The opened window spills a chill of night in with it, and I’m back in Costa Rica. At a small bar, likely with a warm but cheap beer, pool stick in hand next to a low-lit green-felted table. I’m alone. It’s the second to last day before my flight home and after close to a month of jeeping around from the Pacific Ocean to the Caribbean Sea, that whatever flu I have won’t go away, I’m concerned.
The friend I made, Victor, who’s allowing me to stay with him, isn’t even coming back home anymore. I think he found an American or British girlfriend, so I have the reign of his two-bedroom house. It’s small, but there’s a bed, a refrigerator, and a shower that sometimes electrocutes me. I see my first cockroach in that house, and count down New Year’s in his bedroom, ill, as he, I later learned, is out riding his new girl on a three-wheeler. I still remember the countdown of the best things from 2002, one being Maroon 5’s “She Will Be Loved” and the other Snoop Dogg’s slang of “Fo shizzle my nizzle”.
At the time my Dad hadn’t been remarried that long and I am resentful, grateful I have an excuse not to go home for Christmas.
A week prior on December 25th, 2002, I am given a Smirnoff bottle with a silver bow on it, and so is my friend Hilary, a gift from Victor. Hilary is my hero. When three days before my friend Alex and I are to fly out for this trip, our itinerary chalked full to the brim, he lays his feelings on the line, “I love you. I will only go with you as my girlfriend.”
I decline, drive away crying, and panic. Alex is the one renting the car, and has been to the country before. I’m relying on him for everything.
And yet, could this be a trip of a lifetime with time, money and youth on my side?
Hilary, being my roommate, and the travel connoisseur she is (she lived in Australia for a year), said yes instantly. But couldn’t get a flight until three days after me.
What a crazy plane trip it is not knowing where I am staying or going. Thankfully I meet Lance on the second leg of the journey on a very unoccupied flight. He’s also American, and is returning after flying home for an unexpected funeral for his Grandma. Lance speaks Spanish flawlessly, teaches me to dance merengue, and points out some absolutely gorgeous women dancers that are likely men.
Hilary’s only able to stay for a couple weeks, leaving me on my own the rest of time.
For a short while, I stay in a very fancy house with a retired NFL player and his wife that I meet through Victor. She tells me about the fractured relationships with their family and the poor retirement from the NFL. I get surprisingly close them, like I’ve known them for ages. We drank until the sun came up. It’s this morning that I fly home. They gift me their private driver for a two-and-a-half hour trek to the San Jose airport (probably costs $200), and with $5 left in the bank I am grateful.
My flu? Turns out I had strep, mono, and pink eye.
That was 22 years ago, a lifetime ago, just a watered-down story for a blog post, that is full strength in mind.
PS: Along with pool, I became equally if not more impressive at ping pong. Having grown up with a table and constantly getting my butt kicked by my Dad, as well as owning a table during college meant I had the coordination down. That coupled with endless time and tables at hostels and bars everywhere meant I got a lot of playing in. I can’t remember if I beat him or not, but I played Brazil, a guy that no one knew his actual first name, only the country he came from. USA vs Brazil. I can still remember playing in the open sun under the palm trees with a group of people standing on either side.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 