Out For The Night.

By BobbyRica | August 8, 2012


Costa Rica has a little quirk in how its used English words for colloquialisms. Clubs are what they call typical dance clubs, and nightclubs are what they call strip clubs. My friends had found themselves wondering if the Costa Ricans were ostensibly more liberal than they appeared, but for them, it was just some misunderstandings. I was looking for a fun night myself, but not that much fun.


The actual salsa clubs usually have an older, no less attractive clientele. Everyone, and I mean everyone in those clubs are good at the salsa. It’s not that they know how to dance, I mean they’re really really good.

Ever been out hanging out with the b-boy hip hop crowd? You might feel out of place up until you show that you also have the moves, at which point they’ll embrace you. In a salsa club, the bar is set considerably lower, unless you want to score.

I was lucky to find myself invited to one of the more upscale bars. Good clothes, well groomed appearance, and a few conspicuous wads of cash get you far. Being, nice, affable and funny too, that will take you past the home stretch.


And so my friends like to talk about how Latina women are easier to get with compared to Americans, who they say are stuck up, and I just keep my mouth shut. Latinas aren’t afraid to just seek out sex for pleasure, but they do have standards. If you’re rude, if you imply they’re sluts, if you’re too eager, if you do the same stupid things that women don’t like where you’re from, you’ll have no luck here either.

In the salsa clubs, the girls come in groups. Costa Ricans are Catholics, so a lot of conservative habits and mores come into play. On the flip side, you’re less likely to contend with highly liberated, overly selective single women. You don’t have to try too hard to convince, getting into their field of vision can be as easy as dancing towards where they are. And so I found myself drifting in and out of circles of people on the dance floor, left, right, all over the place.


Eventually, I found myself settling upon a group of friends. Sara, Isabel, Eva and Evita were all rich daddy’s girls, and lucky for me, tonight they seemed to be on the prowl. I spent a few hours with small talk, getting to know each other, light drinks and things like that before they figured out among themselves who was going to take me and who was going to go back in the wild.

For a while I thought the sisters Eva and Evita would be inseparable, but finally Eva, the elder of the two, cupped my hand and whispered potential arrangements in my ear. Evita was going to be fine with her other friends, and she wanted to be fine with me.


Eva’s dad was a bigshot investment banker, but even if that was not the case, I would have refused going to her home anyway. Eva, though, offered to spring for the motel we would be going to (apparently a repeat customer), got us another evening meal, and basically did all the hard work for me.

I’d be an idiot to screw it up at this point.

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