When I boarded the plane to San Jose, I introduced myself to the captain. "So, are you going surfing on the coast?' he asked. "No, I'm going to San Jose." I replied. The captain and first officer looked at each other suspiciously. "Uh......What are you doing in San Jose?" the first officer asked. "Well, I'm going bungee jumping." I replied with a little hesitation after sensing some tension in the air. The pilots both laughed and exhaled with a sigh of relief. They explained that the only reason people go to San Jose is for sex and drugs. "Well not me, I'm going bungee jumping!" I explained with a smile. The pilots smiled and nodded to each other with an unspoken understanding that jumping off a tall bridge is a much better option than sex and drugs.
When I got to San Jose, I contacted the bungee operator to arrange a ride to the bridge. The operator explained to me that just that morning, the Costa Rician government had shut down all bungee operations to investigate safety concerns. He said that he was unsure if they would be able to resume operations in the future. I should have been distraught. I had wanted to bungee jump since I was a little kid! I had flown all the way down to Costa Rica for that sole reason. Surprisingly, I wasn't disappointed. I knew that some of my favorite adventures had started with an abrupt change of plans just like this. I would soon find this to be no exception. So I hopped on my folding bike and decided to see some of the city.
I made it half a dozen blocks from the hotel when a man yelled at me from the sidewalk "Hey Gringo! Hey Gringo!" I looked over to see a man dressed like Dr. Dre. Everything about him told me to keep moving. A voice in the back of my head screamed "Pedal you idiot!" But as my fight or flight instinct kicked in and the adrenaline started coursing through my veins, I looked at his face. It wasn't the face of a gangster or a hardened criminal, it was the face of a kid! He couldn't have been more than 20. Disarmed by the look of innocence, I kicked common sense to the curb and pedaled over to say hello.
"Hey man what do you need"? the guy asked in broken English. "I don't need anything. You're the one that called me over, what do you need?" I replied. I could tell the man was confused by my response. "No, what do you need? Coke? Weed? Extacy?" the man asked. Now that the situation was a little clearer and it was apparent I was talking to a drug dealer, common sense definitely dictated a quick departure. That's not what happened. I was intrigued with the man. After making it clear that I wasn't interested in drugs, I held out my hand and told him my name. Victor and I quickly became friends. Through his broken English and my broken Spanish, we seemed to get by alright. He told me that he learned English by listening to rap music. From his awkward use of slang and expletives, I knew he wasn't lying. When I told Victor that I was from Florida, his face lit up. "I've been to Florida!" he exclaimed. Turns out that Victor stowed away on a ship in an attempt to make it to the U.S. but he was caught as soon as the ship got to port. Apparently the only part of Florida that Victor saw was the inside of a holding cell in Jacksonville before he was deported.
I think Victor was flattered that I showed interest in him and he offered to show me around a little. I was excited to see his side of the city and soon learned that Victor was more than just a drug dealer. Just as many airlines increase their revenue by selling headsets and snacks, Victor was augmenting his drug sales by bringing clients to the prostitutes for which he would get a kickback. "You want a girl?" he asked. "No Victor, an STD is the last thing I want to bring home from Costa Rica!" I joked. From the look on his face, I could tell he didn't get it. "No Victor, no girls." I clarified. "Well if you want a girl, don't go there." Victor said as he pointed to a large purple building with a big sign. "That's where the Americans go. It will cost you $200." I smiled at Victor and told him that he didn't have to worry about me going there.
A few blocks later, Victor pointed to a much smaller building. This one didn't have a sign but there were a few girls standing out front. "If you want a girl.." Victor started. "I don't want a girl!" I quickly cut in. Victor paused for a moment, I could tell he was trying to figure out how to phrase something. "This is the place where the Costa Ricians go. It's much cheaper here, $14 for sex." I nodded to Victor and tried to hide how blown away I was with what he had just told me. As we approached the building, A young girl in a miniskirt and a tube top strutted over to us. She said hello to Victor but stared at me the entire time. Victor told her in Spanish that the gringo doesn't want sex. To my surprise, her body language relaxed, her smile changed from one of seduction to one of kindness and she asked me my name. She told me her name was Bianca and I immediately had a strong curiosity about her life just as I had Victor's. Bianca didn't speak any English but she didn't seem to mind my broken Spanish. A minute or two into the conversation Victor started to get fidgety. "I have to get back to work." he said. He shook my hand and turned to leave. "Victor wait!" I said. I reached into my pocket, took out ten dollars and placed it in his hand. "It was nice to meet you. Thanks for the tour" I said. From the look on Victor's face, I could tell it had been a hard year slinging dope in San Jose. He put a hand on my shoulder. "Thank you my friend!" he said with a toothy smile.
I said goodbye to Victor then turned to say goodbye to Bianca. As I began to leave, Bianca started asking me questions in an attempt to make small talk. At first I was confused. She knew I wasn't interested in what she was selling but then it dawned on me. It was still morning time and the street was dead. She was bored out of her mind and just wanted someone to talk to. I stuck around and chatted with Bianca for a few minutes but eventually the conversation ended the same way all my Spanish conversations end, awkwardly and out of vocabulary words. I turned to leave and this time she said goodbye with a grateful smile.
In the few minutes I spent with Bianca I learned a lot about her. I learned that she was originally from Nicaragua and she hadn't seen her family since she left because it was too expensive. At the age of 14 she got pregnant and had her first child in Costa Rica. At 16, she had her second child. She was now 22 years old. Even though the money was much better at night, she only worked mornings so that she could take care of her children when they got out of school in the afternoon. By the way she talked about them, I could tell her kids were her entire world. The more she told me, the more I wanted to ask. I knew that human trafficking and child prostitution were in big problems in Central America. All the signs pointed to it but I wasn't sure. I wanted to ask but didn't know how. Vocabulary words like kidnap, and human trafficking weren't taught in my Spanish 101 class. Anyways, it didn't seem right to ask.
For the rest of the day, I rode around the city of San Jose but I couldn't stop thinking about Bianca and Victor. Inside I felt broken and torn. I'd spent the morning with the scum of the earth, a drug dealer and a hooker. They were supposed to be terrible people. The problem was that I liked them. Victor was in a dangerous and unprofitable profession that barely maintained a life in the slums. He tried to move up and get out but was sent back to Costa Rica. Bianca was putting food on the table for her children one strange man and fourteen dollars at a time. These were miserable ways to survive and these two suffered every day. It was so easy to see them in pain when I viewed them as a filthy prostitute and a crack head. When I was able to dehumanize them, it was Ok to see them suffer but now that I knew them, now that I liked them, the knowledge was unbearable. They weren't bad people. They were good people in desperate situations. The problem was that the more I biked around, the more people I saw just like Bianca and Victor.
As much as it hurt to see the poverty in Costa Rica, I needed to see it. That's what I had come for. My entire life, I'd lived in some of most beautiful, most affluent places in the world. My paradigm was that of the American Dream. When I started this project of traveling around the world with a folding bike, I did it because I was tired of my skewed view of reality. I knew there was more to life than grande mocha frappuccinos, Apple products and the thousands of other frivolous things that filled my time. I knew there was more to the world than what I could learn from Fox News and the USA Today. So as painful as it was to see the poverty and suffering in San Jose, it was exhilarating to live life, to take the blinders off and view the world with eyes wide open. As I rode around in Costa Rica, I simply observed. I didn't judge, I didn't condemn, I just took it all in. Yes, it was miserable to see the conditions in Costa Rica but God, it felt good to see this world for what it is, to witness a gritty, uncensored version of life I had never seen. It felt good to be alive!
I made it half a dozen blocks from the hotel when a man yelled at me from the sidewalk "Hey Gringo! Hey Gringo!" I looked over to see a man dressed like Dr. Dre. Everything about him told me to keep moving. A voice in the back of my head screamed "Pedal you idiot!" But as my fight or flight instinct kicked in and the adrenaline started coursing through my veins, I looked at his face. It wasn't the face of a gangster or a hardened criminal, it was the face of a kid! He couldn't have been more than 20. Disarmed by the look of innocence, I kicked common sense to the curb and pedaled over to say hello.
"Hey man what do you need"? the guy asked in broken English. "I don't need anything. You're the one that called me over, what do you need?" I replied. I could tell the man was confused by my response. "No, what do you need? Coke? Weed? Extacy?" the man asked. Now that the situation was a little clearer and it was apparent I was talking to a drug dealer, common sense definitely dictated a quick departure. That's not what happened. I was intrigued with the man. After making it clear that I wasn't interested in drugs, I held out my hand and told him my name. Victor and I quickly became friends. Through his broken English and my broken Spanish, we seemed to get by alright. He told me that he learned English by listening to rap music. From his awkward use of slang and expletives, I knew he wasn't lying. When I told Victor that I was from Florida, his face lit up. "I've been to Florida!" he exclaimed. Turns out that Victor stowed away on a ship in an attempt to make it to the U.S. but he was caught as soon as the ship got to port. Apparently the only part of Florida that Victor saw was the inside of a holding cell in Jacksonville before he was deported.
I think Victor was flattered that I showed interest in him and he offered to show me around a little. I was excited to see his side of the city and soon learned that Victor was more than just a drug dealer. Just as many airlines increase their revenue by selling headsets and snacks, Victor was augmenting his drug sales by bringing clients to the prostitutes for which he would get a kickback. "You want a girl?" he asked. "No Victor, an STD is the last thing I want to bring home from Costa Rica!" I joked. From the look on his face, I could tell he didn't get it. "No Victor, no girls." I clarified. "Well if you want a girl, don't go there." Victor said as he pointed to a large purple building with a big sign. "That's where the Americans go. It will cost you $200." I smiled at Victor and told him that he didn't have to worry about me going there.
A few blocks later, Victor pointed to a much smaller building. This one didn't have a sign but there were a few girls standing out front. "If you want a girl.." Victor started. "I don't want a girl!" I quickly cut in. Victor paused for a moment, I could tell he was trying to figure out how to phrase something. "This is the place where the Costa Ricians go. It's much cheaper here, $14 for sex." I nodded to Victor and tried to hide how blown away I was with what he had just told me. As we approached the building, A young girl in a miniskirt and a tube top strutted over to us. She said hello to Victor but stared at me the entire time. Victor told her in Spanish that the gringo doesn't want sex. To my surprise, her body language relaxed, her smile changed from one of seduction to one of kindness and she asked me my name. She told me her name was Bianca and I immediately had a strong curiosity about her life just as I had Victor's. Bianca didn't speak any English but she didn't seem to mind my broken Spanish. A minute or two into the conversation Victor started to get fidgety. "I have to get back to work." he said. He shook my hand and turned to leave. "Victor wait!" I said. I reached into my pocket, took out ten dollars and placed it in his hand. "It was nice to meet you. Thanks for the tour" I said. From the look on Victor's face, I could tell it had been a hard year slinging dope in San Jose. He put a hand on my shoulder. "Thank you my friend!" he said with a toothy smile.
I said goodbye to Victor then turned to say goodbye to Bianca. As I began to leave, Bianca started asking me questions in an attempt to make small talk. At first I was confused. She knew I wasn't interested in what she was selling but then it dawned on me. It was still morning time and the street was dead. She was bored out of her mind and just wanted someone to talk to. I stuck around and chatted with Bianca for a few minutes but eventually the conversation ended the same way all my Spanish conversations end, awkwardly and out of vocabulary words. I turned to leave and this time she said goodbye with a grateful smile.
In the few minutes I spent with Bianca I learned a lot about her. I learned that she was originally from Nicaragua and she hadn't seen her family since she left because it was too expensive. At the age of 14 she got pregnant and had her first child in Costa Rica. At 16, she had her second child. She was now 22 years old. Even though the money was much better at night, she only worked mornings so that she could take care of her children when they got out of school in the afternoon. By the way she talked about them, I could tell her kids were her entire world. The more she told me, the more I wanted to ask. I knew that human trafficking and child prostitution were in big problems in Central America. All the signs pointed to it but I wasn't sure. I wanted to ask but didn't know how. Vocabulary words like kidnap, and human trafficking weren't taught in my Spanish 101 class. Anyways, it didn't seem right to ask.
For the rest of the day, I rode around the city of San Jose but I couldn't stop thinking about Bianca and Victor. Inside I felt broken and torn. I'd spent the morning with the scum of the earth, a drug dealer and a hooker. They were supposed to be terrible people. The problem was that I liked them. Victor was in a dangerous and unprofitable profession that barely maintained a life in the slums. He tried to move up and get out but was sent back to Costa Rica. Bianca was putting food on the table for her children one strange man and fourteen dollars at a time. These were miserable ways to survive and these two suffered every day. It was so easy to see them in pain when I viewed them as a filthy prostitute and a crack head. When I was able to dehumanize them, it was Ok to see them suffer but now that I knew them, now that I liked them, the knowledge was unbearable. They weren't bad people. They were good people in desperate situations. The problem was that the more I biked around, the more people I saw just like Bianca and Victor.
As much as it hurt to see the poverty in Costa Rica, I needed to see it. That's what I had come for. My entire life, I'd lived in some of most beautiful, most affluent places in the world. My paradigm was that of the American Dream. When I started this project of traveling around the world with a folding bike, I did it because I was tired of my skewed view of reality. I knew there was more to life than grande mocha frappuccinos, Apple products and the thousands of other frivolous things that filled my time. I knew there was more to the world than what I could learn from Fox News and the USA Today. So as painful as it was to see the poverty and suffering in San Jose, it was exhilarating to live life, to take the blinders off and view the world with eyes wide open. As I rode around in Costa Rica, I simply observed. I didn't judge, I didn't condemn, I just took it all in. Yes, it was miserable to see the conditions in Costa Rica but God, it felt good to see this world for what it is, to witness a gritty, uncensored version of life I had never seen. It felt good to be alive!
