“You know, I’m waiting for the day when I wake up, and whether its light or dark out, I just don’t even think about what time it is,” said a groggy Adam. It was around eight at night, but Adam had the look of someone who had just rolled out of bed. He lit a cigarette and continued, “That’s when I know I’ve been here long enough, but it hasn’t quite happened yet.”
We were sitting at a table in an open-air restaurant that sat a block from the beach. Next to Adam sat a guy named Josh. The two had only met the day before, but already had plenty to reminisce about. “This town was supposed to be the capital of nightlife in Costa Rica, but last night we were so bored we started keeping a tally of how many times we were offered drugs and sex, just to pass the time,” said Adam, a native of Michigan and former U.S. soldier.
“Last night the dealers were working harder than the prostitutes,” Josh said, a 24-year-old pilot for a domestic airline out of the Midwest. He continued: “I think the final count was drugs 16 and prostitutes 7. Or maybe we just look more like the drugs type.”