Tranquilo Backpacker Hostel, San Jose, Costa Rica

French, German, Dutch, Swedish, Hebrew, Hungarian, Spanish and English, the accents and voices are my own exotic soundtrack. I loll in a hammock, coke in one hand, notes in the other and try to study for class. Playing dice at night, my educator Steve with his new beard and French Legion boots welcomes others to our group of merry gamblers. Soon he succeeds in getting a myriad of characters involved, most probably escaped from the pages of the Quiet American. There is:

The stocky, topless and extremely loud French man with his blonde lover on one arm and various beers, cigarettes and dice clenched in the free hand.

The lost Australian with dark tousled hair who moves from group to group with an air of intense bemusement.

A large bunch of French Canadians with exotic names and strange hairstyles. Their chief preoccupation seems to be that of tittering behind my back in unintelligible French.

The Hungarian thirty year old with his ravishing girl friend who is my age and apparently his lover and avid backgammon opponent.

Among all these I feel safe and secure for those that follow my BLOG will know that the intrigue passion and laughter (imagined or not) of a youth hostel appeal to my inner romantic and are the reasons I feel at home where others are so uncomfortable.