Business women

Hitchhiking is one of the three most common ways for Costa Rican's to get around. The first is the bus, which is like most bus systems in the world rather less convenient and reliable than one would wish. The second form of transport is the foot, either by bike or walking (a real Costa Rican never runs, never ever runs. Anyone seen running for exercise is obviously of a social class so far removed from the Costa Rican farmers whose daughters are waitresses in hotels as to come from a completely different universe. Running is only done by the young at play, by the youths on the soccer field, by the men escaping the bull in the bull ring, and possibly but not definitely if your house is on fire.) The third form of transport is by thumb. And when I have a long trip I usually pick up one or two hitchhikers.

Normally I pick up women with children, occasionally I pick up women with work, laundry they are taking home, food they are carrying on their heads to sell. I don't pick up single men as a rule, but I will pick up fathers with their children, or family groups, or groups of school kids trying to get back home from high school.

I don't pick up whores. I figure they have their thumb out not just looking for a ride but looking to ride someone and since I have no use for them, I figure they have no use for me. The woman was standing on my corner so I stopped, it wasn't where the whores stand, on the crossroad to Tamarindo looking for Johns. I asked her where she was going, she said Santa Cruz, so I told her to hop in.

Just by looking I couldn't have know either her age or occupation. Except for her permanently removed and redrawn eyebrows she didn't look much different than any other woman. A little darker, possibly from the Caribbean side of Costa Rica. I figured she was probably a waitress. So I asked her where she worked. She replied "Tamarindo" not the name of a hotel or restaurant. "How's business been?" I asked "Has the economy affected you?"

"Yes" she replied "There aren't as many tourists as there used to be. Where do you work?"

"I work in a hotel in Brasilito. How long have you worked in Tamarindo?"

"I've been in Costa Rica eleven years"

"Oh, where did you come from?"

She started to tell me her history. She was from Dominican Republic, which explained her accent which I found difficult and kept using the Tu form of the word you. Costa Rican's never use Tu, it's the more familiar word and they only use it with family or children, I'd never bothered to learn it because there were enough verb forms without having to learn one that I'd only need if I had a lover. I knew every word you needed to rent a room to someone in Spanish, but I couldn't begin to tell you how to say "I think you're cute, let's kiss or just fuck" after all this just wasn't vocabulary I was ever going to need.

When I couldn't understand her she'd switch to English. She spoke it in a deep thick voice, both sexy and almost incomprehensible, and I wanted to practise my Spanish so I'd switch back to Spanish. "This should be a better year business wise" I said, she responded in the affirmative. "Last year was really hard, no tourists, no business, lots of people out of work."

"You married?" she asked.

"Nope, just me. I have to make all the money for my kids, and pay all the bills."

"When I was married" she replied "I would come home and there would be no food on the table to feed my kid. My husband would spend it all and we had nothing. Now that I'm not it's better." I nodded in affirmation. "Now I have a boyfriend 10 days, he comes he buys me lots of clothes, he gives me $3000, and it's time for a new boyfriend."

Three thousand bucks! Fuck me. Here I was trying to give it away to no avail and here she was getting paid $300/day. I was definitely in the wrong line of business. I looked at her a little more closely. Nice body but nothing unusual, pretty but not remarkable. She was missing the hard look that I usually saw in whores, her face still looked open and innocent.

"I'm 39" she said seeing me looking at her.

"39! You don't look more than 30" I said, and I meant it. Her rich dark skin had no lines, no signs of stress or worry crossed her face. I thought of all the ugly lines of frustration forming on my own face. My fingers unconsciously reached up to massage the frown lines near my eyebrows. Perhaps that's all I needed to relieve my stress, regular sex and extra money. I definitely was in the wrong business.

"Yes 39, my son he's grown now. Lives in Dominican. I work here 4 months, I go home 4 months."

"Sounds like a good life." I responded and it did. I'd love to live here in 4 month stretches. Spend 4 months in paradise, then leave and enjoy civilization, visit my friends, see a movie, buy some clothes, go to a mall.

Malls are not something I ever appreciated when I lived in Los Angeles. I rarely went, a year stretch could go by without actually entering a mall. Now I love them. Things everywhere, and all of it available, and people walking around eating greasy food, chatting in a language I can eavesdrop in, the air is refrigerated and the sheer artificiality is a wonder. When I shop here it is not a matter of buying what I want at a good price, it is a matter of finding a store that has something similar to what I want at whatever price they want to ask for it. Christmas shopping must be done in November, because in October the stores don't have any stock and by December everything they brought in for the holidays will be gone. I missed out on the window for a trampoline, and my kids have been waiting 3 months for the store to have another one in stock so they can get the Christmas present that their grandmother paid for.

"Yes it is a good life" she responded. Possibly not "pura vida" the Costa Rican expression for everything, an expression that translates to "pure life" I'm not sure you could, even in Spanish describe being a whore as pura vida. "The men are very nice to me, lots of nice clothes (she pointed at her burnt orange yoga pants and white tank top). My boyfriends are usually a little older, and so much nicer than Latinos. You marry a Latino you come home with your pay check and he spends it on himself. You have a boyfriend?"

"No"

"But the Costa Rican men like Gringas."

"Yes, but I don't want to have a boyfriend who wants me just because I have some money. I don't want to have to pay." I hoped I hadn't offended her, but she just nodded her head. She understood, men should pay for sex in one form or another, but women really would prefer to be paid.

"This year will be a better year for your business and mine" she said as she exited the car.  I told her I hoped so.