From Cartago I went west across Costa Rica to Jaco on the Pacific coast. It was a touristy town without the tourists as I arrived there just in time to miss all the extended hospitality of hyper-inflated hotel rooms. It was still expensive. I stayed at the Poseidon Hotel for $40/night, which was a little steep for this vagrant camper. Then I met Bert, a sweaty pork barrel from the States who sent me over a beer while I was having lunch. We chatted for a while and realizing before he finished his second beer he wouldn't be getting any chip from me he waddled off down the road to his hotel.
Later that night I walked towards his end of town and saw his hotel but I didn't knock on his door but went across the street into the Beatle Bar, an indoor/outdoor shindig. It was quiet, with small round tables surrounding a large square bar. I sat on a stool and ordered a beer and started up a conversation with a fellow sitting beside me who happened to be a pilot for some American airline. Then, who should appear from out of the dark but pork barrel, dripping with sweat and staggering under the weight of his stomach. He was drunk. More men started to pile into the bar and I was wondering where they all came from when within minutes of the honeybees smoothing their wings a swarm of locusts in the shape of deep cleavage and short skirts over-ran the place and the music started to blast. What a pick-up joint, with all the local snappers. It was a real show and I had a great time; the place was throbbing all night. Even pork barrel got lucky, but of course, like everybody else, he had to pay.
