I awoke before 8 o'clock. My flight was leaving just after noon and our personal hostel taxi was already scheduled to pick me up at 10am. My suitcase and guitar were already packed. I had no memory of packing them last night.
I wondered why I would have packed in such a rush when suddenly all of the events from the previous night rushed back to me: the motorcycle chase, the man with the knife, the glint of a gun, the stolen backpack and the final frantic sprint to the door that ended with me bursting in the door screaming and receiving a blank and emotionless stare from Jon, the hostel owner. I didn't have much hope for him, but I thought that today we could talk about it.
All of my anger and adrenaline from the assault disappeared overnight. That morning I felt small, scared and confused. Something had changed inside of me, and I knew I would never feel right in Costa Rica anymore. I wished my flight back to the USA had been one-way, as I had no desire to return to Castle Tam or Costa Rica. I needed a morning shower to clear my head so I walked from my room across the small lobby to the nearest shared bathroom; the same lobby where I had burst in angry last night. I stepped into the bathroom, took off my shirt, and then realized in my bewildered, dazed state that had forgotten to bring my towel with me. I still had my shorts on, and looked back into the lobby to see if any guests were around. It was clear so I quickly dashed to my room for a towel. With towel in hand, I returned to the bathroom.
At that moment Jon walked through the lobby. Unlike the previous night, he did not stare at me blankly, but came straight up to me with a grim, dark look on his face. He stopped no more than a foot in front of me, and said in a controlled but unmistakably angry tone:
"Why aren't you wearing a shirt inside?"
I was unfazed. After months of virtual silence between the two of us save for updates on new guests, he had not stopped me in the middle of the lobby for a military lecture on appropriate dress code. Whatever bad blood had been building up between us over the past few months was about to be spilled at that moment. Oddly, although we were seething, we still stayed professional and kept our volume down so as not to disturb guests. Our conversation was over a year ago, but I remember it well.
"Oh, C'mon! This is not about my shirt!"
He snapped, "What was all that noise about last night??"
"I was robbed right outside the door last night by two men! No more than 50 meters from the door. I was running inside from a motorcycle!"
There was a pause. He was ready to explode but continued in the same tone.
"Look, I know you had a bad night, but this is a place of business, and you don't do that."
I thought to myself: Bad night...
Bad night!? A bad night is having a little argument with your girlfriend. A bad night is drinking a little too much and getting sick. A bad night is watching you football team lose after being ahead. A bad night is not being held up by two men with a knife and a gun, getting robbed and watching your life flash before you eyes. I didn't if he had been in the Navy. Military training doesn't mean you can't show some humanity. I hissed through closed teeth:
"Look, when you have knife in your face and someone's threatening your life, let me know if you'll be calm."
Jon didn't respond, and I didn't wait for his response. I walked past him towards the bathroom. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him turning after me with his hand raised up in a clenched fist. For a moment, I thought we might brawl right there in the lobby of Castle Tam; but he turned back and marched the opposite direction through the lobby. I finished my shower and returned to my room to wait the final 20 minutes in silence before the taxi driver arrived.
I had one suitcase and my guitar for the short Christmas trip back to the USA. I briefly considered gathering my other bags and leaving Castle Tam forever, never to return again; but my stubbornness told me to wait and decide when I returned in January. I was still by title the "manager" and had a set of hostel keys, access to the safe and the passwords to our online resources such as email, website and booking engines. Surely Jon wouldn't change the locks or passwords while I was gone...
Why had things turned out so bad? I thought on it later. When we started the place in April we planned to make it a Costa Rica success and I would carry our legacy on to a partner hostel in Europe. Now I felt almost as unsafe inside these walls as I did outside where I got robbed. Instead of support from a friend, I received more aggression and someone who seemed to think it was my fault for getting robbed.
The taxi was here. I needed to go home and forget Castle Tam and Costa Rica for a while.
I wondered why I would have packed in such a rush when suddenly all of the events from the previous night rushed back to me: the motorcycle chase, the man with the knife, the glint of a gun, the stolen backpack and the final frantic sprint to the door that ended with me bursting in the door screaming and receiving a blank and emotionless stare from Jon, the hostel owner. I didn't have much hope for him, but I thought that today we could talk about it.
All of my anger and adrenaline from the assault disappeared overnight. That morning I felt small, scared and confused. Something had changed inside of me, and I knew I would never feel right in Costa Rica anymore. I wished my flight back to the USA had been one-way, as I had no desire to return to Castle Tam or Costa Rica. I needed a morning shower to clear my head so I walked from my room across the small lobby to the nearest shared bathroom; the same lobby where I had burst in angry last night. I stepped into the bathroom, took off my shirt, and then realized in my bewildered, dazed state that had forgotten to bring my towel with me. I still had my shorts on, and looked back into the lobby to see if any guests were around. It was clear so I quickly dashed to my room for a towel. With towel in hand, I returned to the bathroom.
At that moment Jon walked through the lobby. Unlike the previous night, he did not stare at me blankly, but came straight up to me with a grim, dark look on his face. He stopped no more than a foot in front of me, and said in a controlled but unmistakably angry tone:
"Why aren't you wearing a shirt inside?"
I was unfazed. After months of virtual silence between the two of us save for updates on new guests, he had not stopped me in the middle of the lobby for a military lecture on appropriate dress code. Whatever bad blood had been building up between us over the past few months was about to be spilled at that moment. Oddly, although we were seething, we still stayed professional and kept our volume down so as not to disturb guests. Our conversation was over a year ago, but I remember it well.
"Oh, C'mon! This is not about my shirt!"
He snapped, "What was all that noise about last night??"
"I was robbed right outside the door last night by two men! No more than 50 meters from the door. I was running inside from a motorcycle!"
There was a pause. He was ready to explode but continued in the same tone.
"Look, I know you had a bad night, but this is a place of business, and you don't do that."
I thought to myself: Bad night...
Bad night!? A bad night is having a little argument with your girlfriend. A bad night is drinking a little too much and getting sick. A bad night is watching you football team lose after being ahead. A bad night is not being held up by two men with a knife and a gun, getting robbed and watching your life flash before you eyes. I didn't if he had been in the Navy. Military training doesn't mean you can't show some humanity. I hissed through closed teeth:
"Look, when you have knife in your face and someone's threatening your life, let me know if you'll be calm."
Jon didn't respond, and I didn't wait for his response. I walked past him towards the bathroom. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him turning after me with his hand raised up in a clenched fist. For a moment, I thought we might brawl right there in the lobby of Castle Tam; but he turned back and marched the opposite direction through the lobby. I finished my shower and returned to my room to wait the final 20 minutes in silence before the taxi driver arrived.
I had one suitcase and my guitar for the short Christmas trip back to the USA. I briefly considered gathering my other bags and leaving Castle Tam forever, never to return again; but my stubbornness told me to wait and decide when I returned in January. I was still by title the "manager" and had a set of hostel keys, access to the safe and the passwords to our online resources such as email, website and booking engines. Surely Jon wouldn't change the locks or passwords while I was gone...
Why had things turned out so bad? I thought on it later. When we started the place in April we planned to make it a Costa Rica success and I would carry our legacy on to a partner hostel in Europe. Now I felt almost as unsafe inside these walls as I did outside where I got robbed. Instead of support from a friend, I received more aggression and someone who seemed to think it was my fault for getting robbed.
The taxi was here. I needed to go home and forget Castle Tam and Costa Rica for a while.
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