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Dominical Travel Blog

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One of the many travelogues of Fish and Biscuit. This one is set in Costa Rica, in a small Pacific Ocean town called Dominical. We’d been in Costa Rica for around 2 weeks at this point and I had suffered a few physical ailments. A poisonous spider had bitten me on my right leg in three separate places and I could barely walk. I had sprained my ankle limping up the side of a volcano and had 5 stitches in my bottom lip where a surfboard smashed my face. ? Seriously it was a heck of a good trip but I was worn out by the end of it. So Fish and I decided to head down to Dominical for a little rest. Just to hang out on the beach and watch the surfing championships. We arrived early enough and found what we thought to be a nice hotel.
Now, usually I thoroughly check out a room before I lay down the money for it when I’m traveling abroad. But this room was upstairs and down a hallway that may have only been 50 feet but looked like 8 miles in the condition I was in. So we took the room, paid the nice man and went to the bar. We ended up staying at the bar for most of the day. Read �" we had lunch there and played foosball and talked to the hot Australian waitress until dinner time, which we also ate there. Seriously. The surf championships weren’t until tomorrow and resting & relaxing was the order of the day. What better way to relax than finding a comfy shaded spot at 11 am and not getting back up until 9 pm? Especially when some hot blonde with a beauty of an accent keeps bringing you drinks? Well.
Night comes, and it’s time to turn in. A whole day of nothing really takes it out of ya. So we head back to the hotel. Here comes the fun part. Go grab a samich. I’ll wait…

When we got back to the hotel we noticed it was next door to a disco. A disco that had invested heavily in subwoofers. Good beat. The fun started when we walked into the room. Nasty doesn’t begin to describe. Dirty sheets. Sand in the bathroom. No clean towels. The place was a wreck. Fish wanted to pack up and leave, or go sleep in the truck. Something. But all the other places were filled, and I wasn’t going anywhere. I hurt too much. So I took out my own towel, spread it out on the bed and proceeded to sleep fully clothed. The disco next door was still going as loud as could be and I heard Fish get up a couple times in the night and just go sit outside.
God help him, the guy is the lightest sleeper in the world. At 1:00 am, he was given a reprieve from the loud tunes. The disco blew the electricity for the entire block. 90 degree heat in Central America in the middle of the night and our electric fan stops because the power is blown. Needless to say I’m sweating like a pig fully clothed wrapped in a towel. Go ahead �" make the joke. The worst part is that the drunks come stumbling out of the bar and of course over to the hotel. One guy is singing at the top of his lungs. One guy jumps into the swimming pool and starts splashing around. And the two women are chatting it up like they're both deaf. It’s 1 am now. I figure it can’t last long so I roll over and try to sleep. At 1:30 the German guy next door comes out of his room and starts yelling for them to be quiet.
The singer of the group assures my German neighbor that they will be as quiet as mice from here on out. Everybody raise your hand if you think that’s true and the story ends here. Right. Have another bite of samich. At 2 am my grand German friend comes out again. He’s perturbed. He’s screaming. He’s threatening. The drunks are placating. An agreement is reached. Everybody goes back to bed. At 4 am they’re still going strong. I’m pissed. I’m hurt and pissed. I stumble outside and I walk over to the ledge. Because of the heat in the room from lack of electricity they’ve removed all of their bedding and relocated to the sidewalk just under my balcony. I haven’t slept a wink. I’m burning up. The only release is a nice cold-water rinse. Guess what doesn’t work when the electricity is dead? I’ve never heard of such a thing, but the plumbing is dead too.
I’ll ignore the ants crawling up the side of the wall. So I limp out to the balcony and look over. He’s singing again. Directly beneath me. At 4 in the morning. I picked up a chair and begin to launch it over the side of the rail, but fish is behind me and grabs one of the legs stopping me. We do this twice more before another American comes out of his room and starts cursing and threatening like no tomorrow. The drunk placates again. Promises again. But as soon as the American kid leaves I swear they get louder just to spite him. I pick up the chair again and this time I’m halfway over the balcony myself. Fish has one hand on my belt trying to keep me on the safe side of the ledge and one hand on the chair trying to keep me from my murderous intentions.
Needless to say the drunk leaps out of his bed when he hears the commotion. Fish drags me, and the chair back and we all sit down. Me in my weapon, the drunk in his bed, and Fish in a nearby crouch. I swear the dumb ass starts singing again. He gets about two words into the song and I’m leaping over the rail at this point. I’m gonna kill him. It was colonel mustard, in the hotel with a rattan chair. Literally Fish is hanging on to me, the chair, and the rail for dear life. The whole time screaming I don’t want to go to jail. It’s 4:30 in the morning. The drunk at this point leaps out of his bed, stares up at me and screams FINE!!! ALL RIGHT!! Grabs his bed, goes inside and slams the door shut. Oh yeah. We're pissing you off and ruining your night.
.. The electricity finally comes back on at 7 am. Which means the fan and the plumbing all start working again.

It was so bad, and so many surfers missed their 8 am calls that it wasn’t even worth staying. We ended up driving north a few miles to a great hotel in Samara and spent the day soaking in the pool and laying in the hammocks. Now that’s how you rest and relax.
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