Life on the beach... is different

Beach Life: that's what Monique and I have been discussing these last couple of days.

Yesterday I learned that Friday nights are used by the locals to recuperate from Thursdays festivities and rest up for Saturdays extravaganzas. We went to Las Olas to dance again and it was barren, with the exception of Juatu, Jose, and locals with nothing better to do. The dance floor was empty. Recalling the events of the previous night, Juatu simply told me, "I want to see you move" (apparently I dance like "una negra real") I laughed and told him I wanted to see his life. With the help of Jose and Alejandro, Juatu painted a powerful picture of life on in Samara, where drugs and alcohol are just as much of a staple as rice and beans:

•  Jose is 18. He moved from San Jose to get a job as a janitor and make money. He lives on his own with a couple friends and smokes nightly. 
• Juatu was introduced to me as an "island thug." Apparently along with his 4 brothers he runs the beach? 
• Alejandro moved from Colombia to sell handmade crafts. He is permanently scarred from  elbow to belly button because he stepped on land mine. He uses his profts to pay his rent and buy materials,  then he sends the rest to his parents back home. 

Every weekend different people come to the beach only to leave within a few days. Relationships aren't lasting and everyone lives for the moment. If you aren't teaching surf or kayak lessons, selling artesanias, or running a soda, there's little legit work to do... but they love and appreciate the life and don't seem to want to trade it...