A smiling cashier welcomed me in the lobby. His arms were akimbo. He wore a polo shirt that read, “Refugio Herpetológico.”
“Welcome!” he exclaimed in Spanish. “How are you?”
I forced a smile and forked over my 3,000 colones — about $6. He handed me a receipt and escorted me through the gift shop, toward the Refugio’s main entrance. Then he pointed to a trim young man in the corner, also wearing a printed polo shirt.
“This is Marco,” said the cashier. “Your tour will start in a couple of minutes.”
Damn it, I thought. It figures.