Hotel Del Rey Costa Rica Video – Tighter than Miami security, the 6’3″ Hotel Del Rey monkeys posted at the gates surrounded and scanned us before entering the hotel bar, Key Largo. After being checked in , we followed a short path to the back entrance of the bar.As in a saint’s dream or a cuckold American’s wet dream, the bar was literally overrun with paying, over-the-top, demanding Latin women. Stepping into such a place triples the ego; Eyes, smiles, winks, bodies turn to you, greeting you with a look thick with sexual tension. As you may have guessed, these girls are not easygoing; they are prostitutes, operating legally as one of the main tourist attractions in Costa Rica.
I arrived in San Jose a week ago tonight. Visited Arenal, Manuel Antonio, Quepos, did typical tourist adventure tours: mountain biking, canopy tours, white water rafting, suspension bridges, tasted the best food in different cities, through the mountains in a Cessna. Flew, fought lizards for abandoned food, imitated gecko sounds, met distant strangers and talked casually about country politics and opponents, around mountains in a low-powered 4×4 SUV and slid down and around, and finally, accosted by beautiful women whistling a construction worker. It looks like child’s play.
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Once inside Key Largo, we make sure we don’t make eye contact with the many female patients waiting to be swept away for an hour and $100; We head to the bar where we find a laughing grandfather with his arms around two girls in their twenties. They sip their drinks and nod their heads in sheer force of joy. We sit well away from the street band and in view of the live salsa band performing. On stage, two very attractive girls dance in sync while singing into the microphones; Red, yellow and green lights shine on their clammy skin, adding to the murky atmosphere. We order two Pilsens, pull out our Romeo and Julieta Robustos, light them and fill the air with thick smoke of Cuban tobacco as we wait for our friend Frank to arrive.
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At the front of the stage, a Latino in his sixties dances to the music. His wet unbuttoned shirt showed off his sagging chest and stomach. He smiles and dances salsa in front of what looks like a man in a pink dress. Her cheeks are flushed, her jawline and high cheekbones are pronounced, and her fine black hair is pulled back tightly, loose strands flowing behind her like streamers of air conditioning as she picks up the tempo dramatically. Her skirt lifts revealing her pink thong as she turns around and is pulled back into the older man’s arms. They dance happily between young girls flirting with fat, older American men at tables around the dance floor.
Below is an overview of what is on offer at Hotel del Rey in San Jose, Costa Rica. Cameras are not allowed, so handheld cameras and that weak camera situation
We had heard about the hotel on the internet when our hostel had nothing to do in San Jose for the first night of our trip. This was one of the first things that came up when searching: “Nightlife in San Jose”. Seeing that almost every link included the Hotel del Rey, we went there to satisfy our curiosity and find out why the reviews for this place said, “If you’re in Costa Rica, a must.” “Not to be missed”, “An experience like no other”, “Be a king for a day or a week”, “Bow with the best”. We didn’t expect it to be so ridiculously real – a land of candy with animal sex. We were humble.
The hotel is conveniently located a bit off the main street around the corner. It stands projecting a facade of purity in its neoclassical form, a dark pink body framing the old concrete walls with white hoods atop each window. A red neon glows above, indicating: Hotel Del Rey. It looks like a simple hotel from the outside. As soon as we walked through the swinging glass doors, we were immediately transported.
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Silently, we scan the area. We don’t say anything to each other but we act as if we were there. The hall is filled with about thirty prostitutes; They are sitting, resting or waiting for their next job. Carts of girls pass us, laughing and waving. We head towards a part of the hotel where there are fewer people; Embarrassed by the many stares and whistles of girls with tight pants, bulging toned breasts and thick, wet red lipstick, we nervously played twenty games of slot machines before heading to the lioness’ lair at the bar. After siphoning our coins from the ceremoniously non-paying machines and being inundated with stares and love from temporary studs, we decide to grab a beer and try to join the hordes of Viagra-induced zombies. their hourly solution. This beer turned into six, a pack of cigarettes, three shots of Jack and a middle-aged American, Frank. We spoke to her while browsing her competition to catch a glimpse of one of the most beautiful girls in the country to sit and wait for her next encounter; And we try to focus on what he’s saying while the girls stand next to us to feel our necks and make eyes or put their arms around our necks to play with our hair and ask, “Do you want a date, baby?” “My girlfriend and I are very nice, don’t you think?” “Three for one, honey.” We laughed with them and bought them a drink, but we weren’t tempted to go with any of them.
“You’re my first tonight,” she turns to me smiling. I try not to imagine him yesterday or last week and a lot of fat, sweaty horny Americans throwing themselves at him.
Frank talked to us all night about which girls he had and which ones he wanted that night, multiple times a day and the talents of the different girls, boys and the hotel owner. My friend and I chill during the conversation but the remnants of our shattered innocence crumbles and shatters with the arrival of this establishment and their guardians. But we took it drunk and unrestrained and lit up in a whole different world of sexuality. As we called it a night, Frank held her date’s hand as he walked with her to the elevator, asking us to meet him after we finished our trip to the countryside. “I’m spending five more days!” And I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “So if you want, come back here, get a room and I’ll buy you more than dinner. Have fun guys and I’ll be there.” that he was hugging the tall, thin “stacked” redhead and running his hands down her back.
Although there are no official statistics, based on research by Schifter he estimates that there are between 10,000 and 20,000 sex workers in the country and 25,000 to 50,000 sex tourists each year. , of which 80%. US citizens
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Grandfather and his two daughters had left. The girls on stage are still singing Costa Rican night. Girl/boy in pink dress sitting and chatting with another old man, mirroring his dancing shoulders. He corrects his step and shows him how to move his shoulders to the rhythm of the music. We’re asked to have ten dates and five drinks. About twelve different girls sit on the empty stool next to us – the turn rate of this stool is about ten minutes – with none of us responding as the girls put their bait elsewhere.
We have booked a room for the night, we don’t know if it will be used only for sleeping. We talked about picking up a girl for the night, but got to the point of only remembering the “sexy girls” we saw arriving at the hotel the first night.
“Have you seen this great man? I asked my friend, standing on top of a tree, while getting ready to zipline to another tree through the rooftops. “It was a mare!
“I say!” My friend said as he looked 200 feet away and looked at me. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do if she’s in there again. It’s so tempting, it’s amazing. “
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In shorts and sandals, unattractive and unwelcome as tourists, we smoke our cigars and drink our third beer. Peering through the crowd of smelly heads and bodies, white and brown skins, broken English and poor Spanish; We’re waiting for Frank to take us on his sordid carpet of Central American mass racketeering.
From one of the corridors of the bar, my friend had inadvertently turned his head and seen Frank.
I turned to see a tall Colombian woman with fake breasts and an hourglass figure walk in with her.
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