I flag down a collectivo and talk him down to \$20 for a trip to the Westin. We spend most of the 30 minute drive speaking broken Spanish, mostly about Costa Rica and soccer and Costa Rican soccer.
We get to Brasilito and he pulls over to drop me off by the beach. I say I'm headed to the Westin & he tells me that you can't get in without authorization. I tell him I'm meeting someone so he can drop me at the entrance and he reiterates that you can't get in without authorization. I tell him again that I'm meeting someone and I bet you can guess what he says next.
He tells me to walk down the beach a bit, over a small rocky peninsula to Playa Conchal, which fronts the resort. I hop out and follow his instructions, down the beach, over the rocky promontory, where I find myself on a stunning white sand beach.
Playa Conchal, translated as "Shell Beach" is aptly named, as the sand is made of millions of crushed shells (coarse grained, moderately sorted, sub-angular shell fragments for all you geologists out there). It is considered one of the most beautiful beaches in Costa Rica, with spectacular views out over Brasilito Bay.
I continue walking down the beach where I find the back entrance to the resort and scoot right in with all the confidence of a mediocre white male. I start wandering towards where I imagine the front desk would be when I happen upon an unsecured guest wifi network near a coffee shop. I send Kaiti a WhatsApp message to meet me there and she asks me how I got in. She's much more of a rule follower than I and is amused by my malfeasance.
It's around 9:15 so we head for a quick breakfast before yoga on the beach at 10. We sit down and Kaiti orders coffee and I tell the waiter I'll do the same. The breakfast is buffet style so I head up to fill my plate. When I come back the coffee has arrived but so has a mimosa and a shot of Bailey's, creamy. Now I wasn't really paying attention when she ordered but I have to say that is an aggressive play at 9 AM even for me. I scarf down brekky, the mimosa, and half of my Irish coffee before heading to the beach.
We meet our yoga instructor by the back entrance and begin walking to a shady spot in the sand. On the way out a gaggle of aggressive women offering massages accosts us. One of them asks me my name and I reply with the silliest name I could think of for a pasty gringo from Oklahoma: Pablo.
"Ok Pablo, we'll be here when you come back"
"Muy bien, pura vida, we'll get a massage when we're done," I lie.
I had completely erased the entire interaction from my brain when a minute later the yoga instructor asks, "so where are you from, Pablo?" Ahhhhh shit... I guess I'm Pablo now.
Pablo & Kaiti spend an hour stretching, posing, breathing as the waves crash against the beach. It's incredibly relaxing & a great way to start the day... after two drinks and a big breakfast, of course. After yoga Kaiti's Catholic guilt overwhelms her and she insists that I buy the guest wristband. So lame. I was having a lot of fun living the life of an outlaw. It's already almost noon so I ask the guy if they have a half day pass, which they don't, but he'll give me a "top shelf" pass for the price of a regular. Sure thanks pal.
From here we go back to the beach for some stand up paddleboarding. I've never SUP'd before so Kaiti gives me a few pointers before we head out into the water. I'm a bit wobbly at the start but I eventually get the hang of it. It's a pretty solid workout and the views are magnificent. After about 15 minutes of tootin around the bay I decide to try for the beach over yonder before the hour is up. The wind and current are against me so I work up a pretty good lather. I don't quite make it to the shore before I need to about-face, by which point the wind and current have shifted so the easy ride home I was expecting was not so easy.
I've worked up a heck of an appetite so we head over to the restaurant reserved for people with the "top shelf" bracelets. We are the only ones in the entire place and Kaiti pounds two guaro sours and a piña colada with lunch. I reckon she's here to get her money's worth, my goodness.
We finish lunch and this is about the point that the allure of the resort wears off. I ask Kaiti what there is to do and she says we could do the pool bar. Or the cabana bar. Or the palapa bar. I look around and realize that there's no way I could tell if I was in Costa Rica or Orlando. You can't see the beach or even hear the waves from anywhere on the property. There's a "Costa Rican" theme but it's the type of theme that's drawn up in a boardroom in a Dallas suburb. Speaking of suburbs, this dumbass place is even designed like one.
The tiki huts, the faux wood furniture, the Ikea-esque art, the perfectly manicured grounds, the "lagoon style pool," the wannabe stone walkways made from stamped concrete... Everything about this place is just so phony. Even their website can't put a spin on it - "our vibrant hotel boasts a myriad of elevated amenities, including a revitalizing day spa, sparking pools and an extensive list of world-class dining." If you want a day spa, a sparkling pool, and world-class dining go to Vegas. Because at least there the dining there might actually be world class.
If you want to go to Costa Rica go to Costa Rica.
I vote that we get off this dumb property and use the one amenity that's actually worth it, the geographical proximity to Playa Conchal. We head back to the beach to catch some rays and it's incredibly peaceful. Mostly because all the nimrods at the resort are bellied up to a kitschy bar dumping back watered-down cocktails. There are only two other groups on the entire beach, which I certainly will not complain about.
After about an hour of soaking up rays and swimming in the crystal clear waters the sun starts getting close to the horizon and surely there must be a crowd that gathers for the sunset.
There is not.
Again, I won't complain about having the entire beach to ourselves for the best sunset I've seen in Costa Rica. Hell it might be the best sunset I've ever seen in my life.
Once our noble star has completely disappeared from view miss Kaiti and I walk back up to the resort. As we're walking down the stamped concrete walkway I see a constant stream of dead-eyed zombie looking humanoids dressed in Tommy Bahama walking the other direction.
"Where the hell are they going?" I ask Kaiti
"Dinner"
"Are you serious? It's 6 o'clock? What is the matter with you people?"
They spent the sunset preening themselves for a mediocre dinner at any one of the remarkably average dining establishments on the property. I'm losing my mind here.
Since all the "world-class" dining establishments require a reservation we opt for room service where we wash down chalky pizza with flabby wine.
Kaiti had mentioned there's a hot tub on premises, which may be the only remedy for my mental anguish at the moment. I throw on my trunks and grab a beer from the mini fridge and set my sights on the tub. We plop in and it starts to work its magic, loosening muscles, relieving tension, melting worries. There's another couple on the other side but it's a big vessel and they're paying us no mind. Just as I'm letting go of all the pretentious, citizen-of-the-world bullshit I wrote about above the other couple gets up to leave.
As they are exiting I toss them a casual "how's it goin?" completely out of politeness with no intention to actually hear how it's goin. Well they take that offhanded remark as an invite to tell us how it's goin, and boy can I tell you it's fucking boring. We enter into the most dull conversation with two folks from "the DC area" that makes me want to put my head under water and not come up. And when I say "we" I mean Kaiti because I would have simply told them I don't give a shit. To my chagrin she's much nicer than I. All of the self-righteous indignation I built up this afternoon comes roaring back with a vengeance.
I don't care how you earned your points with Costco travel. I don't care that your credit card fee is worth it because of the points you "earn" at Starbucks. I don't care about your fucking lawn. I really don't care about your hardship of having to spend the night in La Fortuna, in the foothills of the Arenal Volcano, because the drive here was too long. If a sugary frozen daiquiri does more for you than a rainforest covered stratovolcano please leave me alone.
To add insult to injury today is the 200th anniversary of Costa Rica's independence. I completely forgot that it was today and had hoped to experience some local festivities. Instead I'm stuck in this whitebread hellhole with a bunch of people who probably can't find Costa Rica on a map of Central America. It's a pretty egregious blunder on my part but I have no one to blame but myself. Like a siren song the seductiveness of the resort blinded my judgement.
It's a bit funny that my least favorite day in Costa Rica was at a 5-star all-inclusive resort. I've always had fun when staying at these types of places, mostly because it's with a big group of friends getting blasted the whole time. But now that I think about it there's really not much else to do than get blasted the whole time. At least when you're with a big group of friends you can ignore all the ignoramuses in your midst.
As I bid my farewell to this glorified cruise ship I grab a cab for the short drive to my Airbnb in Playa Flamingo. It looks like a pretty quiet town with a nice beach where I can finally relax for a few days... Right?