but was not registered, and evidently, driving ATVs on public road is in fact against the law.

We took a rocky off road path the rest of the way back to the lot. The licenseless Christian didn’t want to tempt fate again, so he called someone else to return us to the hotel.

Was it worth it? Absolutely!

There’s no better way to wash off a hard earned coating of dust than a pool bar, and it’s also not a bad way to meet interesting people. As soon as we sat down for a cocktail, a bald man swam up. Before I could launch into our story about breaking the law, he said,“Excuse me. Have you been in Costa Rica long?” He introduced himself as Rolf. Rolf’s thick German accent made him difficult to understand, but we did our best. He got right to his point. “Do you know what the drunk driving laws are here? For example, in Jamaica it’s OK to drive around with a drink in hand. You see, Jamaicans know what’s good for tourists and tourism, and I need to know if Costa Rica feels the same way.” Note to self, if Rolf tries to pass on the road, don’t let him.

We excused ourself from Rolf, and got ready for the nights entertainment, the Lucha del Toros.

Pre bull riding dinner music was provided by ‘Conchita’, a homemade marimba, and her three able-bodied marimbists. These three hammered out traditional Costa Rican music as well as old wedding band favorites, and were great fun to watch. Dinner was once again chicken with rice, a very simple but tasty local favorite.

Admission to the bullring stands was $6 a person. Most Ticos had arrived early, and grabbed the best seats, the free seats, all along the top of the wooden fence that made up the ring. There was no way to know the entertainment value of the ¢3000 entrance fee. It turned out to be well worth it.

Yes, it’s true. I live a fairly sheltered life. I’ve never been to an actual rodeo, but I’ve seen enough on TV to have an idea of what they are like. A cowboy (or bull rider, or more commonly – idiot) grabs a rope around a gigantic and angry bull’s neck, and just at the gate is opened, another rope tied around the back of the bull smashes the bulls balls together, and the cowboy (idiot?) tries to hang on while the bull tries to throw the guy off and kill him. The guy that rides the longest wins. When the rider is either thrown off or dismounts, rodeo clowns distract the angry bull while the idiot (bull rider?) runs for his life. Pure entertainment, with the added benefit of possibly lots of carnage! Why, up until now, I have never been to one of these really fun seeming events, I don’t know.

But Fiona and I were at one now. Sheltered life over! The loudspeaker blares incomprehensible Spanish and tinny music. Excitement grows as the time for the first bull ride of the evening draws ever closer. The cast of knuckleheads that are going to jeopardize their lives by trying to hang on to a half ton of bucking steak for our entertainment line up, to the wild cheers of the crowd. Everything is set, then suddenly, half of the audience, the half sitting on the top of the fence, loses their collective mind. Before the first bull is released, about thirty spectators JUMP DOWN INTO THE BULL RING!

Fiona and I sit there, astonished, waiting for them to call off the first contest. No such thing happens. The first bull is released, and he ain’t exactly happy. He kicks and bucks and thrashes, and before long the first rider is down. Mind you, there are still about forty spectators standing along the edges of the bull ring, with a very angry bull in the middle. Six people run over to the fallen rider, scoop him up and shove him through a glory hole in the fence. The rest of the fans start taunting the bull, testing their bravery by running in front of it. The bull snorts and paws at the ground, then charges after a few spectators until two cowboys on horses come out and lasso the bull.

Now I ask you, where in the United States could you get this much for your entertainment dollar?

The second ride goes much as the first, with fans running all around the bull after it pitches the rider off into a crumpled heap. Fiona, a nurse who cares for sick and injured people all day at work, is mildly disturbed that the riders are getting thrown around and not getting up on their own. Me, being the cold hearted and emotionally unavailable cretin that I am, what can I say? I love it!

The third rider has a bad time of it. His bull knows the drill, and also knows how to get the annoying lump on his back off quickly and efficiently. He further knows that once the rider is down, if he gores the guy with his horns then tramples on his chest, the crowd will go wild, which is exactly what happens. I can’t contain my excitement at this most excellent of contests, whooping it up and hollering for the bull. Fiona is horrified. Bloodlust takes over as I wish the next act was releasing lions into the ring to eat up all the remaining Ticos. Six guys run out and scoop up the quivering form of the ex-bullrider and stuff him through the glory hole in the fence. Some of the crowd rush over to peer over the fence where the damaged rider was, while I only wish we’d sat closer to it so we could enjoy the destruction better.

We watch the rest of the contest, and it all goes pretty much the same way. Bull riding in Brasilito is popular for the same reason that NASCAR is. You watch for the wrecks, especially the spectacular ones. Every rider is damaged to one degree or another, but none worse than rider number three. Before leaving, we circle around to see what was inside the glory hole where they stuffed all the bruised and bloodied competitors.

Once again, Fiona was horrified.

Our second day in Costa Rica was the best by far, but even more excitement was on the horizon; for tomorrow, we plan to once again take our lives into our hands with a little road trip to the Arenal area to see some active volcanoes.

The next installment of the Costa Rica Adventure can be found here.

The other AdSense AdShoe finally dropped today. At 2:33AM, the heavy handed meatheads over there shut me down for good. Here is the email detailing how those chickenshits did it:

Hello,

While going through our records recently, we found that your AdSense account has posed a significant risk to our AdWords advertisers. Since keeping your account in our publisher network may financially damage our advertisers in the future, we’ve decided to disable your account.

Please understand that we consider this a necessary step to protect the interests of both our advertisers and our other AdSense publishers. We realize the inconvenience this may cause you, and we thank you in advance for your understanding and cooperation.

Sincerely,

The Google AdSense Team

So, that’s it. Their terms of service state that they’ll take all the money in my account and give it back to the advertisers who were so grieviously harmed financially by my actions.

Am I surprised? No, not really. Do I care? No, except for the fact that ‘a significant risk’ was posed by my blog! A significant risk? Please shut the fuck up. The only significant risk to the blog was losing readers that hate advertising as much as I do. A significant risk? At five cents a click? This is so stupid that it’s actually funny, until you realize that these AdSense AsSwipes can do this to anyone that has AdSense on their blog at any time, and once they’ve made a decision, they don’t have to pay you for allowing stupid Menstrual Stem Cell ads to appear. But since Google also owns Blogger, and I don’t want to get shut down entirely, I’ll just move on.

Lesson learned. Advertising sucks. Adsense sucks. Google sucks too.

The plane banks sharply to the left, and a new (at least new to me) view of the Pacific Ocean fills the tiny window. Judging by the incessant popping in my ears, we’re heading down, either for an emergency ‘water landing’, or to the runway in Costa Rica’s Liberia International Airport. Thankfully, terra firma appears below us before we land. Fiona and I are officially on our way to our first ever ‘motorcycle-less ecotourism‘ vacation in Central America.

Land Ho! Our First View of Costa Rica

Fiona, a nurse in Southern California, deals with Spanglish speaking patients almost every day, though usually just requests for more drugs or a lawyer. We weren’t sure how well that would serve us in Costa Rica. The last formal training I had in Spanish was in high school about 25 years ago, so before we left, I tried to refresh that mostly forgotten training with a $300 Rosetta Stone DVD titled ‘Easy Español for El Gringo Estúpido’

As an aside, this language software is great if you want to learn how to say things like “Oh! Your hat is blue!” (¡Mierda! ¡Su sombrero es azul!) or “Where is the library?” (¿Dónde está la biblioteca?) Practical? Not really. And with only a week to master the language, the five or so words I managed to pick up from the DVD cost me about $60 each. Sí, las palabras españolas son muy costosas para el gringo estúpido.

The plane lands with a THUD! and we bounce our way to the airport. The word ‘airport’ is generous, the place we landed is really nothing more than a corrugated metal roof over a few randomly scattered chairs. If it never gets cold, I guess there really isn’t much need for such modern conveniences as walls. The stairway is pushed to the plane door, and it’s official. We’re in Costa Rica.

Customs is surprisingly simple to clear, just a smile, a friendly wave and a passport stamp. ¡Bienvenidos a Costa Rica!

We walk outside to look for the rental car bus. A throng of sign waving Ticos (the name for Costa Rican locals) greets us, all shouting for our attention. I find the guy with the Dollar Rent-a-Car sign, and notice our names aren’t on his list. No matter, he motions for us to follow him, and we get in his car. Strange, but hey, it’s a different country, maybe this is the way they do business here. But then again, maybe he is a serial gringo killer….

Turned out to be the former, as he whisked us to the Dollar building. When I say whisked, I really mean launched the car into hyperspace, throwing up back against the seats, then proceeded to make five death defying passes on the outside, one in the grass, and that was just to get out of the parking lot. Hmm… the warning about homicidal Tico drivers seems to have a grain of truth in it.

As expected, the rental car agency had no record of us in their computer. After some linguistic difficulty, and a spirited game of charades, we managed to not only get a vehicle, but also learn where the local library is. Thank you Rosetta Stone!

I had to sign a paper proving that I had been advised never to have anything valuable in the car, to use the provided U-lock for the gear shift at all times except while actually shifting, always let local drivers pass me no matter what, and if I got a flat, NEVER let ANYONE help change it, just drive on it to someplace safe.

Keep that last rule in mind for later in the story.

Our car, a four wheel drive Suzuki Shitera, could barely hold our suitcases and us, but no matter, we had something to drive and it was time to risk our valuables and our lives finding the hotel.

The Suzuki Shitera – Four Cylinders of Unmatched Driving Fury.

The Spacious Shitera Interior.

Super T-Lock – Because a Stolen Car Ruins a Vacation

Ever drive a lap at Indy? No? Try driving on any road in Costa Rica, I am sure the feeling and the danger level are quite similar. We were obviously in a race with every local out there, and it was a race I was destined to lose. First lesson learned – The Tico drivers are indeed homicidal maniacs, so let ’em pass, because their gonna pass anyway. I came in last place, but at least we arrived more or less intact.

A Few of the Vehicles That Passed Us On the Way To the Hotel

The hotel was beautiful, sitting in the middle of a secluded cove. We quickly settled in and headed for the pool, where we learned our second lesson about Costa Rica. It’s EXPENSIVE (¡Es costoso! ¡Realmente el coger costoso!) The Costa Rican dollar is called the Colon. ¢500 is about $1, depending on how bad you get gouged by the crooks at the currency exchange. But it is cool to cash in $100 and receive ¢20,000, it makes you feel rich.

2000 Colones – Worth About $4.
Any Money with a Hammerhead Shark on it is Pretty Cool

The rich feeling disappears quickly when you realize that one beer cost ¢2500, which is about five bucks. Strangely enough, Rosetta Stone never taught me the words for ‘Gouge The Gringo‘, but our hotel clearly grasped the concept. The swim up bar in the pool was more than happy to accept soggy hammerheads in exchange for cool cervezas.

I started talking to John, seated next to me. He had just completed his recreational diver certification, and was pretty proud of it. He invited us to join his group in celebrating his accomplishment at a nearby restaurant that serves, ‘the best American style hamburger around.’

Yeah, right! That’s why I traveled to this place, to eat American style hamburgers. We politely declined his invitation. Soon after that, four guys swam up to the bar, and started telling us about their ATV/Canopy tour that day. They said it was expensive (I know, it’s shocking) but well worth it.

Another Gringo seated at the bar jumped into the conversation. “There’s also a bull riding competition in Brasilito tomorrow night. I’ve been in Costa Rica for a month learning Spanish, and I’ve been to a few of them. It’s great fun.” Judging by the way he continually hit on anything in a skirt, I doubted he was in Costa Rica only to learn Spanish. As he continued to talk at us, he continued to prove what a real winner he was. “You know, I’ve never gotten my wife anything for Valentine’s Day. I’ve really got her trained well.”

I’d have to say the best gift he gave her was leaving her alone for a month. The case of Costa Rican herpes he brings home will just be an added bonus for the poor woman. But hey, who am I to judge this douchebag? At least he gave us a valuable tip for something fun to do hasta la mañana!

We’d survived the drive to the hotel. Nothing had been stolen from us yet. We made a few new friends, and already found one Gringo sexual predator. We’d drained more than a few cervezas, and already needed to find an ATM for more colones. I’d say our vacation was off to a great start. With a final toast, the sun set on our first day in Costa Rica. Tomorrow – ATV riding, zip lining, bull fighting, and a run in with el policía.

¡Hasta Mañana, los quince fieles!

The next installment of the Costa Rica Adventure can be found here.

The Costa Rica posts are coming, but I had to take a moment because I think I may have accidentally discovered the reason for all our troubles with this brave new world of WWE High Definition wrestling!

Yes, I know by now, whining about High Definition is not only boring, dull and pretty much a pathetic excuse for me to not write about anything else, but I honestly believe I may have stumbled on to the source of many of our HD woes.

See below:

This is a cart used to hold and transport the highly specialized and expensive HD monitors and cables. Our highly intelligent and expensive camera guys are charged with loading and unloading this cart.

Notice the problem?