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No, it’s an average hotel with an intermittent ant problem. What’s nice about it, though, is that it’s a Holiday Inn. If you’re coming to Costa Rica to hump prostitutes, a room in the world’s family-friendliest hotel is good cover. Tell your wife or girlfriend you’re staying at the Hotel Del Rey and you might as well be sleeping at Heidi Fleiss’s offshore discount whorehouse. The Del Rey’s Web site is respectable enough—“Children under 12 stay free“ is a nice touch—but the bad shit, the stuff that’ll get you in trouble, starts on the first link that comes up on Google. (“Hotel Del Rey and Blue Marlin Bar, the best known Sport-Bar and Casino of Costa Rica, are San José’s number one meeting spots, specially for single men looking for sexy girls, and night live activities.“) No, better to stay at the Holiday Inn. It’s just on the other side of the park, and the staff doesn’t care who you bring back. They see it all night, every night, gringos tottering in with hookers.
The girl keeps talking, asking questions. Small talk. Where you from? Married? Girlfriend? Want one? Lie to her. Or not. Like she cares. Ask her questions. Where’s she from? Cuba. How old? Twenty-one. What’s the tattoo, the one crawling up the small of her back?
“It’s a panther,“ she says. “But the little girl kitty is lonely, and she needs a big, strong male tiger.“ She means you, even though you’re neither big nor strong and have never been mistaken for a tiger.
It sounds better in Spanish.
The Costa Rican government, of course, would prefer that its wedge of the Central American isthmus not be so well regarded among American men trolling for sex. The tourist board is much more enthusiastic about their beaches, rain forests, and volcanoes, and the country’s official slogan—no artificial ingredients—would seem to have nothing at all to do with picking up prostitutes in bars. True, every horny American who comes down here is renting a hotel room, eating in restaurants, probably drinking, maybe gambling, and definitely paying the $26 departure tax on his way out; at least some of the money he’s spending on sex goes back into the local economy. But what self-respecting country wants to shill for those dollars? “You might be sure that this type of tourist are not wanted here,“ says one Costa Rican official. “We only want the people that want to spend a ‘Pura Vida’ time.“
Yet the whoremongers came in droves anyway. And by the early 1990s, they’d branded Costa Rica with a reputation as a sex haven—a reputation that stuck and then exploded near the end of the century. Why that happened isn’t complicated. For one thing, prostitution is legal, or at least isn’t illegal: The business isn’t tad or regulated like, say, casinos or bars, but there is no law against an adult selling his or her body for cash. So you’re not going to come down to San José and get busted by an undercover cop. Prostitution is also indigenously rampant and culturally, if quietly, acceptable—70 percent of those who pay for sex are locals—so you don’t feel all that awkward with your arm around a whore.
For another thing, Costa Rica is close, a four-hour flight out of Atlanta. The hard-core-sex destinations—Thailand, Cambodia, the Philippines—require major investments in airfare and flying time, twenty-two hours to Manila on a direct flight, twenty-three to Bangkok. Costa Rica, on the other hand, can be done in a long weekend. It’s relatively safe, fairly well developed, and friendly toward Americans. Plus, with the notable exception of San José, it’s a lush little emerald of a nation with plenty of other plausible reasons to visit. Tell your wife you’re going fishing with some buddies, spend a night at the Holiday Inn, two more in Jacó or another one of the beach towns now overrun with prostitutes, then fly home and brag about all the big ones you caught. Who has to know?
Exactly how many tourists come here every year looking for sex is impossible to determine; “get laid“ isn’t one of the bos that can be checked off under “purpose of trip“ on the immigration form. But there are clues. Of the 500,000 or so Americans who visit the country each year, for instance, 25.8 percent are single men. There are also at least eleven companies that offer either complete package tours to San José, including airfare, or lodging, transportation, and women once you land. Solo Adventures bills itself as “a Full Service Travel Agency specializing in pre-designed adult companion packages to all regions of Costa Rica for the single (body or mind) Gent.“ Bendricks International Men’s Club will fly you down, put you up in one of eight luxury resorts for three nights, and supply “companion escorts“ for $1,695. “You can enjoy the private company of South American women who can satisfy even the most active imagination in one of the world’s great adult travel vacation destinations for men,“ the Bendricks Web site says. (The company won’t say how many men they take down each year. In fact, the guy behind the desk in the Miami office won’t say anything at all—he just shakes his head at every question.)

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