Finding a Little Solace in a Coastal Village in Costa Rica

I was in San José, Costa Rica, having arrived a month before to look for work as an English teacher. I'd made the shortlist and been on an interview for one language school, but things were not progressing as quickly as I'd hoped. On top of that, I was missing home and needed a break from the incessant job searching.

My knowledge of Spanish was minimal, and this was the first time in my life I had lived in a country where English was not the primary language so I was struggling.

A break was definitely in order.

I decided to head to a tourist hot spot for a few days for a little fun in the sun and sand. Saltwater can be an elixir for most things, and being a carefree tourist might be just the ticket to pull me out of my funk. I booked three nights in Quepos, a town on the outskirts of Manuel Antonio, one of Costa Rica's most well-known resort districts with access to stretches of white sand beaches and dense jungle.

The day before I was due to leave, I hiked to the bus station to see whether it was walkable whilst dragging a small suitcase on wheels and carrying a backpack. The distance wasn't too far but the sidewalks and roads were difficult to traverse. Cracks and holes, plus dodging piles of dog poop make it more like an obstacle course, so I decided to grab an Uber instead.

As it turned out, being such an organized person paid off. The Costa Rican bus system works on a numerical seating structure. The first person to buy a ticket sits in seat one, the second in seat two, and so on, therefore, the earlier you buy a ticket, the better. Completely oblivious to this system, however, I bought my ticket while there to ensure the following day ran smoothly and only realized my good fortune when I returned to the house. My young housemates quickly filled me in on how it worked as they travelled quite extensively on the weekends.

The bus was packed by the time we departed. Once all seats are sold, Costa Rican bus companies sell standing tickets at a discounted price and people buy them regardless of the long hours of travelling. It blew my mind how many passengers stood for the entire journey, or part thereof, depending on their final destination. It took four hours to get to the Quepos station.

I was seated next to a British tourist who was a little too eager to talk for my liking, especially considering the creepy vibes he was emitting and the fact that his wife was seated across the aisle with her sister. He seemed a tad too interested in my life so after about thirty minutes of answering questions, some of which I felt were inappropriate, I put my earbuds in and turned up the music as I watched the scenery roll by.

I stepped out into muggy weather, the humidity immediately creating bubbles of sweat on my skin. Pulling up the location of my accommodation on Google Maps, I charted the quickest course and set out at a good pace. As I dragged my little suitcase along the bumpy streets, the bubbles of sweat ran together to form rivers that trickled down my body.

I stopped a few times to drink some water and rest before finally arriving at the lovely small house painted dark red and nestled behind a black wrought iron gate. The owner was a flight attendant who rented out his two spare bedrooms to holidaymakers. His sister and her husband let me in and explained in perfect Spanish and broken English that he was currently in Las Vegas for a few days' break, so I would have the entire house to myself.

Excellent! After a house full of Tico family members and American college students, a few days alone were exactly what I needed.

Somehow between my rudimentary understanding of Spanish and a few hand signals and charades, I was informed of everything I needed to know and left to my own devices. I changed clothes and went in search of groceries, grabbing an ice cream as I explored the quaint town.

The following day I took the bus to Manuel Antonio Beach, one of Costa Rica's most famous and well-known beaches. I stationed myself on a sunlounger for a few hours, dipping in and out of the ocean to cool off and revelling in the quiet, allowing myself a rest from the worry that had plagued me for months.

I decided to walk back to Quepos so I could check out all the restaurants, hotels, and stores on the way. To this day, I can't decide whether it was a stupid or brave decision. It took me around two hours to walk the five kilometres back to the house in the thirty-nine-degree (celsius) heat. Despite stopping for water and to take pictures along the way, it was an arduous journey but the sights were worth it.

When I finally arrived back at the house, a cold shower and air conditioning greeted my weary body. After a rest, I headed to the Marina for dinner and a margarita to watch the sunset. Looking out at the sun setting over Marina Pez Vela on the North Pacific Ocean, I was filled with both wonder and melancholy. It had been a rough few months and the future was uncertain, but the moment was almost perfect.

The sun set and I wandered back to my room in the darkness, exhausted from my long day but excited about the next day's adventure.

A friend had bought me a ziplining excursion as a gift and I couldn't wait to do it for the first time. I'd wanted to try the activity for some time and wasn't disappointed. There is something magical about flying through the jungle, trees whizzing by or below as the wind whips at your face. The tour guides spoke very good English and explained everything perfectly. They were kind, generous, and funny as we flew down the twelve zip lines, clipping on and off at the twenty-two platforms built into the trees.

I was in shape and took to the activity like I'd been doing it all of my life, smiling more than I had in some time. Chatting to the other adventurers in rapid English, I felt like myself again as I scaled the trees like a monkey. I dove into the complimentary lunch afterwards as my grateful stomach welcomed the food after two-and-a-half hours of constant activity, including a swing jump at the end.

Alas, all good things must come to an end, and soon I found myself back at the house with an afternoon at my disposal. I took the bus - not stupid enough to walk again - to Manuel Antonio Beach for a last dip before my early bus the next morning.

A little sunburnt and very content, I lay on the bed staring at the TV, enjoying my last few hours of peace, thankful to have time out from my worry. Costa Rica is known by the nickname "Pura Vida," pure life, and my time away had been just that.

Arriving back in San José late the following afternoon, I was wearily greeted by a hot shower and an early night.

Although tension crept slowly back into my shoulders as I lay in the dark contemplating what was next, a little tranquillity nestled in my soul, a gentle remnant from my adventure down south.

Please feel free to buy me a coffee if you like what you read.