If you walk north on Jaco beach far enough, past the tall luxury hotels, across the river that flows into the bay and especially past the small beach and rocky tide pools, there is a hidden beach that only lovers, beatniks, and tokers frequent. Okay, it is not really a beach. There are stones instead of sand and rocky out crops rather than a smooth decline into the ocean. However, a swimmer could still find a spot to wade in if she really needed to. I had found a nice crevice to stuff myself into from which I could watch the waves crash into the rocks and drank myself into a snooze. It was 9:27 in the morning. A Monday

I was regaining conciousness slowly and became aware that I was not alone on the beach. A towel and some clothes had been placed carefully on a pile of stones but I was not seeing anyone walking on the beach. Scanning the ocean I see a head bobbing in the water. It has black straight hair that looks to be just past shoulder level. The head made its way back to the beach and became a body, absent of any kind of clothing whatsoever. It was a small frame, yet built as if it belonged to a seasoned swimmer. It had dark skin, clearly a native but also tanned by the sun over many years. Surely I am watching a mermaid or at least found an excellent spot to stay out of site.

She is called Pez by her friends and colleagues but not for this reason and anyone else calls her Chica. No one knows that she believes the salt water can wash away a rough night of work. She needs to know the ocean is reaching everywhere a client could have possibly touched and the sand in the current is cleaning its best. She does not always need to perform this ritual after every successful business day. Sometimes she enjoys it too.

She reaches her belongs and finally gives a casual glance around the beach and notices me! She is startled, but this quickly turns to rage and draws a five-inch hunting knife from the pile of clothes and takes a battle position. I did not see her pick up the knife and I think she must be a mutant with retractable claws. She makes no attempt to cover up her body here, plenty of strangers have seen her body and what is one more drunk on a beach. We lock eyes for a moment but I keep glancing at the knife and another moment passes. The next moment I know that this stainless steel beast is her solution to hyper-masculinity, and has touched its share of flesh as well. I was too focused on the beast aimed between my eyes to notice a 4 centimeter scar below her lowest rib, a reminder of the only time masculinity triumphed over speed and desperation. The only time her weapon did not belong to her. Another moment, more tense. Is she going to strike? Like a mountain lion deciding if it needs to waste its energy to ensure safety, or simple forget and move on. Finally, she decides I am not a threat and takes her time putting her clothes on. Her knife disappears into a blue handbag and she slings it over her shoulder. She does not give me another glance as she leaves the beach, satisfied that her ritual has not been disturbed.
This is the only time she ever sees me.

Pez does not know how old she is. She does not know her name. Those are both sort of lies. She has a passport with her real name on and the year she thinks she was born. She used it once when she traveled to Cuba for an abortion, and has been extra careful ever since. She is very likely in her twenties but I know neither her name or her actual age. She is a permanent resident of Jaco Beach, a town of 10,000 on quiet days. She has been working Jaco for 5 years now. She is most busy Thursdays through Sundays and prefers to use the rest of the week to practice surfing and reading. When she got started in this business out of High School she had dreams of staying long enough to make some extra money to support her through the University. Pez does not remember why she wanted to go to the university. She cooks well and has her friends over often. She has few friends outside of the business. No one ever goes to the beach like she does either, and she does not like to be familiar with the permanent residents in town. She already gets looks from the policemen who patrol the main road here in Jaco.

In my skin deep research of this town, I can tell you Jaco can be accurately described as the “sin city” of Costa Rica. Two hours of a good time can be bought for a maximum of 150 USD with every color of skin, height body, and girth of hip or breast. Did I mention it is perfectly legal here? No need to worry about pimping or any kind of shit here. This is bachelor town baby and the drinks keep coming until your prick is satisfied or you’ve been to the hospital for a cocaine overdose you were not aware you’ve been hitting. “No doctor, I must have been slipped some during the night! Yes doctor, I have my passport, wait, where’s my two 20mill colones!(approx. 80$)” Now this place is probably more kind than that, but I’ve finally downed enough rum to start losing control of how my head moves, and that is how I picture a typical bachelor party going down. In truth he probably had a great time, but drank too much to remember it. Poor bastard. The doctors know how get get him out the door quick and he will likely burn another 200 dollars the next evening unless his cards were stolen too.

But I digress. Prostitution is legal in the country that zealously observes the resurrection of Christ with live performances of actors on crosses and sober parades in the streets and no sale of liquor from “Walmart” type stores. Many Latin American countries legalize it, yet all view it as an original sin, and despise all who practice it(expect of course the men who pay for it). Men too are workers in the sex trade, but on a much smaller scale. There are at least three bars that I can see from my balcony here that are regularly stuffed with working girls on weekends, according to trip adviser posts and at least one academic article. Yet Monday, especially after the Sunday of Resurrection, is a quiet day, and even the convenience store across the street has finally stopped blaring tasteless music that is only good after three beers and dark dance floors.