Lord knows, Maribel Ortiz has never asked much of this world. Yet here she is, back in La Chorrera, back where it all started. It’s all so dirty, so low, so final. So many gringos have passed through her bed. So many promises.

Every morning Mari leaves the room she shares with her sisters, takes a cold shower, makes her mom breakfast, then looks out the window to see what she will need to wear. Today the skies are dark, and fat drops are flying into rusty metal buildings, turning the street outside into a milkshake of mud and water.

Inside, Mari’s eyes are wet with tears. Her sisters say Mari has been crying a lot lately. Ever since she’s come back to her past life. Ever since her boyfriend “abandoned” her.

Mornings are the worst. These are the moments when La Chorrera, a forgettable little city on the other side of the Panama Canal, feels like it could be the end of the line.

“If this is what Dios wants for me, then … ”

She buries her smooth dark face in her hands, her voice becomes a whisper. People don’t believe Mari when she tells them she’s over 40 and never married. She’s still beautiful, and this morning she’s wearing new Reeboks, jeans and a tight black top, gifts from a lover.

“I ashamed to be alone,” she says.

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San Jose Costa Rica - I’m in the middle of another liquid lunch at El Patio when the waiter checks in.

“Listo senor?”

“No, traigame otra cuba libre por favor.” I tell him.

My table’s near the street. An odd assortment of mostly light-skinned people pass by: gringos, ticos, bums, old men hustling Cubans.

I have mixed feelings about San Jose. There’s danger and filth on every street corner. Still, it feels good to be back. The air is cool, the women stunning, and I’ve just found “Ask The Dust,” over at Mora Books.

I caress the worn paper cover as if it was an old lover. It cost me 3000 colones. That’s about $7. Cheap here. But in Nicaragua I could get a bottle of Flor de Cana, and still have enough cash left over to rent Daniel Ortega’s stepdaughter for the night.

As silly as it sounds, I need this book, and all the rum. It’s keeping me from getting angry with the dark-skinned Nica who’s holding up my lunch.

When she finally arrives, Nita’s bristling with energy. She drapes a leather pouch over the chair, takes off her wrap-around stripper shades, sits, and folds her arms across her chest.

“You’ve changed.” she says

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So I’m working on RSS feeds when I come across this:

Biracial caramel BBW Beauty - Open to Travel

I know. Sounds almost too good to be true.

For only $1k plus travel expenses, Vee, a mixed race BBW, promises to rock your weekend in the Caribbean. I don’t know how she came up with the thousand dollar price tag. Maybe she’s charging by the pound.

In fairness, the airlines do have new weight restrictions. If you plan to stay longer with Vee the price goes up. Which is fair. No doubt she’s as good in bed as she is beautiful. Although you may have a fight on your hands for the last Dove Bar.

It could get ugly. And you want your vacation to be relaxing. So my advice is travel solo. It’s easy to meet women of color south of the border. There’s absolutely no reason to drag a girl with low blood sugar along.

A thousand dollars goes a long way in Central America, South America, and the Caribbean. For the price of a nice dinner, a couple of mojitos, and a new pair of shoes the local girls will follow you anywhere.

On the net - Craigslist