Goofy-grinned, with Imperial beers in hand, our group of 25 from Washington were among the thousands of ticos (Costa Ricans) and foreigners who had taken the afternoon off to check out Costa Rica’s massive two-week fiesta, Palmares.

After piling off of the buses, we mobbed through the first, more kid-friendly part of the festival — filled with dozens of carnival rides, street vendors and food huts. Especially popular is the “street meat” that you can buy on the side of the road — little shish kebabs skewered with grilled pieces of what is supposedly pork but what good-hearted ticos joke is actually gato (cat).

Beyond the kiddie section, the party gears up to the older crowd, with the famous Palmares bull ring, a half-dozen beer stands stockpiled with Costa Rica’s best, and five different nightclubs competing for attention with thumping electronica and reggae.

Seats for the bullfight ran at an affordable 1,500 colones, or $3 apiece. The ring was set up stadium-style with 10 or so rows of seats circling around the upper level, looking down over a dirt-floored arena. Vendors meandered through the crowd, offering boxes of fried chicken and shots of hard alcohol as if they were hot dogs and Cracker Jacks.

Three matadors, wearing white, silver-sequined costumes emerged, dragging their equally flashy hot pink capes along the dusty surface of the plaza. The crowd roared as the gate latch was released and the enraged bull erupted into the plaza.

After nearly gouging one of the Elvis look-alikes, ropes flew through the air and lassoed the torro from horn to hoof, dragging him back into his stall to prepare for the second half of the show.

To my surprise and mild horror, young men from the audience began to file downstairs, reappearing at the edge of the ring on the lower floor. The next thing I knew, I was the one and only girl out of 70 or so ticos and Washington gringos hopping the protective gate to enter the ring.

They started us off easy with a sweet little dinky donkey, but as horns got progressively bigger and the beasts bulkier, four bulls later we found ourselves running for our lives from a monster the size of a VW bug.

After capturing the final bull, the men then brought out a gigantic stiffly woven rope net and, in the spirit of Palmares tradition, began launching people into the air with it. Of course, since I was the only thing with breasts in the ring, the ticos began to chant “Chica, chica, chica,” beckoning me to hop on top of the net.

A sissy when it comes to heights, I tried declining politely, but when an entire stadium full of people is cheering, you really don’t have a choice. So the guys boosted me up and I slithered out to the center of the net. Next thing I know, I am a legend flying literally 20 feet in the air in the center of the Plaza de los Torros.

Cucaracha (cockroach) tally: 23 (with one the size of a small bird counting as two).

Reach contributing writer Megan Taylor at features@thedaily.washington.edu.