Jeepers Creepers

Many might expect immediate travel dangers of sexual harassment and kidnapping to come from gang-bangin’ locals involved in the trafficking of drugs and/or sex.

Well, beyond a few Tico’s yelling horribly pronounced phrases of: “Hey baby” “Me love you long time” “You’re beautiful!” I’ve had no such problems with the locals. Actually, the closest I’ve come to any concerns of sexual harassment and possible half-assed attempts at kidnapping derived from fellow foreigners.

Manuel Antonio’s Love-Seeking Lebanese:

I was growing tired of the beach scene and decided I wanted to go for a hike. The national park was going to close soon; so, limited to non-governmentally protected regions, Kelly, Jeremy and I headed toward the free-entrance woods that lay about one mile from the beach.

I was walking slightly ahead of Jeremy and Kelly along the water (you had to walk the beach to reach the rainforest), when Afif, a 60-year-old Lebanese retiree, stopped me for some seemingly small-talk conversation.

“No shoes for you either, hm?” the shirtless, beer bellied old man bellowed with a smile on his face.

“Nope, you don’t need ‘em here,” I said, while trying to hustle down the beach to beat the rain.

He was relentless, though, and kept at it.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“Pennsylvania,” I replied shortly, still shuffling.

“Ah, American girl,” he said, with a smile.

By this point, Jeremy, my self-proclaimed mother for the trip, was already sprinting up to me ready to punt this old man across the beach if he was causing any problems.

The man continued to introduce himself as Afif and told me about how he used to run a company that sold ladies’ handbags. He was apparently on his way to becoming a world traveler and was in Costa Rica for vacation.

Kelly, Jeremy and I conversed with him for a bit more about his past work and travel stories. He seemed to have many and they were all fairly interesting.

He described the beauty of Lebanon and bragged about how great the food is. When I told him I worked at a restaurant that served that kind of food (Megdraa, Falafel, Zatar, Tabouli being my personal favorites), he took my hand and, with glee, exclaimed, “Let’s go! You all must come with me.”

I laughed along thinking he was kidding. When he kept tugging, I asked where he wanted to go. He then offered to take us all out for some Lebanese food at a restaurant in front of his hotel-, which was right off the beach. We were all slightly uneasy, and Jeremy was silently, but largely, gesturing a big NO behind Afif.

Kelly and I asked for a minute with Jeremy and we told him we’d go to the restaurant with him since it was right off the beach, we love free food and it had already begun raining.

However, once we started walking he held my hand. I thought that was weird. But then sort of naively slapped myself for being so culturally insensitive; after all, that could be perfectly acceptable in Lebanon. But, when Afif continually offered for us to enjoy the food in his room instead and began stroking my hand, Kelly and I gave each other the silent nod. We were breaking away as soon as possible.

We told him we’d only go to the restaurant. After much arguing, he agreed. We reached the restaurant; he said he was going to his room to grab some Zatar.

He told us to sit down and wait.

We said okay.

He went to his room.

We sprinted down the beach as soon as he was out of sight.

Maybe Afif was being sincere and wasn’t going to slip rohypnol into our plates of Zatar. However, after my receiving strange vibes, uncomfortable offers and awkward hand massages, Kelly and I weren’t too eager to stick around to find out.

WILL ADD THE STORY OF THE MONTEZUMA CREEPER LATER WHEN THE INTERNET IS COOPERATING.