Communication Is Not Always Key

No Comprende
Ingredients:
1 oz Tequila
1 oz Vanilla Stoli
1 oz Banana Liqueur
1 oz Ginger Ale
Banana and Maraschino Cherry, for garnish

Directions:
Fill a lowball glass with ice. Combine the tequila, Stoli Vanilla, banana liqueur, and ginger ale in a cocktail shaker, and shake. Strain into the glass. Garnish with a maraschino cherry and a banana wedge.


My greatest mentor once told me there’s nothing better in life than travel sex, preferably in a non-English speaking country. Taking a sleeping pill on my way to Costa Rica, I decided it might be time to experience this first hand. After all, what good was having a mentor if you never took her advice.

Landing in San Jose, I took in the smell of rich coffee and hot pavement, and felt more alive than I had in years. With my past left behind and my future on hold, I could simply exist in the moment as my mother had always done. Completely disoriented, I stepped into the littered city street, elated that I had no idea where I was going. With no agenda, I wandered through the crowded markets, taking it all in, particularly the tan blue-eyed men selling empanadas. Wanting to make the most of every moment, I ordered two beef empanadas, and flashed my most available smile. Romance was definitely in the air!

Three weeks later, I was drying up on a deserted beach in Panama after ten straight days of flooding. Still pale and un-romanced, I decided a sunburn might brighten the mood. Smearing my pale skin with coconut oil, I gleefully offered my body to the sun god as my girlfriend Salima read The Alchemist under an umbrella. While her naturally tan skin led Panamanians to believe she was a local, she was Indian and didn’t speak a word of Spanish. To their disappointment, she’d simply smile and point to the sunburned white girl for any basic questions. Luckily, my second-degree burn turned into a tanned peel whilst we trekked back to Costa Rica for our return flight.

Arriving in the small town of Santa Ana, I decided to soak in as much “pura vida” as possible on our last night. I had traveled enough to know that the moment I boarded the plane, my past, present and future would slide back onto the grid. Once I crossed the border, I’d be back on the clock. And while there had been nothing particularly “romantic” about the trip, there had also been nothing predictable, and for that I celebrated with a free shot of tequila from the local bartender.

“Es tu cumpleanos?” I asked the perfectly tanned bartender in my remedial Spanish confirming that it was his twenty-first birthday. I turned to my friend to translate the obvious. “It’s his twenty-first birthday,” I repeated licking the salt off my hand. “I love birthdays!” I squealed as I downed the shot.

Three rounds later, I was swimming in enough pura vida that I believed the tan blue-eyed twenty-one year old bartender had a crush on me. At least that’s what Salima thought. As he lined another round of drinks on the bar, I realized the advantage to small town romances. This young Costa Rican who had the refined good looks of a Calvin Klein model had absolutely zero awareness of it. Feeling lucky, I smiled in his direction, and then turned to my friend to shake the tequila off. “We are so going dancing tonight.”

That night, we squeezed into a local deli turned nightclub where Roberto, my Spanish-speaking bartender, quickly pulled me onto the dance floor. Without warning, I started to sweat through my long-sleeve t-shirt that was fittingly, white. Dancing next to a row of deli meat, Roberto moved my hips to the music, and then pulled my long-sleeve shirt over my head. I looked around, uncomfortable in my black camisole, until he pressed his hand into my lower back with such authority that my hips gave way. Grinding to the music, the room started to fade until all I could hear was Shakira’s rhythmic moaning in a moment I was sure would pass for travel sex.

The next day, Roberto took me to a local ice cream parlor where we shared a perfectly uncomplicated strawberry ice cream cone. Communicating through looks and smiles. Through nods and touches. Through everything that made me feel like staying in this small town, at least for another week. When I finally stepped into the cab, I didn’t feel sad or lonely. It was impossible to. Roberto slid into the seat next to me, insistent on taking me to the airport. Driving through the city, I realized that the boy who had just turned twenty-one knew the value of going all the way.

As I made my way to the gate, I turned back to savor the last few moments with my crush. Roberto called out to me in a tender voice that I’ll never forget, and said the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. Only I couldn’t understand a single word he said.

Suggested Number of Drinks: