The word mojado, “wet” is normally a temporal adjective applied to the verb “estar”. Here in Jaco, I should be permitted to use “ser” to describe myself. There is a puddle of sweat forming on the table as I write. I live with it.

As the owner of the Hostel Hacienda Garcia dines with friends around, I think back on the events that brought me to this table. No, I must go even further; Palo Verde National Park. Boa is the professional public relations officer at a biological station in the park. He is also a player, a more or LESS a Rasta, and a man with roots in the beaches of the Caribbean. He recommended Limon or Cahuita on the east coast for our break. “I’m locked into Jaco, thanks though,” Boa gives me a serious cringe. This is a bad sign from a man who is in the know for the whole spectrum of activities a young thrill seeker would want. “I’ll tell you the truth,” he begins in his accented English, “The beach at Jaco is small. And the town is the sex capital of Costa Rica, but the girls there are dirty man…” He continues on about other parts of the country with cleaner beaches and less danger, and we thank him for the info.

Mi amigo Pedro visited Jaco for a day and surfed the day away, while drinking the night away. He had a good time there and professed that fears were unfounded.

I now return to this day. Sabado if I recall correctly. My taxi ride was to the bus terminal was pleasant. The driver was an employee from our language school we met some time ago. This lady once again, gave me warnings about muggers and prostitutes and I thought, ‘the prostitutes are muggers?’

I could care less about what everyone is doing at night. I am usually sleeping anyway. Therefore, my first story will be dedicated to those dangerous whores that everyone who has not visited Jaco recently keeps warning me about.