Tourists—can’t live with them, can’t live without them. They, and the money they spend here, account for close to 10% of the GDP in Costa Rica. If I had a dollar for every tourist I’ve dealt with over the years, I’d be a rich man. Or at least have enough to buy a decent car. For the first two decades of the 21st century, I worked three different jobs, all of which involved heavy contact with visitors. I dealt with the gamut of humanity—from straggling crackheads to net-worth one-percenters, people from dozens of nations, and occasionally ones whose names you’d likely recognize. Each job came with its own set of challenges. Each job also provided plenty of interesting moments.
Here are three very short accounts of events I’ve never forgotten:
Mugged in Front of 100 People
In the year 2000, I was bartender/manager/bouncer of a popular cantina that featured one of the old-school 25-foot satellite dishes on the roof. American sports and Costa Rican soccer beamed from the half-dozen TVs throughout the establishment. It was an NFL playoff Sunday and the place was packed.
I was in the middle of six hours of non-stop food and drink orders when a guy I knew made his way through the crowd and ordered a beer. He had a reputation for getting into the occasional bar fight, but on this day he looked calm and had seemingly come in to chill and watch the games.
Within a couple of minutes of his arrival, I heard a loud noise and saw him falling backward as he fought off two attackers. He later told me that they went for his eyes as they fell to the ground. I ran from behind the bar and, with the help of another person, we pulled the attackers off. They both ran out the front door and disappeared around the corner.
The night before, the guy I knew had been in an altercation with the same two guys at another bar. By coincidence, the two guys also chose my place to watch the games on this day. When they saw him come in, they made a quick plan to get revenge and jumped him from behind.
People who saw it happen assumed it was just another barroom brawl and no one stepped in to help. But this wasn’t a fight—it was a mugging. The guy who was jumped suffered some serious damage to one eye. The assailants were never caught.
The Body on the Floating Dock
For several years, I managed a popular boat tour company. We took people out on catamarans to see dolphins, snorkel, swim, and enjoy food and drink while cruising the scenic coastline. We took all safety precautions for the snorkeling, and use of a life vest was mandatory for all swimmers, no matter their level of skill.
One afternoon in high season, after getting the day’s large group on the boat, I returned to the office to handle some paperwork. Just as I was about to leave for the day, I got a call from the boat. There was a medical emergency.
A man in his 70s had been snorkeling and, upon reaching the ladder to reboard the boat, had gone limp in the water. By the time I got to the pier, he had been pronounced dead by medical workers on the scene. His body was wrapped in a sheet and placed on the small floating dock used to board and exit watercraft.
His wife—now widow—was there. They were from the UK and were on their long-planned vacation. She was calm under the circumstances, or maybe in a state of disbelief, as if the reality of what had just happened had not yet registered. She explained that her husband had a heart condition and had suffered two previous attacks. The thought that he died happy was her consolation.
I stood sentinel with her over the body as the occasional boat docked to discharge passengers, most of whom took a peek at the body as they passed. It was not until nightfall that the body was moved and prepared to be flown back across the ocean.
The Lost Passport
Up until the 2020 pandemic scare, I had enjoyed several years of work as a travel consultant, creating itineraries for all in need of help in planning a memorable trip to Costa Rica. I made a sale to a guy who would be traveling with another guy he had met online.
One was arriving via the U.S. and the other from Europe, so I arranged a hotel near the airport for their first night, as their flights arrived a few hours apart. In subsequent conversations, I discovered that the two men had never met in person, but had exchanged enough information (and presumably photos) to mutually look forward to the idea of meeting for the first time in Costa Rica.
The day of their arrivals, I received a distraught email from the one I had helped with the planning. His vacation was cancelled, he said. He was heartbroken. His new friend had contacted him between flights. He was in an airport in Germany and had somehow lost his passport while changing planes. He was stuck in limbo and couldn’t continue on to Costa Rica.
I felt bad for the guy who had been stood up. Likely the other guy got cold feet and backed out with a foolproof story that would delay any confrontation—a lost passport can’t be argued with. I was suspicious of his excuse. I mean, how do you lose your passport in an airport?
A few weeks later, I was at Juan Santamaría airport getting ready to fly out. Ticket and passport in hand, I walked toward the security checkpoint. I reached to rearrange my backpack, and when I did, my passport slipped from my hand—unnoticed by me.
Luckily, someone walking behind me saw it, picked it up, and returned it. Suddenly, the lost passport story that I had scoffed at became very believable.
