Costa Rica is a place of Best Westerns, tanned Canadians, beaches the color of bleached cement, and waves that peel toward those beaches slowly. Pilar takes two planes from Champaign, Illinois to San José, rents a car, and meets her friend Hand in Playa Alta on the Pacific coast because she wants to sleep with Hand and Hand wants to surf. Planes and American imperialism make the world smaller; everyone is just a flight, or two, away.