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Exploring the seedy side of Costa Rica's prostitution. This traveler's story takes us to the other tourist hot spots. These stories get more detailed every time.
Exploring the seedy side of Costa Rica's prostitution. This traveler takes us to the other tourist hot spots.
Tighter than Miami's security check, the Hotel Del Rey’s 6’3” apes posted at the doorways frisked and scanned us before we entered the hotel’s bar, Key Largo. After being checked we followed a small path to the bar’s back entrance. Like in a saint’s nightmare or a horny American’s wet dream the bar was literally overrun by oversexed, need-to-get-paid Latin women. Entering a place like this ones ego triples exponentially; eyes, smiles, winks, bodies turn to you, greeting you with the thickest air of sexual tension. As you may have figured these girls are not of the hard-to-get kind; they are prostitutes, legally working as one of Costa Rica’s main tourist attraction.
”Her ass is tantamount to one of the girls’ asses you find in skin mags and postcards from South Beach.”
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I arrived in San Jose a week prior tonight. Visited Arenal, Manuel Antonio, Quepos, did the normal touristy adventure tours: ATVs, Canopy Tours, White-water rafting, Hanging bridges, tasted the best of culinary delights from various cities, flown in Cessna’s across mountains, battled lizards for dropped food, imitated Gecko’s sounds, met distant foreigners and talked the usual teasing of countries’ policies and opposites, slithered up and down and around steep mountainsides in a low-powered 4x4 SUV, and finally, accosted by beautiful women that make a construction worker’s whistle seem like child’s play.
Once entering the Key Largo we make sure not to make eye-contact with the many patient girls waiting to be swept off their feet for an hour and $100 bucks; we head to the bar where we find a laughing Grandpa has his arms around two twenty-something girls. They sip their drinks and bob their heads from the actual thrust of mirth. We sit far enough from the glee group and in view of the live salsa group that’s performing. On stage, two very attractive girls dance in-synch while singing into mics; the red, yellow and green lights shine on their sweaty skin, adding to the licentious atmosphere. We order two Pilsens, take out our Romeo & Juileta Robustos, light them and fill the air with a thick smoke of Cuban tobacco while we wait for our friend, Frank, to arrive.
In front of the stage a sixty-something year old Latin man dances to the music. His wet unbuttoned shirt reveals his sagging chest and stomach. He’s smiling, dancing salsa with what looks closely like a man in a pink outfit. Her cheeks are sunken, her jaw and high cheek bones are pronounced, and her thin black hair is pulled tightly back, the loose strands in the back flow like air-conditioning streamers behind her as she whips dramatically to the tempo of the drums. Her skirt rises exposing her pink thong as she is twirled and pulled back into the old man’s arms. They dance happily amidst the young girls flirting to the fat and old American men at the surrounding tables around the dance floor.
We had read about the hotel on the internet while stranded in our hostel with nothing to do in San Jose for the first night of our trip. It was one of the first things that came up when searching: “San Jose’s nightlife.” Seeing that almost every link contained Hotel Del Rey we went out to it to quench our curiosity and find out why the reviews of this place read: “A must-attend if you’re in Costa Rica,” “An experience like no other,” “Be a king for a day or Week,” “Slumming with the Best.” We didn’t expect it to be so ridiculously surreal – a bestial sex candy-land. We were humbled.
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