So the week before last, I went on vacation. I know, I know. This thing might make it seem like my whole life is a vacation. Not exactly an inaccurate statement.
Landyn’s class schedule operates like a year-round school: 3 weeks on, one week off. This past week was his week off, so we hit the road with 6 of our friends to the Nicoya Peninsula of Costa Rica.
Our first stop: Montezuma.
The day began with a 4:45 wake-up call so that we could make it to our 6am bus out of San Jose. After bussing for 2 hours, we hit a port where we needed to vacate the bus and take a ferry boat across a bay. The alternative is to drive completely up, around, and down the entire peninsula, whereas this route allowed us to just cut across the water to the southern part of the peninsula, where Montezuma is located.
I was not hyped about getting on the boat. For whatever reason, the feeling of a big boat swaying really freaks me out but I love the feeling of a small speedboat zipping around a lake. Turns out the ride was actually very relaxing, and the land formations surrounding the bay made for a gorgeous voyage. There are few things more exciting than your first whiff of ocean air on a beach vacation; the seagulls diving around the railings, begging for a stray cheeto, the mountains, the Latin music playing on the boat, wind in my hair….yeah. That was pretty great.
An hour and a half later we hopped off the boat and got back on our bus (which, to my amazement, was stored away underneath the boat….I did not think the ferry was that big but hey, you go glen coco) and drove another hour through the jungle, basically. One more bus switch and 30 minutes later, we arrived in Montezuma.
It. Was. Hot.
The weather in my town on a daily basis is sunny and 75+ degrees, typically feeling warmer depending on how strong the Central Valley breezes are that day. I’ve adjusted to that heat, but this heat was on another level. The humidity, cloudless sky, and minimal breeze punched me in the face when I got off the bus. I don’t think I stopped sweating the entire time I was there.
We grabbed lunch, checked into our hostel, and hit the beach.
The water was perfect. Even though it’s the Pacific Ocean, and therefore ice cold up in the States, every beach we’ve been to here has the perfect temperature water. The sand itself was a little rocky in some areas, so we had to position ourselves wisely, but the waves and the surrounding views were stunning.
The downtown section of Montezuma was also perfect–just a touch of tourism, a lot of artisanal goodies set up on tables along the street, and plenty of friendly locals that made me feel like I belonged. It was more of a true Costa Rican beach town, rather than a tourist town.
The nightlife was actually rather poppin’ for being such a small town, and we wound up at a bar hosting an Open-Mic Night. Just when I think I’ve got the hang of this Costa Rica thing, something happens, almost like an idiosyncrasy (to me) of the culture, and I’m reminded that I’m a Gringa with a language barrier.
Case in point: I ordered a tequila lemonade. The waitress asked me if I wanted some mint. Now I’m a massive fan of all things mint, particularly mojitos. So when she offered this, I was pumped. I envisioned a tequila mojito with cute little mint leaves in the bottom of the glass, giving me all the vacation vibes I could ask for. When she came back and set this in front of me, I was at a loss for words.
Y’all. Go ahead, take a look. Take it all in. If that ain’t the most putrid looking alcoholic beverage you’ve ever seen in your life, you’re lying. I was horrified, and then hysterical. I could not stop laughing. What went wrong? How did my cute, fun mojito turn into a horrifying wheatgrass smoothie? They blended the mint leaves into the drink.
Why would someone ever do such a thing, I really couldn’t tell ya. But it’s one of those things that got majorly, majorly lost in translation.
One of the cardinal rules of being poor and in college is that you always, always drink the drink, no matter how terrible it is or how much you hate it. You chug that thing because you paid for it and you have pride. Well, old habits die hard and this grassy cocktail was $8 so I plugged my nose and began the process of self-loathing and chugging. My friend Kamil was in the same boat and we just kept looking at each other teary-eyed, half from laughter and half from regret, as we choked down our huge, thick concoctions.
Thankfully the next day was so fantastic it erased all lingering taste of foliage from my mouth.
We woke up early, had a delicious, healthy breakfast at El Sano Banano (10/10 would recommend), and then began hiking toward some nearby waterfalls.
We were stopped in our tracks by an entire family of monkeys crossing the rocks and climbing into the trees.
We forged onward to a towering waterfall and deep swimming hole.
Since it was blistering hot, I thoroughly enjoyed the crisp water. It wasn’t as cold as the waterfall water in La Fortuna, but also not as crystal clear. Regardless, we had a good time jumping off the rocks and swimming around.
After playing at this waterfall for a while, we figured out there was a rugged “trail” you could take to get to the top of the waterfall, and the subsequent falls that fed into the big one.
We climbed the loose dirt to reach the top, and followed a narrow, winding path around to the other falls.
The theme of the day was rock jumping, but when we saw someone jump off the above waterfall, we all said “hell no.”
Except then one of our friends jumped. And just like that, we all felt obligated too. A second friend jumped. Crap, now I knew that if I didn’t do it I would have massive regret once we left. Everyone jumped, I was last on the cliff.
Fear is such a potent, disorienting emotion. Sometimes it propels us to push ourselves outside our comfort zone and do something amazing. Sometimes it protects us from doing something stupid and reckless. How do you know when it’s all in your head and there’s an actual imminent threat? The longer I stood up there, the more times I stepped up to the edge just to walk right back, the more I thought about why I was scared.
The locals who were jumping freely kept telling us that we had to get our body into a pencil dive position before we hit the water, otherwise we could really hurt ourselves because the waterfall was just so freaking high. I kept worrying that I wasn’t going to get straight, that I was going to get hurt. I was so concerned about the aftermath, I realized that what came first, what would get me off the cliff–the jump–wasn’t even on my radar.
I could stand on the edge and worry about something 2 steps ahead, or I could just go with what I could control in the moment and hope for the best after that. Too often I choose the former. So that day, I chose the latter.
Turns out I did go a little sideways, and it definitely hurt. However it was also exhilarating–not just the jumping and falling itself, but knowing that my mind and body was so terrified of something and I did it anyways.
At the bottom, we spotted Howler Monkeys in the trees, and had an amazing view over the edge of the first waterfall.
After cautiously climbing our way down, we hiked back towards the beach. I was riding out my YOLO high and honestly did not think the day could get any better. But then we heard whisperings on the town street of turtles. Baby turtles. The kind of turtles I have waited my entire life to see, the only thing I really wanted out of Costa Rica.
We took off down the beach and found a crowd of people making an aisle from storefront to the water. Lo and behold, dozens of baby sea turtles making their way into the ocean for the very first time.
It was everything. It was the sweetest ending to an already fantastic day.
The next day we took an hour long shuttle up the Nicoya Peninsula to destination number two: Santa Teresa.
When we arrived at the Airbnb house we rented, things were not as the were supposed to be. It was, essentially, a junkyard, and rather than having the entire home like the reservation promised, we were told there were two bedrooms, and the entire family would also be staying in the small home. “Entire family” including a two-year-old and an infant. We had a group of 8 twenty-somethings.
So we were homeless for about 30 minutes, until we drove back down the ONE road in Santa Teresa and found a Selina hostel: a known party-hostel brand located all across Central America.
Santa Teresa is home to world-renowned beaches, famous for their beauty and their strong waves. Surfers from all over the world flock to Santa Teresa, and many surfing competitions are held on its shores. For me, that meant that I was getting TOSSED in these waves; they were so giant and powerful that I could hardly go half as far from shore as I normally would, and even then my feet had a hard time staying on the ocean floor.
After a couple more beach days, we were itching to switch it up a bit, so we got a private guided tour to some waterfalls about 30 minutes outside of town. The first was not quite swimmer-friendly, however it’s one of only seven waterfalls in the world that leads directly into the ocean. It also bordered another beautiful beach.
The second waterfall was the epitome of “off the beaten path.” We drove through a gate JUST wide enough for the van to fit between the posts, and then on a dirt road (with gigantic trenches) back towards some woods, all the while surrounded by cattle on a private farm. One could interpret it as trespassing.
And after all that, we still had to hike down a steep trail in the woods to reach the swimming hole.
The cool water was clear enough for Landyn to do some snorkeling and check out the aquatic life.
It was on this last day in paradise that we were informed by our waitress that the tap water, which we had been drinking for the entire duration of our stay, was not actually safe for consumption. (About 24 hours later, it hit us hard. Especially Landyn 😢)
This last night of vacation was also when Landyn and I ventured out to the beach to check out the stars. We were reminiscing (why does reminiscing underneath a starry sky feel so right?) on how much fun we had on the trip and how great our friends are, but in the same breath how excited we were to get home and chill. Somewhere in that conversation I came to a strange realization: I don’t really know where “home” is anymore.
For someone who used to have a very strong sense of home (and that home was in Wisconsin), this was a trippy realization. But maybe my idea of home was a little too rigid. Maybe you can have more than one.
Maybe home is less a destination and more an emotion. There were moments on our trip that I looked around at my friends and felt very at home, like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. But by the end of the week I also longed for Rodeo and our apartment and our dogs. How can you both feel at home and simultaneously miss it? Who knew I’d fall in love with my life in Rodeo so quickly. And where does that leave my life in the Midwest?
What I decided is this: homes aren’t always brick and mortar. Home is a place you feel safe and supported, a place that brings you comfort and peace. Sometimes you’re born into one, sometimes you have to build it yourself, from the ground up. And the people who help you along the way, the people who make you feel at home no matter where you are, are worth holding onto.
Until next time, friends.
Cari Anna Camera 