My Airbnb in Playa Flamingo is called the "Castle Tower," which sounds pretty kickass if you ask me. It's already dark by the time I arrive so I can't really get a feel for the place. I make my way up the stairs and plop down on the bed and I'm out like a light.
I arise the next morning and take a peek out the window and can't believe my eyes.
I'm perched about 100 feet above the water overlooking the the Flamingo Peninsula, flanked on either side by the Brasilito and Potrero Bays. I brew up a cup of the cáscara tea that I bought with Esteban and just sit in awe for about half an hour. Finally, a place I can relax in peace.
My stomach starts to grumble so I head down to Marie's cafe at the bottom of the hill for a traditional Costa Rican breakfast. The only other diners are a big group of yankees getting blitzed on bloody marys. Checkhov's gringos.
I finish my meal then hike back up the hill to grab my gear for the beach. I throw on my trunks, fill up my camelbak, and grab a book & my towel and set off for Playa Flamingo. Along the way I walk past a Margaritaville resort and let out an audible laugh. It's so perfectly stupid and I love it.
I continue on down to the beach where I settle in near a palm tree and crack open my book. I read for about an hour when the rains come and I scurry across the street to the shelter of the 5 O'Clock Somewhere Bar & Grill at Margaritaville.
A big group of gringos is also heading in from the rain, and as they shuffle in one of the fellas looks at me and says
"Hey, what's your deal?"
"Uhhh wut?"
"Are you traveling alone or something?"
"Ah yeah, I'm just cruising around Costa Rica, been down here about 2 weeks"
"Oh cool man, we saw you at breakfast & wondered what you were doing. Want to join us for a beer?"
And that's how I met Devlin and the crew from Spokane.
Spokane
They post up in a ring of lounge chairs around some coffee tables and I grab a beer and join them. It appears they have kept their foot on the accelerator since breakfast. They're goin' fast.
I answer the same series of questions from different sections of the group as they flit in and out of conversations.
What's your name? Where are you from? What are you doing in Costa Rica? You're traveling alone? Where are you going next?
They are super nice & each question is preceded by a sincere apology for repeating a query I've already fielded but I don't mind at all. They are fun and I'm having a great time. I learn that they are all from Eastern Washington, unlike those liberals out on the coast. They are in their late 30s/early 40s and most of them have been friends since high school. There are 5 couples, two single guys, and I make 13. We talk Seahawks, we talk skiing, we talk Costa Rica. The atmosphere is merry.
We enjoy a couple more drinks in between a few rounds of shots before the rain clears and we decide to head back down to the beach. We all run into the water and start frolicking in the waves. Of course it doesn't take long for the men to make a competition out of it. The goal is to stand on your knees facing towards the beach and not get knocked down by the waves.
Nobody wins.
It's a fabulous game.
We head back up to the beach to watch the sunset while some people behind us bark that we're in the way. We were here first, chief, there's plenty of beach to go 'round.
Once the sun sets I gather up all my gear and we part ways. I hoof it back up the hill to my castle where I clean myself up before ambling back down for supper. After dinner I pick up some Papagayo Passion Fruit Ales at the supermarket and enjoy them on my balcony while reading and listening to the waves crash on the beach below. It's so soothing that I open all my windows before bed to let the waves lull me to sleep.
High Top Mountain
I wake up feeling refreshed and ready for scuba diving. The dive is great, which I'll talk about in the next chapter because afterwards something unpredictable yet perfectly predictable happens. I stop at a roadside tiki grill for some fish tacos and a beer and as I'm finishing up a big ass van rolls up. Out jumps a group of 12 rambunctious Washingtonians ready to rage.
Turns out they just finished scuba diving themselves and stopped for a bite and a beer on their way back to the house. We throw back a few cocktails and discuss our respective dive trips. As their food comes out I immediately regret not ordering a burger because they look incredible. Roy, the owner and grillmaster, really knows what the hell he's doing.
Sometime during the meal one of the crew asks me if I'd like to go hang out at their house up on the mountain. They describe it as a house fit for a Miami coke dealer with an infinity pool and great views. Well I'm sold. Everyone finishes their lunch and we pile into the van.
We pull into the driveway and their description is accurate. Definitely a far cry from an \$8/night hostel. The enormous foyer looks out over the mountains to Playa Flamingo and opens up to a kitchen that's bigger than most NYC apartments. But the real star of the show is the pool.
Everybody throws on their bathing costumes and we hit the pool. Rays are caught, beers are chugged, jokes are made. The view is miraculous and we hang out until sunset.
We all then head back inside to a round of shots. I stop and laugh my ass off because they are being poured into receptacles I haven't seen since college. That's right, we're doing Shot Times!!
Goodness gracious, what a time to be alive.
We all do a few rounds before getting cleaned up for dinner. The original plan was to drop me off at my Airbnb after supper but they invite me to crash on the couch, to which I oblige. Hostels, cheap Airbnbs, an all-inclusive resort, and a multi-million dollar mansion, I am really experiencing the full spectrum of Costa Rican accommodations.
We all cram into the van for the short ride to dinner at a sushi joint. It's right next to Roy's tiki hut and the look of horror when he sees us spill out of the van is priceless. We say hi to Roy and tell him that he's got a temporary reprieve of our lunacy, the folks at the sushi restaurant are going to have to put up with us.
When the waiter comes around we order a few rounds of sake, which we then prepare in the tried-and-true "set it on top of your beer glass with chopsticks" method. That, combined with the shot times and a few instances of Smirnoff icing, completes the "shit I haven't done since college" triple crown. I hung out with a bunch of 20-somethings at the beginning of this trip but it took carousing with my elders to really tap into my youth.
We enjoy dinner and our fair share of intoxicating liquors before heading back up to the mansion. The rest of the night is spent doing much of the same, with some cornhole & billiards mixed in for good measure.
The gang invites me to join them on their boat cruise tomorrow and the second they say "boat" I agree quicker than Clay Bennett's search for a new arena for the Sonics. Everyone slowly starts to retire for the night and I crash on the couch with two beach towels for a blanket. Got a big day on the water tomorrow.
Sailing
I slept surprisingly good and wake up giddy with excitement to test out my sea legs. We head out a few minutes late but it really doesn't matter because we'll be the only ones on the boat. We pile in the big ol van and head down to the shore. The crew meets us in a dinghy on the beach to take us to our ship, the mighty Mr Pelicano.
We board and meet all the crew, the most important of which is our bartender Lucy. We bombard her immediately with 13 drink orders and she gets to work. I practice some Spanish with her and find out she's from Argentina. I ask the question everyone is thinking (translation: nobody but me is thinking) and it turns out she's one of those soft sophisticates who supports River Plate. I'd prefer some more grit out of my bartender but I guess you can't win em all.
The boat takes off and I want to strap my GoPro to the helm for a timelapse but I forgot the housing so I need to improvise a mounting method. I ask the first mate if he's got anything that would work and he heads below deck and returns a few minutes later with some orange tape and gets to work. He lashes it down pretty good and we're in business. I set it to time lapse and get back to my cocktail.
We head out of Potrero Bay to the north, with the mountains to our right and the open ocean to our left. We engage in the standard nautical activities, mostly bullshittin' and drinkin' cockies. After about 45 minutes of tomfoolery the rain comes and everyone goes back below deck. It's not long till we get to our first snorkeling spot, by which time the rain has abated and we all jump in for recreation.
We swim around for an hour or so, among the fish, the rocks, the sea urchins. The highlight had to be a school of hundreds of fish snaking through the bay that I followed for a good little bit.
I notice a decent amount of garbage in the water and snag an old bottle of shampoo and an aluminum can to properly dispose of. Just as I am lamenting the amount of refuse in the cove Devlin pops out of the water with my Bills Mafia Covid mask stretched over his goggles & snorkel. He found it floating in the water and put it on as a gag. He had no idea it was mine and I sheepishly take it back after my shameful display of littering. I had it in the pocket of my trunks and forgot to remove it before jumping in. Total nimrod move.
After getting our fill of snorkeling we re-board the boat to a spread of fruit, chips & dip, and mini-tacos. We weigh anchor and head about 15 minutes to another snorkel spot. We see a couple caves onshore and immediately dart towards them. Inside the caves are hundreds of crabs scurrying along the walls and roof and occasionally falling into the water. Nobody had a crab bomb land on them but I was secretly hoping it would happen. Every third wave or so is a real doozy and we brace ourselves for the rush of water, which is quite fun and only marginally dangerous.
We hear a whistle from the boat indicating our fun is over and swim back to the vessel. Once on board I notice everyone mingled at the back of the boat discussing plans for recovering a lost GoPro. Turns out Eric had it strapped to his dome and right before reaching the boat it fell off and dropped all the way to the bottom. I see on the depth finder that we're in about 25' of water so it's going to take some work to find. The cap'n finds his big blue fins and goes in after it. A few seconds later he pops up camera in hand. First try, not too shabby.
Now that we've all got our equipment we start heading back to port for the final leg of the journey. If you can imagine the booze is still flowing and the gals decide to pop their tarps & take a topless photo, everyone facing towards the front of the boat away from the camera because they're classy. Us guys, being dudes, can't let the girls have all the fun so when they're done we head up to the front of the boat and drop our britches for a complementary photo.
The worst part of all of this is that when I check my GoPro for the timelapse footage of the debauch it appears the battery died during the first snorkel session. Not the best idea to leave it running for an hour and a half while we're not even on the boat. Damn shame because we would have had some excellent footage from the return voyage. Alas.
We get back to Potrero Bay and hop on the dinghy for the ride to shore. Not before leaving my American Solera hat on board, of course. We all pile in the van and they graciously drive me the mile or so to my Airbnb. Well actually they drop me at The Shack because I know the apartment is close to here and I already have the wifi password.
We say our goodbyes and I thank them profusely for their hospitality and conviviality. Just as they are driving away a torrential downpour hits and I duck into the bar. I wait out the rain with a bottle of Imperial and find the directions to my place. It's only about a quarter mile down the road and I hoof it over there once it clears up.
The owner greets me and shows me to my room, a pretty nice spot with a balcony, hammock, and private bathroom. Just as I am getting settled I hit a bit of a snafu. The bathroom door is locked and I can't open it with any of the keys she gave me. I send her a message to see if I'm doing it wrong and she tells me to try to use a kitchen knife to jimmy the lock open.
Say what??
I'm not going to do that so she comes up and after unsuccessfully trying to pick the lock she just removes the handle from the door. Works for me and not a moment too soon because I have ingested a barrel of liquids today that I need to eliminate.
It's still pretty early so I decide to stumble down to a beachside bar called Hemingways. I'm sure I can get a Hemingway daiquiri here but it turns out they are missing a majority of the ingredients. How do you have an establishment named Hemingways but don't serve a Hemingway daiquiri? I begrudgingly order a Hemingway mule, which turns out to just be a Moscow mule. Now I would expect this from a place called Fitzgerald's but not Hemingway's. Not impressed.
Anyways I finish the cocktail before wandering back to the apartment to turn in for the night. All I can think about is what in the hell just happened the last two days. I thought I was in for some rest and relaxation but you never know what you're going to get into when you surf the high seas of Pura Vida.
How many more days do I have here?