Don't Look For Your Own Accommodation In Costa Rica
I arrived in San José in the early evening and set about walking to a hostel named in my guidebook. To aid my navigation, I had in my hand a map from the last hostel I had stayed in in San José. It was dark and starting to look a bit dodgy, but the map told me it was only another block away. It wasn't. I decided to go one more in case the map was off by a block, but it wasn't there either.
Looking to my right, I saw a small building with Pensión marked across the top and thought I might as well stay there since it would only be a night. It would probably be cheaper than a hostel as pensiones usually are. I wandered in, expecting to find some kind of an administration desk, but the first room I encountered was full of scantily clad women waiting on chairs.
Needless to say, this was no pensión I wanted to be in, and I double-backed outside where I surprised two men. One of them seemed to be the bouncer who I somehow skirted past on my way in, and he looked at me, confused, and asked what I was looking for. "A hostel," I stammered pathetically. The other man spoke English and told me there was one about three blocks away and offered to show me where it was.
Wary, I agreed but started to get nervous when I felt that three blocks was up. He pointed at the building across the street when we arrived at the next corner and I thanked him with some bus money. I was glad to find that the hostel was... a hostel.
Looking to my right, I saw a small building with Pensión marked across the top and thought I might as well stay there since it would only be a night. It would probably be cheaper than a hostel as pensiones usually are. I wandered in, expecting to find some kind of an administration desk, but the first room I encountered was full of scantily clad women waiting on chairs.
Needless to say, this was no pensión I wanted to be in, and I double-backed outside where I surprised two men. One of them seemed to be the bouncer who I somehow skirted past on my way in, and he looked at me, confused, and asked what I was looking for. "A hostel," I stammered pathetically. The other man spoke English and told me there was one about three blocks away and offered to show me where it was.
Wary, I agreed but started to get nervous when I felt that three blocks was up. He pointed at the building across the street when we arrived at the next corner and I thanked him with some bus money. I was glad to find that the hostel was... a hostel.
I read later in my guidebook that prostitution is legal in Costa Rica.
ReplyDeleteIncidentally, the hostel I was led to was a little gem. Hostel 1110, with its cute little courtyard, kitchen access, clean bathrooms and lovely staff, was a pleasure to stay in. Though dorms housed up to a dozen beds, making the room cramped when full, it was spotless, quiet and only a few blocks from the main drag.