Traveling Alone

Something I heard a lot when I was younger is that every man should travel, at least once, alone. I ended up doing so and... wow.

Back in my college days, I decided to study abroad for a year. I had studied Spanish, and it made sense to stay with a Spanish-speaking country rather than start from scratch somewhere else. I looked into Spain, Argentina, Mexico... the big, obvious countries. But then I saw something different: Costa Rica. Now today, Costa Rica is a world-famous tourist mecca. But at the time, in the early 1990s, it was one of the most obscure parts of the world, on no one's radar. When hearing that I was thinking of studying there, more than one person "corrected" me by saying, "It's pronounced 'Puerto Rico.'"

Well, fuck that shit. I liked the idea of going to the "end of the earth," and figured if nothing else, I could impress my friends for having survived living in the rainforest. I signed up for the language program and shipped out.

It was great. My program was pretty small, about 20 of us, and I quickly pulled together a mixed gang of friends. Costa Rica was an unspoiled paradise. It felt like we were off the grid, and seeing the real world--and because there were so few visitors, we were essentially a novelty wherever we went.

My gang and I skipped town for weekends away when we could, going to distant places and at one point camping out literally in the rainforest. I was proud to have been the only one who correctly assembled my tent, and consequently, stayed dry for the weekend.

Toward the end, another one of guys talked about a quick trip he had taken to a place called Puerto Viejo in the far south east of the country, not far from the Panama border. I gather today the place is quite hopping, but back then it was literally at the end of the road. As remote as remote could be. I tried to get the gang together to go there, but after the soggy camping disaster, folks wanted a place with more infrastructure.

So, remembering the notion that every man should travel alone at least once, I decided to go there myself for a couple of days over the weekend.

And getting there... was an adventure. You had to go via bus--a retired school bus, to be exact. Along the way, the highway out there went from being a paved road, to a dirt road, to being an... aspirational road. I got there to find a lovingly ramshackle village that had only had electricity for a couple of years. But it was the most shockingly beautiful place I had ever been.

And pretty much, I had the place to myself.

I learned that it had a minor reputation as a surfer's paradise--home of the so-called salsa brava. But it was the wrong time of year, so there were next to no visitors. There was an open-air restaurant that served as a makeshift nightclub on Friday Saturday nights, but other than that there was not much to do. Restaurants were essentially people's houses; you walked in and they whipped up something for you in their kitchen while wrangling their kids.

I found a guy who had a few small rooms to rent. It cost me about $2.50 per night... and that's about what it was worth. There were six total rooms, divided by 1/4-inch particle board partitions that didn't reach to the floor or the ceiling. There was one shared bathroom. Because there was no one there, I essentially had my pick of the rooms, and grabbed one that at least had a decent window.

Well, OK. Here I was. Traveling on my own.

The trip in was long, and I got in just before dusk. I grabbed Friday night dinner from Miss Cicely's house--her family immigrated from Jamaica and she served me the best tropical dinner (and yes, my only choice was to order "dinner") I've had in my life. Damn, I still dream about that. Afterwards, I wandered around and found a local pool hall that seemed lively. I joined in, grabbed a drink from a guy at the counter who offered beer, rum... and for the truly adventurous, local fire-water called guaro. I stuck with beer.

Slowly I got into things. Cool music. Cool vibe. The place was social and friendly, but totally laid back. I was the curiosity, so everyone had to play me, asking relentlessly what America was like... and what American women were like. Over drinks and I swapped stories and heard local gossip, and was told where to get the best weed--and the going rate for how much to bribe the police if I got caught.

It was... nothing, really. But it was fan-fucking-tastic.

Tired and somewhat buzzed, I stumbled back to my room, hoping to rest up to hit the beach bright and early. Even with the window, that tiny room had little air, and I settled in for a sweaty sleep on top of the sheets.

I must have drifted off for a while, but was abruptly awakened by voices. Damn. It seemed I was going to have company next door.

Somewhat to my irritation, I realized both my bed and the bed in the other room were pushed flush against the particle board partition.

Worse, I realized it was a guy and a girl, who were feeling frisky, on the other side of a particle board partition.

Worst of all, I realized they both spoke English, meaning I was going to hear everything, in exquisite detail, from a guy and a girl, who were feeling frisky, on the other side of a particle board partition.

Oh fuuuuuuck me. It was like I was in fucking bed with them.

From what I could tell, he was American and she was Australian. They had met up earlier that night, and wanted a fling. I could respect that. Hell, if I hadn't been so beat, I'd be doing the same thing. I quietly hoped they would be... efficient.

Of course they weren't. What happened over the next three FUCKING HOURS was a cat-and-mouse game of Romeo trying every trick in his arsenal to finally seal the deal with Juliet. And she kinda wanted it, and was willing to mess around, but kept freaking out at the last minute. And he'd try a different play, move the ball forward... and she'd freak out. Again. Again and again and FUCKING AGAIN. I felt like I knew way too much about what revved each of their engines. It took every bit of control to keep from yelling out, "Jesus fucking Christ... just DO it and roll over and go to sleep already!"

Finally, Romeo gave up, and I heard Juliet gather up her stuff and quietly slip away. FINALLY.

But in the meantime, all that drinking had caught up with me. There was no way I was going to move while everything was going down, but we had started to reach a danger point. I waited, hugely impatiently, to see if the guy was going to do anything.

Sure enough... guys are guys. A couple of minutes later I could hear the tell-tale sound of a guy starting to beat his meat. Perfect cover, I veeeeeery quietly slid off the bed and started tiptoeing down the hall to the shared bathroom.

And, perfectly in line with everything else in the evening, just when I got to the hall, I heard him get up. I turned around, and nearly collided with a very naked man. His dick still pretty gorged, if a bit deflated, and pointing right at me. Fucking shit.

Romeo had no concept that anyone was remotely around, and understandably freaked... jumping back and swinging his hands to shield his privates.

The light was pale, but I got a good look at him. And immediately thought that Juliet was the stupidest fucking idiot in the world. I mean, I'm 100% straight, but was stunned by him. He had an incredible body; an athletic build loaded with muscles, built up from steady use rather than posing in the gym. He had a hairy chest, and a distinct trail of hair that ran down from his bellybutton to a full man-bush. With fine, shoulder-length hair and a scrappy beard of like 3-week's growth. He had a strong, angular face, made more masculine with his scruffy beard.

Juliet could have done way worse.

Seeing him spooked like that, I raised my hands and said calmingly, "Dude, it's OK, sorry to scare you. Just got up to take a leak."

He calmed a bit, and nodded at me. "Uhhh... OK...." He was about to say something else, but then a panicked look shot across his face. Then slowly turned to see where I came from... and absolute mortification flashed over his face. "Oh fuck. Were you...? Did you...? Oh... fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. Dude I am so sorry."

And now I was embarrassed, watching this guy standing in front of me naked, realizing I had heard everything as his planned-for romantic conquest went to shit. And then the... um, afterparty. "Dude, no... it's cool. It's totally cool." Shit, what do I even say? "It's my fault... I should have warned you. I'm so sorry."

Damn. As irritated as I had been while it was all going down, I couldn't help but feel for this guy at what had to be a low point of his entire life. I tried to think of something, anything to break the unbearable cringe of it all. And I started babbling. "Dude, you were doing everything right. Fuck her. She was crazy. I mean, look at you! I have no idea what her problem was... I'd fucking do you in a second."

OH HOLY FUCK WHAT DID I JUST SAY? How is it possible I could make an already-unbearably embarrassing moment a thousand times worse??!?

"Shit," I said, desperate to backpedal. "That's... totally not what I mean. I just... you... shit."

Well, I guess it broke the ice. Romeo looked at me blankly for a beat, and then started laughing. Hard. Despite my humiliated stance, I soon joined him and we were barely able to stand.

"Oh God, stop, stop! I have to pee so bad I'm about to explode!" I desperately ran into the bathroom and pissed so hard I about drilled a hole in the porcelain. He used the break to wrap a towel across his waist. I came out and said, "OK. We almost had a situation. Better now. But why don't we go our separate ways."

He gave a quiet nod, and I slid back into my room.

Morning was only slightly less awkward. I saw him again as I was coming out of the shower; he was clearly ready to use the bathroom himself. It was an awkward side-by-side as we slid past each other. As I got my stuff together, I of course couldn't help but reflect on everything that happened, and decided to just be straightforward. I mean, it was a small town and a much smaller lodge... best to just deal with this directly and be done with it.

I gave him a decent amount of time to get himself together after his shower, then popped my head around the corner and knocked lightly. "Hey man, you have a second? I just wanted to clear the air." He was standing there shirtless. Damn. He looked good. He looked up at me and nodded. I went on: "Look, I'm... sorry how things went down last night. I totally wasn't trying to spy on you, or to creep out on you... I should've done something, said something so you knew I was there. I know... we'll be seeing each other, and I just didn't want things to be any more awkward. I'm... sorry, man."

He sighed heavily, looked up at me for a second, then down. He had somewhat of a defeated air to him. "Nah, man... it's fine. You didn't do anything wrong. It's just... shit. Just the perfect ending to a shity day. It didn't help that.... Shiiiiiiit. Talk about mixed signals! She was all over me, all night. And seemed like she was totally into it, but just never.... I mean, we can all change our mind, and I sure as Hell wouldn't force myself on anyone, but... damn."

"Sorry man. It just sucks. And I can't see what her problem was." I made damn sure not to comment again on how hot his body was.

"Yeah, it's been a long run of striking out. I don't get it. I don't think I'm, you know... ugly. And I'm not some jackass. But I am a guy with needs. And the last month I've been here, I haven't once gotten to first base. Damn, I mean... what's with this country? And it's not just first base, I haven't even gotten up to the plate yet."

I nodded, companionly. "I get it. I'm here on a program. None of the guys--none of them--have gotten close enough to even smell a girl, even though the whole fucking country is teaming with hotties. But every single woman ended up with some local guy within five minutes!"

He laughed. "Yeah... I admit, I'm not really a player. But I thought I had some kind of game. Damn!"

We both laughed. I leaned in and extended my hand. "I'm Noah, by the way."

"Jesse. Good to meet you." He had a nice strong handshake. "How long are you in the country for?"

"Here for a year, mostly studying Spanish, and picking up other stuff along the way. You?"

Jesse nodded. "I'm... just kinda playing it by ear. I decided to take a year or so off, wanted to see the world. I've had some things lined up, but now am just killing time. This place looked good on a map, so I made my way here. Not sure where to next, this is kinda the end of the road."

At this point, my stomach started making sounds, and we both laughed. I considered for a minute, and then made a decision. I'm usually more of an introvert, but I was enjoying this guy's vibe. "Well, Jesse, that's my body's way to telling me it's time for breakfast. Got plans? Wanna tag along?"

He did, and we ended up having a blast. He was... I dunno. We just had this connection. I was half-afraid he was going to be some sort of douchebag, a washed-out frat boy who hadn't grown up. But he wasn't anything like that. He was bold without being... cocky. He was interested in beer and women, of course, but interested in... like, everything. Intensely social, and great with everyone we met. It took only a few minutes and you felt like you were his best friend.

From breakfast, we grabbed some gear and made our way to the beaches at the edge of town. They were stunning, in ways I can't even describe. It was just the two of us, and we set ourselves up for the day. While the waves were nowhere near being surf-ready, they were more than enough for a couple of greenhorns just splashing around in the surf. I got rolled again and again, one time nearly being thrown back onto the sand. Jesse didn't fare much better. We both had to drop our trunks to shake out the sand.

In the daylight, my initial impression of him was definitely confirmed; my buddy had an amazing body. Tall and strong. Not overly defined, just real. Revealing real strength. Covered lightly with hair that was splashed across his pecs and ran down to his crotch. He oozed casual, confident masculinity. In some ways, he'd be like the perfect surfer dude, but he was... rougher. More rugged in his look.

I was a good match for him. In comparison, I was slightly shorter, with what I'd call a swimmer's build. Still athletic, but just a tighter build than Jesse's. I had a bit more hair. My last girlfriend had insisted on me shaving my balls, but here in Costa Rica I figured fuck that shit. I'm much more of a guy-next-door kind of guy--the perfect example of a corn-fed guy from the Midwest.

When we weren't getting pummeled by the waves, or drinking the beer we had picked up in town, we fell into an easy conversation. It was... great. I'm not usually a big talker, but Jesse just had a way about him, you know? I think it helped that he was essentially a complete stranger, completely untied to any of the drama in my life. I could... talk to him. It felt safe. It helped that he was a great guy. He didn't talk shit about anyone or anything, just had this exuberance about him. And he was surprisingly thoughtful. He had ideas about things... things I'd never thought about. Encouraging, and able to see how things would play out.

From his stories, his mannerisms, I could tell that he was intensely physical--the kind of guy who would climb over a mountain just because it was there. Or, tussle with his buds... or stop everything to throw around a ball. We shared a love of baseball, and he laughed hysterically when I told him my attempts to try to explain the game to the Costa Rican family I was living with. And, he was much more into physical touch. This was weird for me. Again, from growing up in the Midwest, guys didn't touch each other for anything, ever. But Jesse punctuated his stories with playful punches to my arm, pats on my back, and more.

That stuck with me. His confidence. His familiarity. His casual, completely unforced, expansive masculinity. So different from my stoic upbringing.

The hours drifted by, and we never for a second got tired of each other's company. I don't know when I've had such a good time before. With basic anonymity, I felt free to be myself. Not worry about the long-term, but just savor the moment. And... it really built up my confidence hanging out with Jesse. It was like he was seeing me as the best version of myself, like he thought I was somehow this incredible guy. He laughed at my jokes. Listened to my stories. Instinctively took my side as I talked about things. But... he pushed me, too. Got me to think about things I hadn't thought of before. Urging me not settle, but to stay true to myself. We covered everything, relationships, parents, life plans, most embarrassing moments...

...sex...

It was helped by the awkward way we met, but we had an endless, rolling conversation about sex, what it meant, what we were looking for. None of the puffed-up, one-upmanship with my buddies, but real talk.

It was the best day of my life.

I think the moment that captured everything about that day was when it got near dusk, and we were looking at the sun over the water, laughing about some stupid story I told. Not sunset, just that golden time of day, with wind and waves and me drinking the last of our beers. He had his left arm draped around my shoulders, his right patting my chest as he howled in laughter. I looked at him. His eyes. Brown, but golden in the light. His eyes laughing as much as he was. Golden. A million miles deep. Filling me up with his golden light....

Damn. That was probably weird... but at the moment, I felt like a million bucks. Like I was... like, glowing.

It was strange, that glow didn't really go away. We headed back to our rat-cage of a hotel, to clean up and hit the town nightclub. We had been excitedly talking about the evening's possibilities all day, and had worked things out as best we could to give each other privacy on the assumption we were both going to get lucky. Young guys in our prime, confident in total victory, and ready for a night of good food and cold beer, and a helluva lot more.

We popped out of our respective rooms at the same time, me in a fairly tight T-shirt that showed off my upper body to its best form. Jesse was wearing a tropical shirt, unbuttoned and hanging loosely around him, showing his perfectly sculpted chest with its brush of curly hair.

Fuck, we were hot!

Unfortunately, the action at the nightclub ... was not.

Again, there was hardly anyone in town, and any fool could have told us in advance that the "nightclub" would be a bust. There were a handful of other visitors--all guys. I think they were mostly German; the language barrier kept us from making much of a connection. The women who were there were primarily locals who were very obviously with their boyfriends, and pretty much engaged in levels of PDA that you could only find in a Latin beach bar at the end of the road.

Anyway, the music was blasting at the threshold of pain. It was a good Latin mix, but I hardly had the dance moves to do it justice. And I don't think anyone would win watching a clueless gringo gyrating in the middle of an empty dance floor.

Instead, Jesse and I sat at the bar, savoring seafood that had been caught that very afternoon. Jesus, that was good. We started with beer, but were quickly convinced to try the house specialty, some sort of rum punch that had a wicked kick.

After a while, Jesse and I went back outside, commandeering a bench on the beach, looking out as the moon rose and set the sea to sparkle. The wind was warm with a wet, heavy smell--likely we would be getting rain sometime tonight. The music floated around us, now at a reasonable volume.

In any other time, this would have been romantic scene right out of a movie. But instead of some hottie, I had Jesse.