Costa Rica

Day 1: Earthquakes, tiny planes, and a jungle lodge

We became interested in Costa Rica because it has some of the most genuinely ambitious environmental policies in the world — the kind that make other countries look like they’re barely trying. It has dedicated over 25% of its land as national parks and protected areas (for comparison, the US is at about 13%), maintains extremely high standards for ecotourism that actually mean something, and has made organic farming the norm rather than the exception. We’re confident that our travel dollars will be put to excellent use here, supporting conservation rather than contributing to the problem.

While doing our research for this trip, we read about countless beautiful places to visit in Costa Rica — cloud forests, volcanoes, Caribbean beaches, mountain towns — but the one that genuinely excited us the most was the Osa Peninsula on the remote southwestern Pacific coast. This peninsula is home to some of the planet’s most incredible biodiversity, hosting roughly 2.5% of the world’s species on just 0.001% of its surface area, which is the kind of math that makes biologists weep with joy. It’s also home to Corcovado National Park, which has a well-deserved reputation for its unwavering, sometimes militant commitment to protecting its fauna and flora. Because the peninsula is fairly remote — you can’t just drive there on a whim — it attracts only a small number of like-minded visitors who are genuinely interested in nature rather than Instagram opportunities. That sounded exactly right to us, so that’s where we decided to spend most of our time.

We arrived in the capital city of San José yesterday evening and spent the night at a perfectly nice hotel where we were abruptly rattled awake at 5 AM by a nearby 5.2 magnitude earthquake. Nothing like a literal wake-up call to remind you that you’re in a highly volcanic area where earthquakes are common enough that locals barely react. Welcome to Costa Rica! Today we took a small plane — and we mean small, as in eight-passenger, hope-you’re-not-claustrophobic small — to Drake Bay at the northern tip of the Osa Peninsula. The views during the flight were spectacular enough to distract from the turbulence.

We’re staying at the Tranquilo Lodge, and we can already tell it’s going to be perfect for us. It’s an adult-only lodge perched on a steep jungle hillside with sweeping ocean views that make you want to just sit and stare for hours. The food is exceptional, and the grounds attract an impressive array of wildlife even without leaving the property. The lodge has a particularly interesting backstory: its French owners bought the place about four years ago and spent a full year lovingly renovating it. They finally opened to guests and had a successful three months before COVID forced them to shut down for over a year. It must have been devastating. But it’s abundantly clear that this place is a genuine labor of love for them — you can see it in every thoughtful detail and in how much joy they get from seeing their guests happy.

The menu is the creation of one of the owners, who previously worked as an executive chef in the United States and clearly knows what he’s doing. The food is both delicious and sustainably prepared, using only ingredients grown on the property or purchased from a carefully selected handful of trusted local growers who share their environmental values. No shortcuts, no compromises. It’s exactly the kind of place we were hoping to find.

• Hotel: The Tranquilo Lodge

Day 2: Sexy boots and deadly snakes

After a relaxing day spent exploring the hotel grounds and recovering from our early-morning earthquake wake-up call, we were ready for a bit of adventure. We joined a guided night hike through the nearby jungle to check out all the small nocturnal animals that are considerably more active after dark. Our guide met us at our hotel and immediately handed us muck boots to wear — approximately three sizes too large, impossible to walk gracefully in, and oh so sexy! Nothing says “prepared jungle explorer” quite like shuffling along in oversized rubber boots that make squelching sounds with every step.

Our guide turned out to be amazingly good at spotting animals in the darkness, which is a skill we deeply appreciate but cannot comprehend. The only competition he had was from an eagle-eyed five-year-old kid in our group who somehow spotted things before the adults with their expensive headlamps did. As we scrambled up and down muddy slopes and waded through shallow streams — grateful for those ridiculous boots — we got to see an impressive variety of wildlife: frogs, toads, snakes, birds, spiders, and countless fascinating insects. Here are just a few of the highlights that made us glad we ventured out into the dark jungle:

• A terciopelo (or fer-de-lance) snake — the deadliest snake in Costa Rica and one of the most dangerous in all of Central America. According to our guide, delivered in the calm tone of someone stating a simple fact, one bite would prove fatal unless treated within five hours. Bea, being practical, asked how far it was to the nearest hospital. The answer: “Not within five hours.” There was a brief moment of silence as we all processed this information. From then on, every single person in our group became significantly more cautious about where they placed their feet, and we all developed a newfound appreciation for those sexy, protective muck boots. Suddenly they didn’t seem so ridiculous anymore.

• A cricket in the middle of molting, actively shedding its exoskeleton right in front of us. We got to watch it before and after the transformation, which was surprisingly beautiful and slightly unsettling in the way that watching something escape its own body probably should be. Nature is both amazing and occasionally creepy.

• A stick insect that was so convincing in its mimicry that we almost didn’t believe our guide when he pointed it out. Who knew that something that looks exactly like a twig could be so cool?

• Frogs and toads in remarkable variety. One type of frog in particular sounded uncannily like the laser beams in a vintage computer game: “piu piu piu.” We followed the sound to its source like kids chasing an ice cream truck, and found a small pond inhabited by several little frogs that kept inflating like balloons each time they emitted that sound. Those frogs were ridiculously cute. So were the tiny tree frogs — some smaller than an inch (2.5 cm) — that we spotted perched delicately in the foliage. The cane toads, on the other hand, were more hideous than cute, though equally fascinating because they’re absolutely huge (up to nine inches or 23 cm). They looked like they’d been hitting the gym.

More info:

• Night tour: arranged by hotel

Day 3: The beach that ruined our plans

Our goal for today was ambitious: hike the entire length of the Drake Bay trail, systematically exploring remote beaches along the way like responsible travelers with a plan. Our plans changed spectacularly when we reached Cocalito Beach after walking for about an hour from our hotel. This beach was so ridiculously perfect that we just couldn’t continue with our mission. We tried. We really did. We had a brief discussion about responsibility and seeing other beaches. Then we looked at the water again and abandoned all pretense of having self-discipline. We ended up spending the entire day there, and we regret nothing.

The trail to Cocalito isn’t particularly difficult — no technical climbing or dangerous river crossings — but it does require some effort and commitment regardless of where you’re staying. You have to actually want to get there. And that’s exactly what keeps it pristine and relatively empty for those of us who do make the effort. It’s nature’s way of filtering for people who appreciate unspoiled beaches enough to work for them.

As the trail finally emerged from the dense, lush jungle, we found ourselves standing on a beach that looked like it had been designed by someone with impossibly high standards. Soft white sand, large shade trees offering perfect shelter from the tropical sun, and not another soul in sight. The Pacific Ocean stretched before us in the most inviting shade of aquamarine, lapping gently at the shore in waves so mellow they seemed almost apologetic for disturbing the sand. We waded in immediately and absolutely loved the bathtub-warm water. We spent an embarrassingly long time just floating in the ocean, doing absolutely nothing productive, and it was glorious.

When we finally convinced ourselves to emerge — mostly because we were getting wrinkled like prunes — we explored the tidepools scattered among the rocks that bracket both ends of the beach. Each pool was like a tiny self-contained ecosystem, teeming with small fish, sea anemones, and various creatures we couldn’t identify but found fascinating anyway. We also had the pleasure of spotting numerous vividly colored birds throughout the day. At one particularly magical moment, two scarlet macaws landed on a tree just a few meters from where we were standing. Seeing these massive, brilliant red birds up close — close enough to see individual feathers — was genuinely thrilling in a way that’s hard to articulate.

We also got to watch a group of spider monkeys swinging through the jungle canopy with impressive acrobatic skill, including a mother carrying a baby on her back while navigating branches that didn’t look sturdy enough to support them. The baby held on for dear life while the mother moved with complete confidence. It was both adorable and mildly anxiety-inducing to watch.

By the time we reluctantly left to head back to our hotel, we’d completely forgotten about the other beaches we were supposed to visit. Cocalito had won. Sometimes the best travel experiences come from abandoning your plans and just staying where you’re happy.

Day 4: No snacks allowed (seriously)

Today we visited Corcovado National Park, which occupies a massive chunk of the Osa Peninsula where we’re staying and has a well-deserved reputation as one of the most biodiverse places on Earth. To reach the park entrance, we boarded a small boat from the beach near our hotel and spent about an hour enjoying the pleasant ocean breeze and stunning coastal scenery as we traveled south. Watching the jungle-covered coastline slide by from the water gave us a good sense of just how remote and wild this area really is.

When we arrived at the Sirena entrance to the park, it immediately became apparent just how seriously — almost militantly seriously — the rangers take the preservation of this place. Every single backpack gets thoroughly inspected to make absolutely sure no food or single-use plastics make it into the park. They’re not messing around. One person in our group, with genuine curiosity, asked why food was completely disallowed. The ranger’s answer was both simple and compelling: it’s critically important not to alter the animals’ natural diet or behavior. In other parks, he explained, monkeys learn to approach tourists looking for handouts, which fundamentally changes their behavior and diet. But here in Corcovado, they maintain their natural patterns. The animals do what they’re supposed to do, eat what they’re supposed to eat, and basically act like wild animals rather than opportunistic beggars. It’s a small rule that makes a huge difference.

We walked for several hours through the park, covering a decent amount of ground while our guide somehow spotted animals we would have walked right past. He carried a powerful spotting scope and would set it up perfectly each time he found something, allowing us to see incredible detail that our eyes alone couldn’t have captured. The variety of wildlife was genuinely remarkable.

We saw a family of tapirs — including an adorable baby — wading contentedly through a shallow river, their strange elongated snouts perfectly adapted for jungle life. A group of coatis energetically dug for crabs in the sand and mud, working with the focused intensity of tiny excavators. A sloth rested on a tree branch in that distinctively sloth-like way that makes you wonder if they’re actually alive or just extremely convincing decorations. An orange-throated lizard inflated its brilliant orange throat pouch to ridiculous proportions in an attempt to intimidate a rival male — nature’s version of puffing out your chest. A snake slid slowly and purposefully across the forest floor, moving with that unsettling smoothness that snakes have perfected. A howler monkey scratched its back against a tree branch, looking deeply satisfied with life.

And that’s just scratching the surface of what we encountered. Every few minutes brought something new — birds we couldn’t identify, insects that looked like they belonged in a sci-fi movie, plants with impossibly large leaves. The sheer concentration of life in this park is almost overwhelming in the best possible way. It’s the kind of place that makes you understand why conservation matters and why some rules — like the no-snacks rule — are absolutely worth following.

• Corcovado Sirena tour: arranged by hotel

Day 5: Dolphins, caymans, and climate-fighting coconuts

While exploring the small town near our hotel — which consists of approximately three streets and a handful of shops — we came across a hand-painted sign advertising a tour of the mangrove forest by kayak. We like kayaking and we like mangroves, so we made the impulsive decision to book a tour on the spot without really researching it first. We’re so glad we followed our instincts, because this turned out to be the best day of our trip so far. It was just the two of us and our guide, Jimmy, who turned out to be enthusiastic, deeply knowledgeable about the local ecosystem, and excellent company. The kayaking itself was lots of fun, but Jimmy’s running commentary about everything we were seeing elevated it into something genuinely special.

We departed from the beach in town, paddling north along the Pacific coast. The water was surprisingly calm and fairly clear, allowing us to peer down and see huge schools of sardines moving in synchronized waves, plenty of red snappers cruising along the bottom, and a few jellyfish drifting by with their mesmerizing pulsing motion. The most exciting moment came when we unexpectedly crossed paths with a small pod of dolphins. We stopped paddling and just watched, completely entranced, as they gracefully submerged on one side of our kayak and surfaced again on the other side, their movements so fluid and effortless they made us feel clumsy by comparison.

As we continued north, Jimmy explained that the mangroves used to be directly accessible from the ocean, but that’s no longer the case due to coastal changes. Now a substantial sandbar separates the ocean from the marsh where the mangroves grow, which meant we had an unexpected challenge ahead. To access the marsh, we first had to land our kayaks on a beach with actively breaking waves — a maneuver that proved considerably more challenging than it looked. Jimmy patiently taught us how to time our approach carefully with a lull in the waves, then paddle as fast as humanly possible to reach the beach ahead of the next wave. We managed to execute this without capsizing, but only just barely. There was a moment when we thought we might tip, followed by relief when we didn’t. Then Jimmy and Eric carried our kayaks across the sandbar and into a calm lagoon on the other side, and we paddled toward the mangrove marsh.

We glided along the peaceful waters, checking out the dense mangrove roots around us and scanning constantly for wildlife. Jimmy identified several bird species for us, including some that are found exclusively in this specific region and nowhere else on Earth, which made spotting them feel like a genuine privilege. As we ventured deeper into the mangroves, we navigated waterways that sometimes narrowed dramatically to barely the width of our kayak, and occasionally seemed to disappear completely into thick marsh grass. We got extensive practice in the precise steering required for a tandem kayak, which was tricky, required actual teamwork, and turned out to be super fun once we stopped bumping into things.

We were gliding quietly along one of these narrow channels, congratulating ourselves on our improved steering, when we were startled by a sudden explosive splash just ahead. We saw a cayman that had just launched itself into the water from the bank! Our hearts briefly stopped. It was genuinely a bit scary in that primal “large reptile with teeth” kind of way. But the cayman submerged as we approached and completely ignored us, apparently having no interest whatsoever in capsizing kayaks or bothering tourists. We paddled past very carefully anyway.

Throughout the morning, Jimmy pointed out various useful and edible plants growing along the banks, occasionally reaching out to pick fruits for us to try. We snacked on coyol (similar to a lychee fruit, sweet and refreshing) and guaba pequeña, also known as monkey beans (housed in a pod shaped like a fava bean but containing sweet pulp instead of savory beans). We loved them both and made mental notes to look for them in markets. Jimmy also picked up several fallen coconuts during our paddle, which he carefully planted at the forest’s edge when we eventually returned to the beach. He explained that this small, simple action can help mitigate beach erosion caused by climate change, and he proudly pointed out many young trees at different stages of growth that he’s personally planted on previous tours over the years. Some were already several feet tall.

This genuine concern for nature and active participation in conservation is something we’ve encountered repeatedly from locals throughout our time in Costa Rica. It’s not just encoded in the country’s progressive policies or painted on signs for tourists — it’s deeply understood and actively lived by nearly everyone we’ve met. It gives us hope.

• Kayak tour: Néstor Rivera, +506 8455-8865 or kayaks.tours.cr@gmail.com

Day 6: Turtles, sharks, and dolphin escorts

Today we took a twenty-minute boat ride across Drake Bay to go snorkeling near Isla del Caño, a small island that takes conservation extremely seriously. The entire island is strictly protected as a biological reserve, meaning there are no human inhabitants whatsoever except for a few dedicated park rangers who presumably drew the short straw for “most remote office location.” The surrounding waters are part of the reserve as well, which means no fishing is allowed — not even catch and release. As a result, marine life absolutely thrives in these protected waters in a way that makes other snorkeling spots look disappointingly sparse by comparison.

We snorkeled at two different locations around the island and were rewarded with an impressive wildlife show. We saw an abundance of colorful tropical fish representing what felt like every color in the spectrum, two different species of sea turtles — olive ridley and hawksbill — gracefully gliding through the water, as well as several whitetip reef sharks cruising along the bottom with that casual confidence that apex predators have perfected. The sharks were beautiful but also just intimidating enough to keep things interesting.

We always enjoy spending time in the water — it’s kind of our thing — and today was absolutely no exception. The ocean was pleasantly calm and wonderfully warm, the perfect temperature for extended snorkeling without getting cold or needing a wetsuit. We had an excellent guide who knew exactly where to find the best wildlife concentrations and seemed to genuinely enjoy our enthusiasm for every turtle and fish we spotted.

As an added bonus that felt almost excessive given how good the day already was, we got to see more dolphins on our return journey. They appeared in our boat’s wake, apparently deciding to escort us back to our hotel while showing off their swimming skills and making our boat driver’s efforts look clumsy by comparison. Watching them play in the waves created by our boat, diving in and out with obvious joy, was the perfect ending to an already exceptional day.

• Snorkeling tour: arranged by hotel

Day 7: The art of doing absolutely nothing (with style)

We’ve been remarkably busy with activities and explorations since we arrived in Drake Bay — night hikes, beach adventures, national park treks, kayaking through mangroves, ocean snorkeling. On our last full day in the area, we made the executive decision to do exactly nothing ambitious. We opted to just relax and thoroughly enjoy our hotel, which turned out to be a great decision.

Settling into comfortable poolside lounge chairs at the hilltop palapa, we were treated to refreshing tropical drinks and absolutely sweeping views of the jungle canopy, the curving beach below, and the endless Pacific Ocean beyond. Whenever we felt too warm — which was often, because it’s the tropics — or wanted a little exercise to justify our existence, we went for a leisurely swim in either the freshwater pool or the saltwater pool, both kept at that perfectly cool temperature that feels refreshing without being shocking. One of the distinct perks of staying at a small boutique hotel rather than a massive resort is that we had both pools entirely to ourselves. No fighting for lounge chairs, no kids doing cannonballs, just us and the sound of the jungle.

We spent considerable time observing the impressive variety of tropical birds that visited the hotel grounds throughout the day. We identified some of them using a field guide we’d brought along, feeling mildly accomplished when we got one right, but more often we relied on hotel staff member Gonzalo, who was enthusiastically eager to teach us about the local species. The man knows his birds. We saw brilliant scarlet macaws flying overhead in pairs, toucans with their impossibly large beaks perched in nearby trees, a Cherrie’s tanager showing off its vibrant red plumage, black vultures circling overhead (slightly ominous but majestic), turkey vultures doing the same (less majestic, more awkward-looking), and many more species whose names we immediately forgot but whose colors we won’t.

By late afternoon, having successfully mastered the art of relaxation, we were ready for some proper pampering at the lodge’s spa. We got fabulous massages that made us question why we don’t do this more often back home. And afterward, we had a spectacular four-course dinner that was plated so beautifully we almost felt bad eating it. Almost.

Actually, the food has been consistently incredible during our entire stay at Tranquilo Lodge — like, “should we extend our trip just for the meals?” incredible. Here are some highlights that deserve special recognition:

• Homemade pasta with fresh local seafood caught that morning. The pasta was made by hand by the chef, and you could tell. So good we ordered it twice!

• Smoked trout, caught by a local fisherman in a nearby river and then smoked on-site by the hotel chef using traditional methods. The result was tender, flavorful, and absolutely amazing. We’re still thinking about it.

• Red snapper carpaccio, made from fish caught by fellow hotel guests during their fishing excursion just a couple of hours before we ate it. You literally cannot get fresher than that. The transition from ocean to plate was measured in hours, not days.

• Pejibaye soup. Pejibaye is a local fruit that grows precariously high up in palm trees with thorny trunks, making it genuinely difficult and somewhat dangerous to harvest, which explains why it’s considered something of a delicacy. The taste is unusual — somewhere between chestnut and squash, earthy and slightly sweet — and it really, unexpectedly works in soup form. We were skeptical at first and then immediately won over.

Day 8: Goodbye to paradise (but not forever)

Today is our last day in Costa Rica, which arrived far too quickly despite knowing exactly when it would come. After yet another amazing breakfast — the chef seems physically incapable of making mediocre food — we took a small plane back to San José, the capital city where this adventure began just over a week ago. The flight itself felt like a farewell tour: the plane followed the Pacific coast northward for a good stretch, giving us excellent aerial views of other coastal towns and beaches that we’d considered visiting during our trip planning. From above, we could see the dramatic coastline, the dense jungle extending inland, and countless other places we didn’t have time to explore. Then the plane banked inland toward the capital, flying over the mountains and thick jungle beyond, and we found ourselves already feeling nostalgic for a place we were still technically in.

We really enjoyed our time in Costa Rica — the wildlife, the conservation ethic, the genuine warmth of the people we met, the commitment to sustainability that pervades everything. But we also feel like we’ve barely scratched the surface of what this remarkably diverse country has to offer. We didn’t make it to the cloud forests of Monteverde, where mist rolls through the trees and biodiversity reaches almost absurd levels. We skipped the Caribbean coast entirely, with its distinct Afro-Caribbean culture and completely different vibe from the Pacific side. We never explored the active volcanoes in the north, or the surf towns that dot the coast, or the countless other national parks we read about but didn’t have time to visit.

Costa Rica is deceptively large and impossibly diverse — cloud forests and beaches, mountains and jungles, Pacific and Caribbean coasts, each with its own ecosystem and culture. A week barely lets you explore one corner properly, and we chose the Osa Peninsula. It was absolutely the right choice for us, but it’s also left us with a long list of places to return to.