Costa Rica - Futbol, Ziplines, and Hookers: Oh My!

Team,

Work can make a person boring. Addressing friends and coworkers the same way any time an email goes out to more than two people at once is one of the least socially caustic tendencies working a standard 8-to-5 can give a person.  The rest are worse.  Like responding with "Welp, it's Monday!" to anything that happens during those Godforsaken 24 hours.  Like doing the same on a Wednesday.  Like giving Fridays more credit than they deserve, or avoiding opportunities to go skinny-dipping at 3am on a Thursday.  Like waking up early on a Saturday to do one's ironing.

I realized, one month ago, that I did all of these things in the same week.  Cue cold sweats, calls for help, etc.  The only reasonable solution was to go to Costa Rica, watch a world cup qualifier, and surf my face off.  Doctor's orders, everyone.  Promise.  He also prescribed writing about it... so I hope you once again enjoy my selfish attempts to sound cool.

Firstly, this marked an important milestone in the Rusty's Path To Adulthood chronicles.  An international vacation was booked with friends on our own impetus.  There was no program, no large group, no obvious occasion, and not even a holiday involved.  We had merely a birthday and a soccer game to go by. We would go to San Jose, party some, watch a World Cup Qualifier, party more, go to Jaco, surf, party more, surf more, then zipline/ATV across a jungle.  Then we'd go back to work sunburned, fat, broke and utterly satisfied.  We've had worse plans.

American Airlines began their stellar performance on Thursday afternoon, procrastinating our flight back 3 hours from 4 to 7pm in gradual 20 minute increments.  This pushed back our arrival in paradise, resulting in an audible in evening plans: we would search for soccer ticket connections at the bars by the hotel!  Because those are always awesome!

Anyone familiar with a B-team bar setting (Addison) can imagine the silly strip mall scene.  Walking by closed sushi restaurants and an open McDonalds, we closed in on what sounded like Major Lazer's birthday party.  We couldn't have been more out of place had that actually been the case.  It was like a Hollister store hired a novice DJ, served overpriced shots and then kicked all the white women out. This was not without benefit: Central American hips in jean shorts can be hypnotizing, and if you told me that more than 50 words were exchanged between my companions and I, I'd question if you counting by 3's or 4's. It became abundantly clear that these people had no interest in us whatsoever (typical for me, but my companions were better looking/wealthier, so they weren't as accustomed to this), and that we were likely the oldest people in that bar by at least two hands' worth of fingers. At this point, slightly less solvent, utterly friendless and no closer to soccer tickets, we left to find another bar.  This was abortive and brought us back to HQ for the night.  Starting off right. La Da Dee Da Dee.  We Like To Party.  Hey.

Day two brought us to San Jose proper.  San Jose is not a third world city, but it's no San Francisco either.  The streets are a maze due to the Tico's (Costa Rican for "Costa Rican") preference on navigating with hand gestures and landmarks.  All stores advertise soccer in some way.  Every 15 feet we saw a stall selling the same assortment of annoying plastic horns and soccer jerseys.  I assume this is the remnant of some Mayan tradition.  The stalls were so close...it just made no sense.

In a fit of jealousy over how awesome Costa Rica is, witches from Salem cursed it during the 15th century.  They decreed that every afternoon around 2 it would rain for the next 3-5 hours.  Every.  Damn.  Day.  Our time in San Jose was no exception.  This complicated the art of scalping which was to take place in the hours approaching the game, and upon which we placed a large weight regarding the success of this vacation.

Leaving one of our team (callsign Spa) at the USA pre-game bar to guard our beer, I ventured off with the third sparkly Tri-Force constituent (callsign The Mayor) to haggle for technically illegal goods on the streets of a third world country.  In the rain.  While kinda drunk. In Spanish. This is why I don't tell my mother what I'm doing on weekends until after I've done it.

What followed surprised us all - Not only was I interviewed by a Tica Journalist (I'm famous!), but we obtained three front row seats for $60 each.  These are, to reiterate, front-row seats to the biggest sports ticket in the country this year.  Thanks, global economic imbalance.  I owe you one.  We celebrated by buying a handle of bacardi at the bar for our American Outlaw friends and ourselves.  For $30.  You know, exactly like a Cowboys game and bottle service at Concrete.

The game blew the mind.  Estadio Nacional seats 34,000.  "Seats" is a bad word because no one sits.  On this night it sat roughly 33,920 Ticos and maybe 80 Americans.  I didn't do the math, but wouldn't have been surprised if the Riot Police assigned to our section outnumbered us.

USA won last time  on what is considered a gimmick (snow), and the Ticos are all painfully aware of it.  One thing that struck us all and was pointed out by The Mayor is the literacy of the crowd.  Every little thing done right by the Ticos or (more often) wrong by Tio Samuel was applauded vehemently.  I had flashbacks to SMU games with half the crowd on their smartphones and the other half absent, and cried a little on the inside.  It made me respect soccer and the Ticos.  The final was 3-1, and if you've ever been curious to see what raw passion looks like, find yourself in a third world country after they win a birth to the World Cup.  Traffic was immobile, parties erupted in the streets, and we were denied access to our own pregame bar "por su propio seguridad."  I'd never been kicked out of a bar for my own safety before.  Live and learn.  After searching for the proper post party unsuccessfully, we called it a night in preparation of the second leg of our trip:  the coastal jewel of Jaco.

The following statements should not be a surprise to anyone:
1.  Surfing is hard, and makes your nipples tender if you don't wear a shirt.
2.  Zipline needs to establish itself as a mainstream form of transportation.
3.  Most people who live in Jaco hated us.

Wait, now about that last one?

Jaco is on the Pacific coast of Costa Rica.  It is a beautiful setting and the ire of all Ticos who don't live there.  Unbeknownst to us while booking this, Jaco built up too fast.  Tourism began in the 90s based on nature, surfing, adventure-ing and the high life. This turned into money'ed spring breakers pillaging through town renting Nicaraguan and Tica hookers faster than the town could supply them and providing a market for a large supply of Panama-trafficked Bolivian nose powder.  I'm not making this up.

The Ticos refuse to sacrifice their integrity the way they feel the Mexicans did with Cancun, Acapulco etc.  Jaco, to my eyes, was a beautiful place where we could surf, do ATV things, ride on a zipline shirtless and upside down (because I'm That Guy), and get some excellent meals to boot.  Jaco is, to the Ticos' eyes, a den of drugs, prostitution, miscellaneous villainy and a cheapening of the otherwise wholesome culture of the population.  In other words, they hate it for the exact same reasons so many foreigners love it.

During a series of conversations with locals (waitress from Georgia, teacher from Jersey, her two awful fat friends from various "before" pictures), we were repeatedly indirectly scolded for being nasty tourists.  Jaco doesn't get a lot of American tourists who come for things other than Tica prostitutes, evidently.  This was news to us all.  A formidable social barrier exists between the locals and the tourists for exactly this reason.  Those who moved to Jaco adopted the sensitivities of the locals.  It would be like if I relocated in the rough part of South Oak Cliff and decided, because of my new digs, to stop watching M*A*S*H reruns and eating broccoli.  The Ticos and walk-ons are so offended by the perceived lack of genuine interest in what Costa Rica has to offer that there is a barely-not-open hostility lurking beneath the outwardly friendly exterior of most of the Jaco residents we encountered.  They feel that unchecked tourism ruined one of their finest locations.

And do you know what?  I get it.

Costa Rica sits in the world's upper echelon in natural beauty.  Generally speaking its people are hospitable, welcoming and helpful, almost to a fault.  Truly cool folks. But there is a tacit expectation among them that tourists also come with the same good faith in which they are received.  That they come to enrich themselves with the landscape and the mentality Ticos have to offer, not merely to get ones' rocks off and leave the locals with slightly more money but less culture and happiness.  When this implicit trust goes awry, the resulting disdain shouldn't baffle anyone.

It's also possible, and many will support this theory, that so many Ticos have been so damaged by American Airlines, that they've grouped any and all US citizens under the same dual-horned devil helmet worn by whoever is running that miserable operation.  I wouldn't blame them.  Spa's flight out, which he awoke at 3am to make, was delayed and subsequently cancelled.  The Mayor's bags were shipped to London, because that makes sense.

I flew United.  I met a nice girl from Brooklyn and actually enjoyed the in-flight meal.

So this will conclude my "summary" of this trip.  Hopefully you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved being all up in it and then recording it as such.  I encourage you all to live in a crappy apartment, eat microwaved frozen vegetables for at least one meal a day, shun expenses like cable and dentist appointments, and then go stamp the bujesus out of your passport.  You only get one go at this "life" thing, and it's a big world out there.

Keep Calm and Blonde On.
-That Guy

Combat Poetry: Date Auction Done Right

Friends,

This message is a departure from your regularly scheduled programming.  By popular demand, and by my own desire to grandstand and shamelessly self-promote from the safety of my own keyboard, I am going to share "the poem."

Blondes vs Brunettes Dallas owned me this summer.  I enjoyed the slavery - amazing group of people, plus philanthropy for an important cause, plus coaching.  What's not to like?

Accessory to this commitment, an opportunity arose to take part in a date auction.  I earmarked a ticket to Book of Mormon for this purpose, and then had to come up with a talent.  This proved difficult, as it turns out no one cares how long my neck was in high school (really long) or how well I think I can speak Spanish while I'm drunk (perfectamente).  I settled on what's to follow herein: a poem illustrating my prowess as a purchasable date, the night to come, and make up a few words.

Note to the feint of ear:  This is offensive.  Even to me.  I couldn't keep a straight face reading it.  Mom, go look at this instead: OMG CATS!!!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6BeDGuqe6O0

Transcript is below, minus one line that I made up on the fly.  Had to throw a priest joke in there...silly Catholics.

Hugs and Handpounds everybody.  Remember that every time you share my blog an angel gets its wings.

Haake'ums

Date Night

Attention lovely audience, and I don't mean the males
If you're new to "date auctions," most of whats to come is just sales

I was nervous at first, id been tasked to compete,
With all these philanthropic young genius playboy elites

But my fundraising goal's high, I want to go get it
So I'll rely on appreciation for me offensively waxing poetic

The pen is mightier, there are few greater skills,
poets screw more women than republican-backed healthcare bills

My aim isnt political, please stow all the groans
Im here to impress offend and seduce, so pretend you're watching game of thrones

Superior oral prowess makes women swoon without hesitation
On date night this will be in full swing, as per the following demonstration,

With such eyes as yours a longing gaze is due
Until you look away briefly, then it's down at boobs, then back to you

Your beauty's unreal, I hope my pants don't betray
You have me upright and locked like an airline seat and table tray

You unravelled my heart, my emotions unfurled
"You're the only one who could do this, insert-name-of-girl.

I can now see in your eyes, that internal urge rising,
If I told you I googled triple orgasm would you find that enticing?

And knowing my search history,
I hope your urge is proliferating
This is a night you'll always remember while fondly reminisce-turbating

I'm committed to this date, I'm in, all four thirds!
Don't question my math, fractions speak louder than words

Never encountered engineers? Have faith, im no nOOb,
Wikipedia prepared me to handle nature's little Rubik's cube

But that website's Metallurgy section doesn't accurately depict me
 in the presence of warmth and moisture rust never, ever comes quickly

Now the Demo's finished, I believe it'd be shrewd
To discuss what will happen if I'm bid on by you

I love watching musicals, though I seem so very callous
Bid highest for me, and we'll see the sold-out Book of Mormon in Dallas

If you're unfamiliar, no recognition in mind,
Look up what a Tony Award is, this musical won 9.

And though I may seem cocky I tell you the truth is
If this goes for less than $100 ill be bluer than smurf jiz

Without further ado,
I will no longer offend,
Applaud or faint or whatever, but please throw money. The end.