La Playa
After living in Costa Rica for a while you forget that it's not just another place in America that happens to speak a lot of Spanish. I mean, you have KFC and Ford pickup trucks and movie rental joints and shopping malls with Nine West hawking shoes. Once you get used to it and pick up the lingo it seems pretty normal. But then something pops up to remind you you're not in Kansas anymore.
Tamarindo is the place where gringos and Ticos with a couple of colones go to soak up the rays and get their feet wet, so it was with much consternation I found that aside from the main road into town the other roads were (or I should say, the other road was) dirt. And that's being generous. The options for repose ranged from (mostly)'cheesy motel' to the huge resort on the beach. It took only a couple of inquiries at the lesser offerings until I gave in and went for the big one.
The place screeched opulence with a swimming pool off the lobby and big spaces open to the great out of doors. The room choices were merely expensive, and really expensive. I took the merely expensive one. That lasted one night. The shower lacked hot water (until the following morning) the table lamp next to the bed didn’t work, the lock on the door was akin to something you'd find on the bathroom door of a cheap tract home and it didn't look as if the housekeeping department had been made aware of its existence. Snow was the main program on the tube. There was also an open window in the bathroom that shared its screen with the kitchen.
The room's saving grace was that the porch outside the front door faced the beach. It was a lovely view. The dissonance between the grand commons and the cheap quarters had me scratching my cabeza. The following night I spent in the new (read: really expensive) section, which faced the main road into town (wtf?) and aside from the ubiquitous ants was more akin to a medium priced US hotel, with the welcome addition of a large comfy shower.
The strangeness of the shower manifested in that it had a glass window right around eyeball level that opened onto the hallway ensuring that the neighbors would have no doubt about your hygiene. Extracurricular-shared shower activities would require some degree of exhibitionism. Assuming the proper level of openness (hey, we're in another country) and wallet filler, one may enjoy an exciting stay worth a couple of Polaroids at the very least.
Alas, the clientele was nearly entirely Euro/Norte Americano and various other strains of gringo, which meant interaction with the locals was limited to trying out my hackneyed Spanish on the wait staff and bartenders. There was a degree of comfortableness to this arrangement though, because my pasty white body wasn't the only one getting lobsterized at the pool.
Next installment: The drive home; or how to save on your next speeding ticket by paying at the source.
