From a distance, he appeared friendly. When we first spoke, he was keen to point out he ‘used to be American’, but was now, contrary to his dress, manner and accent – something altogether different.

‘Now I follow the laidback Tico way of living’, he insisted with a hint of desperation.
‘So’, he told me with a cold rigid smile, ‘I am no longer an ass-hole… like I once was.’
‘Like all Westerners are…,’ he added, before pausing to say: ‘like you’.
‘Really?’ I countered slow-wittedly. I was somewhat surprised at the tone of his small talk – having provisionally filed him – perhaps prematurely – under the heading of Nice Guy.
‘I assumed you were on holiday,’ I added, as an afterthought.

The near imperceptible twitch of his eye suggested he wasn’t on holiday.

He moved on to explain just how relaxed the locals were under any circumstances. He supported his argument less with concrete examples than a jaunty pose and insane grin with which the locals apparently greeted all tribulations. Thus far, I had not encountered this behaviour on the streets of the capital.