I was still at school when I began working at the reception desk of a hotel in Tamarindo. I wanted to improve my English and learn how to use computers. At first, it felt like a great opportunity.
I met tourists from many different places. The women liked me, I got along well with the men, and soon I was going out almost every night. I started drinking, smoking and using things I had hardly touched before. Life became one long party.
It did not last. I began arriving late for work. Then I was caught with one of the female guests, and the hotel dismissed me immediately. Without that income, paying for school became much harder. I was still spending too much money on nightlife, and eventually I had to leave school completely.
After that, everything seemed to go wrong at the same time. Nobody in tourism wanted to employ me. I worked as a bricklayer for a while before I finally found another hotel job, this time as a gardener.
The hotel is foreign-owned, like most hotels in Tamarindo. I have never met the owner. The people who own the business live in another country, while a manager handles the daily work. It feels impersonal, as if the workers and the hotel belong to two separate worlds. Still, the pay is better than what I earned laying bricks.
I have regretted the drugs and alcohol ever since. I have been clean for a year now.
I want to move forward and build a better future. Last year, I spent my first real savings on an English course in my town. Like most young people working in Tamarindo, I live in a village further away because land near the hotels has become too expensive.
Several people from my village joined the same course. We received a textbook and attended two hours of lessons every afternoon after work for a month. One day, an American came in and spoke so quickly that none of us could understand a word.
At the end, we all received diplomas, although we had not really learned anything. The certificate was worthless. The course took all my savings and left me no closer to speaking English.
This happens too often. People see that tourism workers need training and turn that need into a way of making money. Nobody seems to do anything about it. We workers often say that we should organise ourselves and protest, but then nothing happens. I know that is foolish, yet it is how things continue.
I have now registered for another course. I paid a month ago and have heard nothing since. I hope this one will not become another disappointment.
We need real training that gives us a future—not a diploma that says we learned something when we did not.
What stays with me most is my regret about the drinking and drugs. They cost me my first job and my education. I cannot change what happened, but I can tell other people what it did to my life.
If I could ask one thing of every tourist visiting Tamarindo, it would be this: help us keep the town free of drugs. Do not take part in that world, and tell young people my story so they understand how quickly a party can take away their future.