We spent our weekdays at the Lodge. Josh working; conference calls, spreadsheets, meetings. I used the internet to connect with friends. I started (and finished) reading the graphic novel series, Runaways. We lazed in the sun. And, on rainy days, we hid in our room with Netflix.
On Thursday, we decided to grab a drink at the tiki bar. We sat by the barfly nestled on his corner stool. He was from Atlanta, he told us. But that was merely where he got his mail. He chuckled. He was on the road ten months of the year. This winter, Costa Rica. Next Spring, unknown.
The bartender got us a couple cold beers.
"Plus two shots of rum," Josh smiled. So we shot them. And chased them with the ice cold bubbly Imperial. The carbonation tickled down my throat.
"And we heard that you could get us pizza," he added. As if this was a feat. ...but, as we were an $8 taxi ride from town, it was sort of a big deal.
"Si," he confirmed and got out his cell. He asked us what toppings and we struggled for a bit trying to convey we wanted sausage. He thought we meant pepperoni. Nope. Hamburger? No, not that either. We settled on what we thought was cheese, pepperoni and hamburger. He called it in and we began the wait.
After the sun dipped below the horizon and the darkness crept in, the man at the end of the bar retreated. "Back to the Rancho," he waved as he left.
On the next set of beers, a group joined the bar. Three women to our left, one replacing the still warm stool of the Georgian. Two men to our right.
The two women on the right, a couple from Minnesota. One of the men on the left, their friend from (school? work?). The other woman on the left, his sister. And the last man on the right, a friend from Minnesota.
After more beers and more shots, the bartender let us play DJ and we started queuing up funny YouTube sensations. Psy was there. What Does the Fox Say? You name it. And just when I had forgotten we were even having pizza for dinner, it arrived. Still warm, thin crust, and delicious smelling. We opened the box for the surprise of the night. Ham and mushrooms! Ha! No hamburger, no pepperonis..but ham and mushrooms. Famished, we wolfed it down, sharing a slice or two with the bartender and his girlfriend.
Their shifts were over so they packed up and wished us good night, leaving us full reign of the stereo. We brought out the wine and liquor we had in our rooms and continued our own bar.
Our Tica contingency added 80's Costa Rican pop to the mix. She showed us the steps and we line danced to some of the hits. Then came Journey. The Kareoke video version with the words highlighted as if we didn't know every last one of them.
The boy from Minnesota started taping us for a video he was compiling. Josh was up on the bar. Laughing. Dancing.
And when the last of our box wine had been drunk, we headed back to the room. Bid adios to our Midwestern friends and slept.
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