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It’s just on the other side of the park, and the staff doesn’t care who you bring back. It’s relatively safe, fairly well developed, and friendly toward Americans.
They see it all night, every night, gringos tottering in with hookers. Plus, with the notable exception of San José, it’s a lush little emerald of a nation with plenty of plausible reasons to visit.
Eleven o’clock on a Monday morning during the Costa Rican rainy season and it’s all white boys at the bar, eight of them, except for one wobbly local named Fernando that the security guys keep trying to pour out the door.
“It’s very easy to become like a kid in a candy store when you first go to San Jos é,“ as Death says. No, at the better bars in Costa Rica, at the Blue Marlin, you’ve got to give a girl a signal, make eye contact, let her know you’re interested. What’s the tattoo, the one crawling up the small of her back? “But the little girl kitty is lonely, and she needs a big, strong male tiger.“ She means you, even though you’re neither big nor strong and have never been mistaken for a tiger. The Costa Rican government, of course, would prefer that its wedge of the Central American isthmus not be so well regarded among American men trolling for sex.
“There’s so much available talent down there, and it’s all done in wide-open public spaces. Sure, every few minutes one leaves with a guy, wiggles out the back toward the hotel lobby or out the front to a cab, but the selection never noticeably thins. When she slides up next to you, she’ll ask if you’re alone or if you want some company. The tourist board is much more enthusiastic about their beaches, rain forests, and volcanoes, and the country’s official slogan—no artificial ingredients—would seem to have nothing at all to do with picking up prostitutes in bars.
They’ve got the bar surrounded three deep, and most of the tables are gone, too. Cheap blow jobs from old whores with drug problems?
The Red Zone, a few dirty blocks around the Central Market. There’s four by the pay phones at the edge of Parque Morazan. They’ve all got their own turf close by, and the cabbies all know exactly where they are.