Costa Rica

Field Notes // 001 Costa Rica · Eleven days Uvita · Dominical · La Fortuna

Travel has never been about collecting countries for me. It’s about collecting perspectives.

Some places are beautiful.
Some places change the way you see the world.

Costa Rica became both.

I’ve always felt drawn to Central America. Over the years I’ve wandered through much of the region, and every time the plane touches down, I feel something familiar—a quiet sense of coming home. It’s difficult to explain unless you’ve experienced it yourself. The pace softens. The air feels different. Life seems to remember something we’ve forgotten.

Costa Rica had been quietly calling me for years.

Not because it belonged on a bucket list.
Not because everyone said I should go.

I was drawn to its rainforests, its wildlife, its mountains, and the stories I’d heard about a culture that values community, simplicity, and a deep connection with the land.

When the opportunity finally arrived, saying yes didn’t feel like making a decision.

It felt like answering an invitation.

The truth is, I had no idea how deeply those eleven days would stay with me.

Arrival

The moment we stepped off the plane, I felt it.

The warmth of the sun.
The thicker air.
The smiles that seemed to come so naturally to everyone around us.

It wasn’t simply that I had arrived somewhere new. It felt as though I had stepped into a different rhythm of life.

From San José we boarded a tiny hopper plane bound for the Pacific coast.

I’ll admit…

Climbing into that little aircraft brought a mix of excitement and nerves. As someone who doesn’t exactly love small planes, there was a moment where I simply closed my eyes, took a breath, and chose trust.

Then we lifted off.

The Pacific shimmered in impossible shades of turquoise.
Mountains stretched endlessly toward the horizon.
Volcanoes rose through layer after layer of jungle in more shades of green than I knew existed.

I remember looking out the window thinking…

“How is this even real?”

When we landed in Uvita, that feeling only deepened. Our driver greeted us with the kind of warmth that instantly made us feel less like tourists and more like friends returning home.

On the drive to our retreat he pulled over—not because anything was wrong—but because he wanted us to experience Costa Rica.

A wild cat had crossed nearby.

“Come look!”

A few miles later… fresh fruit from a roadside stand.

No rush.
No itinerary.
No schedule to keep.

Just an invitation to notice.

Looking back, I think that was my first lesson in Pura Vida. Not the words. The way of being.

Our retreat center sat quietly between the jungle and the sea, thoughtfully created from repurposed shipping containers that seemed to belong to the landscape rather than interrupt it.

That evening I wandered barefoot down to the beach.

The ocean stretched endlessly before me. The sunset painted the sky with colors that hardly seemed possible. Standing there with my feet in the sand, listening to the waves, I suddenly became aware of how small I was.

Not in a lonely way.
In a comforting one.

For a few quiet moments, nothing needed my attention. There was nowhere else I needed to be. I simply stood there witnessing something far bigger than myself.

That feeling has never really left me.

Living Pura Vida

Before arriving in Costa Rica, I thought I understood the phrase Pura Vida.

I was wrong.

During those first few days I heard it constantly. Every hello. Every goodbye. Every thank you.

At first I assumed it was simply part of Costa Rican hospitality. A polite phrase. Almost like saying “my pleasure.”

One afternoon I finally asked our driver.

“So… does everyone really say Pura Vida?”

He smiled. “Yes,” he said. “Because we believe it.”

That answer stayed with me.

As the days unfolded, I realized Pura Vida isn’t a slogan. It isn’t something people say because they’re supposed to. It’s a way of moving through the world.

Sometimes someone would pause in the middle of a conversation, notice something beautiful, smile, and simply say…

“Pura Vida.”

Not as a greeting. As recognition. As if to say, look at this — isn’t life incredible?

One of the people who embodied that most was Maleku, our bird guide. He grew up in the rainforest before eventually moving closer to town, but his heart never left the jungle.

He doesn’t simply guide people through the forest. He introduces them to it.

At one point we stood quietly together beneath the canopy. A spectacled owl appeared. My best friend and I both cried.

Maleku simply smiled. “Pura Vida.”

Nothing else needed to be said.

The same feeling followed us everywhere. Our chef, Lau, shared meals prepared from the heart while exchanging stories, laughter, and tears around the table. Shala welcomed us into her family’s traditions through recipes passed down from her grandmother, telling us about growing food on her farm and building the restaurant she had dreamed of. At a small coffee shop tucked into the jungle we met the humble owner of Slothies Coffee, whose passion wasn’t selling coffee—it was sharing Costa Rica.

Again and again I noticed something different.

People weren’t simply working in tourism. They were inviting us into their way of life. They wanted us to understand the rainforest. To appreciate the wildlife. To slow down enough to notice.

Not simply to visit Costa Rica… but to experience it.

Only then did Pura Vida truly make sense. It’s more than “pure life.” It’s choosing to fully experience the life already unfolding around you.

Before I left Costa Rica, I had the words Pura Vida tattooed onto my wrist. Not because I wanted to remember a vacation. Because I wanted to remember the way it taught me to live.

The birds that taught me to pay attention

If you’ve ever traveled with me, you already know this about me.

I stop for birds. Always.

I’ve loved birds for years, but Costa Rica introduced me to them in a completely different way.

Toucans. Motmots. Montezuma Oropendolas. Hummingbirds.

Every morning the jungle woke us before the alarm ever could.

Costa Rica is home to more than 850 species of birds—nearly ten percent of all the bird species on Earth—despite occupying just 0.03% of the planet’s landmass.

Standing there, that statistic somehow felt believable. Life surrounded us everywhere.

The birds that stayed with me most, though, weren’t the ones I expected.

One morning we floated down the Sierpe River. Before climbing into the boat, I quietly said, “All I want to see is a scarlet macaw.”

As we drifted through the mangroves the jungle slowly revealed itself. Nightjars hidden perfectly against tree bark. Monkeys carrying babies overhead. Snakes resting peacefully in the branches. Herons lifting gracefully from the shoreline.

At one point we spotted scarlet macaws soaring far off in the distance. Just enough to know they were there.

Then our guide reached into his bag. Without saying much, he handed me a scarlet macaw feather.

I immediately started crying.

Not because of the feather itself. Because someone had noticed what mattered to me.

That small act of kindness has stayed with me every day since. The feather now travels with me, tucked into my hat whenever I explore somewhere new.

As we returned toward the dock, I remember thinking how grateful I already was.

Then… five scarlet macaws landed in the tree directly beside us. Close enough to admire every feather.

It felt like one final gift. One final reminder that wonder often arrives when we stop chasing it.

Later that week, standing beneath the rainforest canopy with Maleku, we reflected on the story of the two birds from the Upanishads—a story often shared within the yogic tradition.

One bird lives fully in the world.
The other quietly observes.

Neither is more important. Together, they remind us that life asks us to do both. To participate fully. And to occasionally step back long enough to witness the beauty unfolding around us.

Somehow, standing there beneath the trees, watching an owl emerge from the forest, that ancient story finally made complete sense.

Before I left Costa Rica, I had two scarlet macaws tattooed onto my arm. One represents the bird living fully in the world. The other… the silent observer.

A reminder that both have always lived within me.

Why I’m excited to return

People have asked if I’ll go back.

Without hesitation… yes.

Not because I saw everything Costa Rica has to offer. Quite the opposite. I left feeling like I’d only scratched the surface.

This was my first time experiencing Costa Rica, but something about it stayed with me in a way that’s difficult to put into words.

I’m incredibly excited to return in January with our community from Happily Ever Yoga. Not because I know every corner of Costa Rica. But because I can’t wait to experience it again alongside people who are just as curious, open, and ready for adventure as I am.

I hope they fall in love with the warmth of the people. The rhythm of Pura Vida. The incredible wildlife. The sunsets. The rainforest. The feeling of standing beneath a jungle canopy and realizing, if only for a moment, that life is much bigger—and much more beautiful—than we sometimes remember.