Playa Negra wasn’t untamed, I saw more white tourists than locals by far. At the Hotel Playa Negra, we’d often stop by for an espresso, and it was funny to me to see American families sitting at the pool not but 50 feet from the ocean. The food was outstanding, and everything was probably decently priced for a resort area but didn’t feel like our dollar was getting stretched more than at home. 2$ for an espresso, 10$ for dinner (local products and so so good), 35$ for surfing lessons, 65$ a night for the bungalow. No complaints, because it definitely wasn’t a bank breaker.
Walking home, darkness slowly crept over the ocean. My board shorts were still wet as I sipped the last few drops of espresso. Adam and I headed home. It was dark, and the walk back home was slightly terrifying. We had trouble zeroing in on the trail but made it through our two barbed wire crossings without incident. We were getting eaten alive, mosquitoes were dancing on our skin, DEET was at the bungalow, and we decided to skip malaria prophylaxis.
“Dude we need to get the fuck outta here.”
In the trees, flickers of lights could be seen. Manuel eventually told me little bio-luminescent bugs were active at night, that was a first for me, wish I got a picture…
I sat and drank an Imperial beer while reading that night, then head off to bed.