Right before arriving passengers can exit the airport in San Jose, they have to put their luggage through this x-ray contraption. I was convinced a tiny, native child was inside stealing iPads.
On the way to our compound, we stopped off at Gator Bridge. The only thing more threatening than the alligators (the big one in front is nicknamed Mike Tyson) was the locals, who hound you to either pay them just so you can peer over the side, or buy some of their shitty souvenirs. I’m good on sloth bedazzled tote bags, thanks.
Money conversion – colones to dollars – was a beast all weekend. On the bright side: in Costa Rica, you are a millionaire.
This beach (click on the pic for full panoramic view) was steps from our place. The black sand is super fine and soft, and horrifying when you use a Q-Tip later that day.
Our personal chef’s puppy Charlie. Bilingual babe magnet.
