Making a splash in Costa Rica

I'm not sure how it happens because I tend to think of myself as more the quiet type, but I do make a splash now and again...good first impressions, or rather memorable first impressions.

Just this past weekend I drove down a sidewalk at Allison's new college. Well, it was going in the direction I needed to go and it was a big sidewalk although I thought it was more a small road.

And tonight, I get to my room kind of late, call Sue and we chat for awhile and when I hang up I call room service for a burger. Then I opened my second beer and start wailing on the guitar. I'm right in my rendition of It's a Heartache (you gotta hear it; it really cranks) when the phone rings. WTF, I think, I don't know anyone in Costa Rica, at least anyone who would call me at my hotel at this hour. It's the front desk. The guy from room service had been standing outside my room and I couldn't hear him knocking because I was playing and singing so loud. A little embarrassing.

But there's more...

I'm putting my tray outside my door after I've finished said burger and beer, when the door swings shut. Click. I'm locked outside my room.

Barefoot, wearing jeans with my shirttail out, I slap my way down the stairs on the tiled floor, thankful I wasn't in the shower and wearing just a towel, across the lobby with all of these people dressed up. The guy behind the front desk didn't even crack a smile. C'mon mae, get a sense of humor.

The glamour of business travel

Long day yesterday, 11 hours, and here’s where people don’t understand about business travel. The grind. The long hours. Rarely do you get downtime to relax. Except for yesterday at lunch when Juan and Carolina took me to this local outdoor restaurant I’ve seen the inside of a warehouse and a Marriott. And the local neighborhood. I hired a taxi driver to take me to work everyday. Today he took a "better" route. We wound through neighborhoods which I love to see...even the squalor...that's what's real.

Which brings me to the Marriott. I sat at the same table at breakfast as I did yesterday, and started to itch. The mountains are off there. The lushness that surrounds the hotel is manufactured; a quick taxi ride outside the gates will tell you that, and I start to feel that uneasiness I’ve always feel in places like that, the feeling of being trapped by all of the politeness and luxury. Today the coffee wasn’t that good; it was watered down. The service was very poor. And what am I suppose to do? Complain like a spoiled American? I’d rather go get my own coffee. Or make it myself. Serve myself. I don’t need or want servants. I don’t like being coddled or served or cow-towed to. I don't like it when things are kept from me. Let's build a wall of lush greenery and gates and walls so we can't see the outside world. What's real out there..

Everything at the Marriott is manufactured to please someone’s warped idea of sensibility. The hotel is designed and decorated like a Spanish hacienda. Except the problem is, it isn’t a hacienda. It’s like Disney World all over again. Like a theme park or a carnival ride. All fake and contrived. And it wears on a person. It wears on me, that’s for sure.