Hotel Del Rey San Jose Costa Rica – Tougher than Miami security checks, Hotel Del Rey’s 6’3” ape posted at the door and scanned us before we entered the hotel’s bar, Key Largo. After checking in, we followed a small path to the entrance behind the bar. The bar is plagued with hypersexualized Latina women, like a saint’s nightmare or an American wet dream. Entering such a place triples the ego; Eyes, smiles, winks, bodies turned towards you, a thick air of sexual tension greets you. You think these girls are not the hard type to hook up with; They are prostitutes, operating legally as the main tourist attraction of Costa Rica.
I arrived in San Jose a week ago tonight. Arenal, Manuel Antonio, Quepos do the usual adventure tours: ATVs, canopy tours, white water rafting, hanging bridges, taste the best food from different cities, fly through the mountains in a Cessna, fight lizards for food that falls, imitate. The voice of the Gecko, far away meets the foreigner and talks about the usual temptations of the country’s policy and vice versa, driving up and down and around the steep hills in an SUV 4×4 without power, and finally, accepted by a beautiful woman whistling construction workers. It sounds like a child’s play.
Hotel Del Rey San Jose Costa Rica
Once in Key Largo we made sure not to make eye contact with the many sick girls waiting to wash their feet for an hour and $100; We headed to the bar where we saw a smiling grandfather holding two teenage girls. They drank the drink and nodded with great joy. We live not far from a live cheer group and salsa group that is performing. On stage, two very attractive girls sing into the mic and dance in-synch; Red, yellow and green lights shine on the sweat-drenched skin, adding to the extravagant atmosphere. We ordered two Pilsens, pulled out our Romeo and Julieta Robustos, lit up and filled the air with thick Cuban smoke as we waited for our friend Frank to arrive.
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A 60-year-old Latino man danced to the music in front of the stage. His wet unbuttoned shirt showed his chest and stomach. He smiled, salsa dancing like a man in a pink suit. Her cheeks were sunken, her jaw line and high cheekbones were accentuated, and her thin black hair was pulled back tightly, loose strands flowing behind her like an air conditioner as she pounded hard to the beat of the drum. She turned around with her pink skirt open and was pulled into the older man’s arms. They dance happily among young girls flirt with fat men and Americans Yu in the table around the dance floor.
Below is what is offered at Hotel Del Rey in San Jose, Costa Rica. Cameras are not allowed, hence the pocket camera and this bad camera direction
We read about the hotel on the Internet when we were stuck in a hostel with nothing to do in San Jose for the first night of our trip. One of the first things to do when searching for this is: “San Jose nightlife.” Seeing that almost every link is related to the Hotel del Rey, we went there to satisfy our curiosity and find out why the reviews of this place read: “Must attend if you are in Costa Rica,” “An experience like no other,” “”One day or one week.” is the king of,” “Slumming with the best.” We did not expect it to be so disgusting that it really is – an animal sex candy-land We are humble.
The hotel is conveniently located off the main road, on several corners. It stands, showing a facade of neo-classical purity, a pale pink body covering an old concrete wall with a white hood above each window. A red neon light flashed above, reading: Hotel Del Rey. It looks like a simple hotel from the outside. We were instantly transported as we walked through the swinging glass doors.
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We scanned the area in silence. We didn’t say anything to each other but we acted like we were here. lobby full of prostitutes about thirty people; They sit, rest or wait for their next task. A train of girls passed us, smiling and waving. We go to the part of the hotel where it is less crowded; Embarrassed by the many stares and noises from girls with tight pants, skinned and moist chests, shocking red lipstick, we played about 20 slot games before entering the lion’s den of a bar. After our coins were duly pressed into the non-paying machine and the eyes and care from the remaining fingers overflowed our banks, we decided to grab a beer and try to blend into the crowd of Viagra-inspired zombies looking for their hourly fix. That turned out to be a six-pack of beer, a pack of cigarettes, three shots of Jack and a middle-aged American man named Frank. We talked to him as glimpses of one of the most beautiful girls in the country cut into the competition to sit and wait for their next meeting; And we have girls standing next to us playing with our hair and putting their hands around our necks and asking, “Baby, want a date?” “My boyfriend and I are so cute, don’t you think?” “Three for one, honey.” We bought them drinks and had a laugh but weren’t really tempted to go with them.
“You are my first night,” she smiled back at me. I try not to imagine her yesterday or last week and lots of fat sweaty, horny Americans who beat themselves up during her.
Frank talked about the girl who stayed with us all night and the girl he wanted that night, several times in the same day and different girls, boys and talents of the hotel owner. My friend and I played it cool during the conversation, but what was left of our delusional innocence was shattered and broken by the deceptions of this establishment and their patrons. But we make it drunk, drunk and safe and enlightened to a whole different world of sex. We called it a night, Frank took his date’s hand as he walked with her to the elevator, he asked us to meet him after we left for the countryside. “I have 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 and I’ll be here.”
According to Shifter’s research, although there are no official statistics, he estimates that there are 10,000 to 20,000 sex workers in the country and 25,000 to 50,000 sex tourists each year, 80 percent of whom are sex workers. American citizens.
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The grandfather and his two daughters went. The girls on stage are still singing about Costa Rican nights. Girl/boy in pink dress talking to other old man, mirroring dancing own. He corrects his steps and shows how to move his shoulders to the rhythm of the music. We were asked for about ten days and five drinks. There were about twelve different girls sitting on empty stools next to us – the stools had a turnover rate of about ten minutes – no response from us as the girls took their bait elsewhere.
We booked a room for the night to see if it was used only for sleeping. We talked about getting a girl for the night, but we ended up just reminiscing about the “hot girl” we saw the first night we arrived at the hotel.
“Do you see that tall hair color?” I asked my friend while standing on a tree that was ready to zip-line to cross the canopies to other trees. “She’s a horse!”
“I know!” My friend said 200 feet down and looked back at me. “I’m not sure what I’ll do if she goes back there again. It’s so tempting, it’s wonderful.”
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In shorts and boots, not interesting and not wanting to be tourists we sit smoking our cigarettes and drinking our third beer. Look at the crowd of smelly heads and bodies, and white and gray skin, and broken English and bad Spanish; We look forward to taking Frank on the rough terrain of the Central American meat racket.
From one of the corridors of the bar, my friend turned his head involuntarily and spied Frank.
I turned to see a tall Colombian, with fake breasts and an hourglass figure, walking after her
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