Quincy And The Queens Of Quepos

Quincy is a well-known man in this area of Costa Rica, and if you come here and haven’t met him around town, you may have seen his pot brownies for sale at la feria in Quepos. 

My introduction to Quincy was some years ago in a bar while with friends.  He was telling us these bizarre stories and talking about strange things finally accumulating in him asking me, “If I were a dog, what would you name me?”

Caught off guard, my reply was something inane while the responses to my Facebook post were more amusing.  My favorite contribution was, “I would name you spot, and then get some spot remover and make you go away.”

The conversation was so bizarre that I joined in the absurdity of it all by doing something I never do but have fantasized about – telling complete lies and tales about why I was in Costa Rica – I think something about being a documentary filmmaker on sharks with other ridiculous elaborations.      

Quincy’s pot brownies for sale at the farmer’s market with a sign that actually said, “POT BROWNIES” caught the attention of many visitors throughout the years, but the policia took a little longer to catch on that the “subjects” were selling pot brownies “in broad daylight”.  I heard last year that Quincy was arrested along with one other person after some residents complained.  They were released and it was noted that of the 37 brownies seized, 18 proved to contain marijuana.  Rumors have been heard that sometimes they are laced with other things, but I do not know if this is true.

This past Saturday, Anita gave me a ride to la feria so I could buy some fresh vegetables and fruit.  Almost immediately I ran into retired Tim (more on him in another post) who tells me I look more beautiful each time he sees me making me blush and a couple of friends who tell me they bought some of the brownies.  I’ve never had them myself but am amused they are for sale feeling that it has become something quintessentially Quepos. 

I wandered around la feria buying supplies to make salsa and salad, loading up the backpack I brought and stopping for una pipa along the way.  Anita and I parted ways and I continued through the streets of Quepos stopping at la tiendas looking at shoes and clothing while heavily armed with vegetables and fruits as if that would deter me from buying shoes.

“Naomi!” My name echoes out from a bar and I peer into the dark recesses unable to see who has called my name.  It is Quincy, and we say hello and chat while he explains his wife his selling the brownies because more money and profits are made when he isn’t there. 

I continue my silly shopping through Quepos – silly because I have a lot of bags and it is hot.  I push forward and am sad to see some of my favourite stores gone, including the jewelry store that I have been buying jewelry from for the past several years, each time getting a present for my mom for watching my kitty while I am gone.  Luckily I have the jeweler’s email but still, I want to scream, “Stop changing so much, Quepos!”  At least I wish it would stop changing in ways I do not approve of.

I walk to Pali, a larger and less expensive grocery store and buy more supplies.  I run into someone else at Pali and it occurs to me that I run into more people here than back at home.   Exhausted, I gratefully catch a taxi home and the taxi driver winces when he picks up one of my heavy bags while helping me out of the taxi.  Nuria laughs at me in her good-natured way when she sees my 3 bags of tomatoes, as if one would have been plenty.

Sometimes I can be a girl of excess. 

My stomach has reached Brazilian proportions again where I am suddenly feeling 3 months pregnant from excessive eating and drinking, much like during my travels to Brazil.  My good intentions of going to the beach are delayed hour by hour as I waddle around the cottage groaning at how full I am.  Somehow, I pull myself together enough to walk up the dreaded hill to meet my friends for sunset cocktails at Villa Roca.

Villa Roca is a gay hotel and I have gone there over the years to meet friends for happy hour.  I was there the night before, although it is a bit hazy. 

Walking down the famous crooked and uneven steps that rival Malta’s cursed steps, a man greets me enthusiastically explaining we met last night.

Apparently, I grandiosely declared I was “queen” of this place in a gay hotel full of queens.  It’s one hell of a way to be remembered.  There must have been some good banter between us the previous night because he goes on to explain with a disclaimer that he and I are really the same person.  He tells me he has heard what I did last night, that after cocktails at Villa Roca, I went out with some friends for dinner and ordered all of the appetizers on the menu with one sweeping gesture that I think may have included the entire menu page.  We also each ordered a main course. 

I wonder what I looked like to an outsider after dinner, waddling up and then down the hill back to the cottage that night.  I must have been quite the sight.

The Queen of excess has arrived.  It is no wonder my Brazilian bikini was suddenly a thing of horror the next day.

I see a couple of friends at the bar and another friend nearby and join some very fun people and chat with them, continuing the grandiose introduction of myself as Queen of Quepos and Princesa de Quepos and learning things about Colombian men I never knew, nor that there was actually a map for.  However, several friends are missing.  It took great effort for me to waddle up that hill and now they are MIA.  Where are they? 

It turns out that, in addition to copious amounts of wine and cocktails ingested during the day, small portions of the brownies had been consumed. They dropped out one by one, fading like the Costa Rican sunset and retreating to their rooms in various states of dissolution - except for one of the main contributors to the brownie fiasco, who sat laughing sporadically in a quiet yet riotous manner every time details of his fallen comrades were brought up.  His infectious laughter was the only contrary element to his otherwise innocent disposition complete with an imaginary halo orbiting his head.

The Queen of excess is impressed.