Costa Rica es muy Rica

My intention was to return from Costa Rica after 9 glorious, sometimes adventurous, sometimes calamitous, days in Costa Rica with Ms. Muse, and escriba mi travelogues en todos en Espanol.

That seemed a little over ambitious in the same way I eschewed the help of my kayak guide and tried to exit the two person craft on my own. More on that klutzy affair later, after the industrial pain killers kick in.

Upon further reflection it seems the best way to return to RoundSeventeen -- and again my apologies for leaving the 8, pardon me, 9 faithful readers of this blog,  in the lurch -- is with a distinctively R17 anecdote.

After a non-eventful 6 hour early morning flight to Liberia Airport, we thought it'd be a good idea to trade some failing US dollars for some bloated Costa Rican Colados. The exchange rate was outrageously high. One US dollar is the equivalent of 50,000 Colados. 

Maybe 500,000. Maybe 5 million. 

All that meticulous luggage packing had seemed to go to naught. I had visions of needing extra satchels to have some walk around money. Or that I'd look like P Diddy at one of his Freak Offs, just showering people with brightly colored Costa Rican Money, peeled off a huge stack of bills that meant nothing to me. 

As we were waiting in line, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Oh shit," I thought, "I told Sheryl it wasn't wise to bring our low dosage THC infused mints to a foreign land, now we're gonna spend a night in the Costa Rican clink, which will look nothing like the deluxe room we had booked. And would probably not have a minibar. Or more importantly, a plunge pool."

I turned around expecting the worst (thank you neurotic New York upbringing) and was greeted by Todd. Or Tim. Or Tom. I can't remember but Ms. Muse assures me it was Todd. From Thousand Oaks.

"Aren't you the RoundSeventeen Guy? I'm one of your loyal 8 (now 9) readers. My name is  Todd/Tim/Tom."

I was admittedly confused. 

"I thought I recognized you by the baggage carousel and said to myself I have to say Hello."

Even as I write this, I can't believe this happened.

As if that weren't mind blowing enough, he turned to Sheryl and said...

"You must be Ms. Muse. I'm Todd/Tim/Tom."

We all shook hands. And then because we needed evidence this wasn't some sort of prank or hallucination brought on by the consumption of too many of the aforementioned edibles, Ms. Muse said you should grab Todd/Tim/Tom and get a picture before he gets in a cab and goes to Tamarindo.

Hola Todd/Tim/Tom, muchas gracias para su numero de lectores. Y "Pura Vida." 

Tomorrow, the Western Hemisphere equivalent of The White Lotus begins.