Last night I went to a brothel. I had already heard of the Hotel Del Rey in San Jose when Marcela, my Costa Rican drinking amiga for the evening suggested that we pop into the Hotel for a quick look at the local prostitutes, as the taxi driver that brought the Australians and me back from the golf course earlier in the week had recommended it as a great place to go for a night out on a Monday - he had clearly misunderstood me when I asked him where was a good place to go to drink with locals.
A picture tells a thousand words, but unfortunately I don't have any photographs of the first (and last) brothel I have visited in my life, as when Marcela asked four ladies of the night if she could have her photo taken with them as a souvenir for me, they were unsurprisingly not overly keen.
What I can say from my ten minutes in the Hotel Del Rey, is that it had a bar and casino area filled with about 100 lycra-clad ladies of questionable morals, 30-40 sleazy men of questionable marital statuses and was generally a little seedy and distasteful.
The lovely Marcela and I had one quick Imperial and left for another pub.
Marcela and I drinking Imperials
.svg.png)
