A Costa Rica Bar Crawl - Estilo Guanacasteco

A recent horseback riding trip took an unexpected turn - cowboy style, when I was visiting some friends in Liberia, Guanacaste.

I had been slipping my friend clues for weeks to let him know I would like him to ask his friend, who owns a large farm near Barrio La Cruz, if we could go horseback riding one day. After agreeing to my request, the day had finally arrived.

We took a taxi out to the farm, opening and closing random wooden and barbed wire gates along the muddy road. When we arrived, the two owners sat on stumps in the feeding pen, wildling away at anything they could reach (sticks, orange peels, their teeth, etc.). They were extremely humble despite being some of the richest men in Liberia thanks to their large land holdings.

As two friends saddled and prepared the horses, I sat with a third friend making small talk and feeding oranges to the purple-tongued cows that shared the pen with us. After two hours, we were finally ready to saddle up and be on our way.

After 15 minutes of strolling down the same road by which we had entered the farm, it began to rain heavily. We were conveniently directly in front of the neighborhood bar, Los Bragueros (which I was told means "the dirty underwear," but I am skeptical) so we covered up the horses and headed inside. Three beers later, the mini rainstorm had passed, so we hopped back on the horses and off we went.

I did forget to mention there were actually three horses, four people and one bicycle.

We continued around the outskirts of the small town for another 20 minutes until we reached a second bar. At this point I was beginning to realize that it probably wasn't just a coincidence. This bar, however, was a special bar.

In Costa Rica it is called a "clandestine", which, as it sounds, means a clandestine bar that continues to operate in a rural area without a proper license. The setting here was gorgeous with the sweeping neon green fields set against the deep bluish green of the hills in the distance. This time we stayed only to enjoy two beers each, and were back on whatever course we had started on.

At this point the friendly homes were fewer and far between, and the half-paved road turned to mud and puddles. So, of course, we decided to practice our trotting and galloping skills. Costa Rican horses are bred for their stylish footwork, and luckily you don't have to be a horse trainer to make it happen, it's more like autopilot.

As I began to wonder where we could be headed, it was soon revealed that our destination was yet another clandestine bar, of course. This one was really cool, and reminded me of the ghost town homes in the west that look like they were made out of pre-burnt wood. The outdoor seating area was covered with fresh palm leaves, half of them still bright green in color.

This time we got the super traditional treatment, of glasses filled with ice that was chipped off a breadbox sized ice cube. Oh yea, Costa Ricans drink their beer with ice. It grows on you.

One tradition that had been going on for well over 100 years at that particular bar was the use of the three outhouses, set precariously close to the seating area. If you have been following this story closely, you will understand me when I say that holding it was not an option. So I was the only one in our party of four desperate enough to test out the turn of the century facilities. Ick! No need to dredge up that memory any further.

When we left this pleasant little 1800s hovel, we were met with the setting sun at our backs, which soon dropped to nothing, leaving us in utter darkness. All additional light sources were blotted out by the dense tree cover on either side of the road, which made me silently relive the story of the headless horseman in my mind.

In keeping with the theme of the night, we tried out one last clandestine bar on our way home, but the owner was already enjoying an alcohol induced slumber, and we were met with unpleasant and awkwardly dramatic gestures, yelling and barking (from his three dogs).

We raced home in the darkness, and let out sighs of relief one at a time as we slid off the saddles and returned the horses to their stables. My night did let out on a sad note however when after being instructed to feed the pigs, I was told I had just given them their last supper.

Annika moved to Costa Rica a year and a half ago. She specializes in travel writing about all varities of Costa Rica Information and Costa Rica Travel