Once upon a time there were two guys on their way for a Central America adventure. I don't think I can tell it like that let's start over. We (Hatteras Hammocks) did some importing from several foreign countries for our mass merchant lines as well as components for our high end products. Walter (Plant Manger) had not been to the countries in Central America in a while. We had both been working our tails off so we decided to take a company business trip/vacation. A two week adventure, one week in Guatemala and the following week in Costa Rica. Guatemala has many good stories of it's own but today it Costa Rica's turn. So the adventure begins.
We land in Costa Rica worn out and hungry. A week in Guatemala had taken it's toll. Our contact in Costa Rica is some catbird named Robert. A quick description of him would be a left over hippie. He picks us up in his early eighties Oldsmobile Delta 88. Huge, I mean huge car. The kind a "Blue Hair" would drive. He's our guide and so called business partner down in the land of rain forests. We hit a restaurant and then to where we are staying for the night. Walter and I, well we're thinking Hotel. Robert, soon to dubbed "Roberto" takes us to someone's house. This person is apparently out of the country. The house is for sale and has mattresses for furniture. That's it, only mattresses. Great start to the Costa Rica trip. Where's the beer.
The four days in between now and the end of the trip are a blur and mini stories within themselves. Let's fast forward to the last two days. After a hard week of working (A total of around eight hours for the entire week) it's time to relax. Roberto, who has come back into good graces after that first night, suggests we hit the hot springs at the base of the volcano Arenal. Walter and I exchange glances. We're in!!! Off we go. We had been staying in several locations through out the trip. The latest and last one was a resort in the rain forest. There were monkeys and toucans in the trees. Really cool.
We dropped our bags off and head for the springs. A one hour drive. We arrive, go to the locker room, slip in bathing suits and jump into a very large pool with very warm water. There is a bar in the pool. I'm in heaven. Roberto put a credit card down at the bar. I'm good to go.
Walter and I decided that fruity drinks were the drink of the night so a Pina' Colada it was. After several, we started meeting fellow seekers of the mineral soak and struck up conversations. Walter tuned in on a couple from Dallas. I was a floater. The drinks were flowing music was playing and I started dancing in the pool. After a while Walter left to have dinner with the couple from Dallas. I was doing my thing and Roberto decided he was wrinkling and asked for the key to the locker. I was the key master for the night and when asked, handed it to him. Keep in mind I'm many Pina' Coladas and a couple of Coco Loco's into the evening. I'm still dancing (In the pool) and finally reached my hunger level. At that point I realize that I haven't seen Roberto since I gave him the key. Concern sets in.
I said good bye to my dance partners and went to the locker room. The door was open. My clothes were gone. My shoes are still there, but no clothes. What does that say about my taste in shoes? Some kid is probably still running around in my favorite khaki shorts. Damn it. Ok, things are not good. I run up stairs drunk as a coot into a fairly nice restaurant to find Walter. They tried to kick me out but I prevailed. Visualize my long lanky self, arms flaying, water flinging, with nothing on but a bathing suit, while yelling WALTER, WALTER. Can you blame them?
I found him. The situation is explained in dramatic form. The couple from Dallas gave me a credit card to go and get a shirt from the gift shop so I could stay in the restaurant and eat. I bought a shirt with a frog lying in a hammock (Company pride) and went to eat. Even in my inebriated state I remember enjoying the fillet mingon and several glasses of red wine. At some point during our discussion of classical piano, (The lady from Dallas was an import bride from Russia and that was her talent, the piano), we realized that we had a major problem. We could not find Roberto. His car was still there, but he was not. Screw him.
The couple from Dallas came to the rescue. They took us to their resort to get a room. No vacancy. This is just great. We were hauled down the road for what seemed like ever, to another place. Bingo. The security guard, who was asleep at the time, gave us a key to a bungalow, with no cash or card mind you. Our friend from Dallas leaves us. Thank goodness for him and his store bought wife.
Walter and I are drunk, with only the clothes on our backs, no money, don't know where we are, don't know the name of the place our bags are, don't know how to get to where we should be. It's four something in the morning, and our plane home leaves at ten, we guesstimate it's about a 3 hour ride to the airport - we have an enormous problem. Fear is starting to set in.
We leave the bungalow, and start walking, primarily because the security guard is yelling at us and we have no idea what he is saying. We find a pay phone down the road. Next problem how to find a cab driver in the mountains of Costa Rica at five in the morning and tell them where we are in broken Spanish. Some how we managed to pull it off.
About an hour later an old Isuzu trooper comes putting down the road. We wave, he stops, we're off. A really cool footnote, while we were waiting for the cab, the volcano (Arenal) is in front of us and is erupting. We are watching the lava ooze out of the cone, and flow down the side while the sun is rising behind it. Way cool.
Ok we're in the taxi and are trying to describe the place that we should have stayed that night. Taking this one step at a time. At some point during our drunken spanglish discussion we think we have it figured out. He says un hora. The time is 5:45, the plane leaves in 4hrs 15 minutes. We make it to the dirt road turn off that leads to the resort. We have the right one. The gods are with us. As we drive down the 4 mile goat track who do we see coming the other way, our long lost friend Roberto, in the Delta 88. We have our driver block the road, we get out and verbally abuse " to keep it polite" old Roberto. Least to say we cut our business ties with him after we the trip. We let Roberto go his way and went to get our bags.
We pleaded our case with the manager of the resort and he arranges for one of his employees to drive us to the airport. We find out we have about 45 minutes extra time to make it there. This time was consumed by many stops on the way to loose excess alcohol from two body locations. We're both green. The mountain roads of Costa Rica are not friendly to drunk/hung over passengers. Lots of twists, turns and potholes big enough to swallow a car. Finally the airport is visible. On the plane and headed for home. God bless America.
I made sure, being the more sober between Walter and I, to get the address of our Dallas friends before they departed us that night. The day I returned to work a complete top of the line hammock, stand, with all the bell and whistles we made was sent out to them with a huge thank you.