Per my customary Sunday night routine in Playa del Coco I belly up to the bar of one of my local watering holes to take in my one American indulgence since I landed in Costa Rica: Wings and NFL football. Sitting beside me is a guy who I haven’t seen in town (the town is only five blocks long) but who immediately strikes up conversation.
“Well what brings you to Costa Rica?” he asks.
“A bit of work and play,” I respond, though I quickly regret not giving a more black and white answer, fearing we may be heading down a rabbit hole I don’t want to go down.
“What the hell do you do for work that would bring you down to Costa Rica?”
“I’m a travel writer.”