Costa Rica is reached. This is the fifth and last of my posts about my Patagonia to Costa Rica trip. New material appears at the bottom. You can use the links in the next para to jump down. Earlier posts cover Chile (including Patagonia), Peru (including Machu Picchu), Ecuador (including the Galapagos) and Colombia (including Medellin). I’m publishing a few other pictures on social media using the hashtag #patrica.
Costa Rica stories
- Barra Honda national park
- San José and Nosara Beach
- Turtle hatching at Ostional
- Turtle “arribada” (egg-laying)
- Doing nothing in Costa Rica
- Guiones
- A boat trip
- Cipanci Wildlife Reserve
- The Poas Volcano and road trip
- Precolumbian Gold Museum
- Reflections on Costa Rica
- Feedback
Barra Honda national park
Thunderheads en route to San Jose: rain coming
The entrance to the Barra Honda national park is underwhelming. No-one seems to be around. The road, which has deteriorated approaching the park from smooth asphalt to a potholed dirt track, become steeper, rockier and more tortuous. Eventually a park ranger type appears. ‘You’re too late for the caves,’ she says. The time is 11 a.m. ‘We’re having a staff meeting. But if you go up there now, they just might let you go down. It’s about a four-kilometre walk. There’s a viewpoint.’
The Pacific from Barra Honda viewpoint
I eye the steep path. ‘Four kilometres. There and back? Or each way?’ ‘Each way,’ she says. Birds sing. Butterflies waft to and fro. In the distance the cries of howler monkeys – more aggressive growl than howl, actually – ring out. What’s not to like about an eight-kilometre stroll in the Costa Rican jungle?
Tourist descending into Barra Honda caves
The bad news is that when I arrive at the caves, two tourists from Colorado are putting on harnesses and helmets. Alfonso is one of two uniformed, fit-looking cave guides. ‘You can’t go down,’ he says. ‘We only have two harnesses for visitors, and two helmets.’ ‘Could I go down later?’ ‘We have a staff meeting.’ ‘Could I come another day?’ ‘Sure. It’s best to get here by 8.30,’ Alfonso says.
Jungle at Barra Honda
This is not what I want to hear. As the Barra Honda website says, ‘the national park’s main attraction is a large, intricate system of limestone caverns, decorated with a multitude of capricious forms and figures.’ But it’s miles from anywhere: getting there by 8.30 any morning will be near-impossible. Alfonso and his colleague attach a carabiner to the harness of one of the Americans. ‘The harness is only a security for the initial 17-metre descent on an aluminium ladder,’ the website says.
View into the cave, with ladder
The howler monkeys seem to be getting closer. ‘Don’t worry,’ Alfonso says. ‘They’re further away than they seem. Those are at least a hundred metres away. They’re not aggressive. They’re not friendly, either, mind.’
Howler monkey in forest canopy
I watch the white-faced Americans begin their descent of the ladder, peer into the blackness below, and conclude that the forest, too, has much to offer. As I walk back, huge “blue morpho” butterflies stagger past, brilliant blue, their size and weight making them lurch through the air like drunkards. A dozen howler monkeys take up position in the trees above. Their deep, guttural cries are fierce: had the guide not told me otherwise I would have assumed they were about to attack. Some kind of animal between an anteater and an oversized raccoon darts across the path ahead, followed by four more. Could they be white-nosed coatis? It’s hard to be sure.
San José and Nosara Beach
View of San José
Flying into Costa Rica from Cartagena you pass the Bocas del Toro inlet on the coast of Panama, great bays of intriguing, forested islands and bays. It only became definitively Panama (having earlier been claimed by Costa Rica) in the early 20thC. When we cross the border to Costa Rica, the land seems tamed: farms, forests and settlements blanket the landscape. But it’s a sham: within moments rugged mountains reappear, swathed in forests dissected by deep-clefted rivers.
Outstanding cup of coffee at truckstop
Debate rages amongst Costa Ricans about whether the country is an unspoilt natural rewilding paradise (see below); or whether it simply has great PR. But seen from the air, there’s much jungle to explore; and on the ground, the wildlife is up close. On my first night in San Jose, big bats (fruit bats?) are everywhere. Maybe they like the abundant papayas, mangos and avocados. Do fruit bats eat avocados? The article at the link notes that there are several species of vampire bat in Costa Rica. They seem to be a problem primarily for cattle, which they can infect with rabies.
Nosara beach before the rain
Beyond Barra Honda, Nosara Beach is a Pacific white-sand arc fringed with palm trees and tropical woodland. No cafes, hotels or other infrastructure intrude. The nearby village is visitor-focused with holistic massages, surf shops and co-working spaces. As soon as I feel the beach sand between my toes, a tropical downpour begins, heavy warm drops pounding my shoulders. Who needs a holistic massage?
When asked “what’s your favourite X?” I often quote Oscar Wilde: “comparisons are odious”. But Nosara Beach is certainly not the worst beach I have visited.
Costa Rica: Ostional turtle hatching
The tiny hatchlings are well camouflaged on the black sand
On the black-sand beach at Ostional, locals offer turtle-hatching visits. The catch? Tours start at 4.45 a.m. The bonus? At 4 a.m. in Nosara, the stars are dazzling, making up for my missed astronomical tour thanks to unlikely clouds in the Atacama Desert. Navigating winding, rutted roads in pitch darkness I arrive only 15 minutes late to find dozens of people on the beach clustered around a guide, Gilbert. He has a red light, to illuminate the night-hatching turtles without disorientating them.
Tracks of my tears
It’s difficult to tell if you’re disorientating the minuscule baby Olive Ridley turtles, as they seem quite capable of being thoroughly disorientated on their own account. Emerging from their eggs beneath the sand they seem, unsurprisingly, exhausted and confused, lying immobile then staggering a few steps in random directions, leaving tiny tracks in the wet sand as they attempt to reach the sea before being gobbled by a predator. The guides tell us not to touch or try and help them: they need to develop their lungs by running across the beach. It’s true that after a few minutes they seem to get a second wind, suddenly scuttling towards the ocean.
Turtle tourists on Ostional Beach at dawn
Anyone who’s watched a natural history programme will know that not many of the hatchlings make it. According to the Ostional website at the link above, nesting sea turtles may lay up to 10 million eggs during a single five-day period or arribada. So many eggs laid by previous nesting turtles are crushed by each new wave of arrivals that villagers are allowed to harvest early sets of eggs, in return for keeping an eye on the beach and helping protect hatching turtles from local wildlife and poachers.
A colander-ful of hatchlings
It’s excruciating to watch flocks of birds land at dawn and feast on the emerging hatchlings. Feuding buzzards can be a sign of fresh tiny turtles erupting through the sand. Tourists and locals try to scare away buzzards, dogs and other predators, but there are just too many turtles, and buzzards. “Guarding” a hatchling as it attempts to reach the sea, often getting washed back up the beach by incoming waves, is addictive. Some of the guides collect hundreds of turtles in colanders and tip them out where there are most tourists to create a kind of human shield. They also collect rubbish from the sand. On first arrival, the beach looks filthy with discarded white packaging. It’s millions of turtle shell fragments.
Story in the sand: the tracks of a deterred buzzard and the saved hatchling (near the sea)
I pause before leaving to stand over another hatchling as it struggles towards the ocean. A buzzard watches me gloomily from nearby. At last the turtle disappears into the waves. Have I really helped? Behind me, hundreds more turtles-come-lately are emerging from the sand even as dawn breaks. As the rising sun strikes the ocean, a new threat looms. Surfers arrive, strolling down the beach with their boards. Regular beach users, they view the turtle-viewing tourists with amused condescension before launching their boards into the bright dawn waves.
Dawn surfer on Ostional Beach
Turtle “arribada” (egg-laying)
36 hours after showing off baby turtles bursting out of the sand, Gilbert the guide announces that an arribada of egg-laying mother turtles is due. He says an arribada only counts if over 1,000 turtles are involved. This sounds remarkable, so despite a sense of being turtled-out, having done enough driving on tortuous roads in the dark, and having black sand accumulating between my toes, I head back to Ostional.
On Nosara Beach
Tourists gather in numbers to see the arribada. Esther and Joseph run an alpaca farm in Switzerland. ‘We had to see this,’ Esther says. ‘We don’t kill anything on our farm. We’re both vegans. We also have a big dog.’ Others are from Belgium, Germany, Spain, the US, and Costa Rica. Our guide Gilbert hands out red-light torches and discourages us from wearing good shoes. ‘You have to wade across a river,’ he says.
Registering for turtle tours
We follow him and his wife Maria to the beach, heading the opposite direction from the previous day’s turtle-hatching. I ask Gilbert, whose English is fluent but not always comprehensible, why we don’t return to the previous hatching site. ‘It’s this way,’ he says. ‘South. Big mamas. Along the coast.’ ‘But how do you know where the mother turtles will come ashore?’ ‘It’s this way,’ he says. ‘Big mamas.’
Turtle eggs being laid
The night is dark, stars brilliant overhead. In the dim glow of our red lights, the beach swarms with a new crop of turtle hatchlings. What if we step on them? Progress slows to a crawl, tourists high-stepping in a parody of caution. ‘Look out! There’s a bunch here!’ ‘Here’s another one.’ ‘Over here. Loads!’ The hatchlings seem as confused as ever. At last, we reach a river and wade through (Gilbert tells us later when we return that it is full of “big crocs”). Beyond, mysteriously, the hatchlings vanish. We can devote ourselves to searching for “big mamas”.
Turtle burying its eggs
Instantly, we cross several tracks where the huge reptiles have dragged themselves up the beach. At the end of one, surprisingly far from the ocean, a turtle sits at an awkward-looking angle, its rear pointing into a deep, narrow hole. Eggs, thick with mucus, plop down, forming a pile. A reverent hush sweeps the observers – it all seems a bit personal, although Gilbert urges us to take photos and videos (‘no flash!’). ‘It is around 45 minutes,’ he says, ‘from leaving the water to returning.’
Turtle returning to the water
Egg-laying done, the turtle performs a complex series of contortions to fill in the hole; compress the sand on top of it by thumping its heavy shell on the ground; and scuff around a larger area. ‘For camouflage, to hide the nest,’ Gilbert says. Another turtle emerges from the sea and digs a deep hole, reaching far into the ground with its rear flippers, before eventually starting its own egg-laying. You can’t help feeling sorry for the mothers, having to perform such laborious tasks.
Bats in the roof
Having observed half a dozen egg-layers, we head back down the beach. Everyone’s a bit subdued. Is it because we’ve seen only half a dozen mothers, rather than thousands? The beach is miles long and pitch-dark – another thousand turtles could easily have been laying their eggs under the stars. A park ranger with a dog, guarding for egg thieves, sweeps a powerful spotlight past us.
Doing nothing in Costa Rica
Sunset, Guiones Beach
I’m working hard to take it easy in Costa Rica. The abundance of wildlife and the splendid beaches help. Countless birds haunt the shore, including pelicans. Bats hang in a roof-space, in broad daylight: at 4.30 p.m., they seem surprisingly active, perhaps preparing for an evening sortie.
Fisher-folk
Up the beach I come across two men butchering what may be a red snapper (can anyone tell me for sure?) – a surprisingly large fish whose red blood drips onto the sand beneath. Dozens of buzzards and gulls congregate. One chap says they saw a whale when they were out fishing. He pulls out a phone, showing a video of a whale’s tail, splashing as the mammal dives out of sight. ‘Fancy a boat trip?’ he says. ‘We might see more whales.’ It’s a pretty good sales pitch.
Pelicans
Guiones
The mostly-new settlement of Guiones sits a couple of hundred metres back from Guiones Beach. A rutted dirt track connects the two, lined with parked 4x4s, quad bikes and golf carts, the latter for rent at $180 for three days.
“You can survive a rip current”: Guiones Beach
Both Costa Rica’s reforestry efforts and its marketing as an environmental hotspot are in evidence. A sign on a fence marks an “area of protected forest” sponsored by the “Associación Cívica de Nosara (the link takes you to a snazzy campaigning website including “donate via Paypal” and “US tax deductible donations”). The dirt track is flanked by a cordon sanitaire of forest, so that Guiones Beach itself, seen from the sea, appears untouched by development of any kind.
“Area of protected forest”
There’s a controlling mind behind this. According to earth.org, between the 1940s and 1987 around half to a third of Costa Rica’s 75% forest cover was destroyed. Forty years later, thanks in part to the PES (Payment for Environmental Services) policy, substantial reforestation has taken place. Around 60% of the country is forested. The policy seems to be working.
Signs en route to Guiones Beach
The outskirts of Guiones feature many sleek, plate-glass-heavy villas set in lush woodlands. The town centre has a digital nomad vibe reminiscent of Bali, dominated by surf shops, boutique hotels, estate agents and elegant cafes. A “bodywork” shop advertises chakra treatments, reiki and cranialsacral therapy. The “Orgánico” bakery offers bio-bread, “raw superfood brownies” and basque cheesecake. The phrase “Pura vida”, supposedly encapsulating Costa Rica’s way of life, adorns T-shirts and rip vests.
White-throated magpie jays: spot the head-feathers
Costa Rica’s goal is to focus on up-market tourism in an environmental context. In an upmarket café, toddlers play minigolf while their mother fiddles with her phone. Two white-throated magpie jays come and sit on the table tennis table behind the pool amidst tall jungle fronds and palm trees.
Juice stall with friendly vendor
In between the swanky shops, locals have set up stalls offering fresh coconut water for $2 (fresh coconuts lopped open while you wait). Tuk-tuk taxis await custom. A home-made sign advertises “ocean mountaing un river view” (sic). The beach is nearly empty for most of its length, despite hundreds of surfers at key points. If twice the number of visitors were to descend on Guiones, there’d be nowhere to park; but for now, it feels cosy and quietly exotic.
Squirrel near Guiones Beach
A boat trip
Tato and Gabriel are a father and son team of fishermen. In their spare time, they take tourists out to visit nearby snorkelling sites such as the Isla Rosada, famed for its pink-hued sand. Characteristically for Costa Rica, they’re well travelled. ‘We’ve been to Santa Domingo recently,’ Tato says. ‘And Mexico, and Panama. I didn’t like Panama – too many skyscrapers, not much to see. I’ve heard Guatemala is worth a visit.’
Tato brings the motor to the boat
You’re never sure whether to be thrilled or alarmed when your captain carefully wraps his mobile phone inside a plastic bag and stows it n the driest part of the vessel. Bali and Lombok feature countless snorkelling trips in purpose-built boats, including some to designated snorkelling sites with sunken statues. In the remote Guanacaste peninsula of Costa Rica, things are more basic. ‘We caught 32 yellow-fin tuna this morning,’ Tato says. The aroma of fish is, indeed, powerful. The boat has a high bow to navigate the rough seas and is equipped with snorkelling gear. But it has no ladder to help you get into and out of the water.
An intriguing wreck
We stop to examine the remains of what Tato says is a coaler that sank over 100 years ago. It’s a substantial wreck: the troughs of waves expose solid steel superstructure. Do we want to explore it? I love snorkelling. But the waves are mountainous and getting back on the boat from the open water – we’re about half a mile off-shore – doesn’t look straightforward. Reluctantly I join the consensus that no-one wants to snorkel around the wreck. Good choice, Tato says. There are loads of sharks around here, anyhow.
Off the Isla Rosada
We go ashore at the Isla Rosada. The island, around 100m across, is crowned, as promised, with bright pink sand. Lying on the beach is a snake, fortunately dead, which Tato pronounces to be a coral sea-snake with a deadly bite “thirty minutes, finito, no antidote”. This is not encouraging for snorkelling around the island but I and others go in. At first the water is turbid from the crashing waves; but deeper in, two rays nestle, and schools of fish appear. Back on the boat, a Costa Rican “Imperial” beer from the cool-box lends the entire expedition a rosy glow.
“Imperial” beer on the boat
Cipanci Wildlife Reserve
The problem with most touristic excursions is that the “crown jewels” – what the visitor is here to see – are over in a jiffy. In fact, this applies to the Crown Jewels themselves. So tour organisers pad out outings. Thus it is that the tour of the Cipanci Wildlife Reserve, where I want to see exotic Costa Rican fauna, begins with a tortilla-making demonstration. It’s impressive to see a local cook grind maize grains by hand, mix them with water and produce food. But I wish I was on the river Tempisque.
Tortilla lesson
Once we’re afloat with Manuel the boatman and Marco the guide, things look up. Manuel spots green herons, tiger herons, crocodiles, ibises, snowy egrets, black-crowned night herons, great and little blue herons, ospreys, common black hawks, great egrets, kingfishers, basilisk lizards (known as Jesus Christ lizards for their ability to walk on water), black iguanas, and, perched incongruously in trees, green iguanas (known locally as tree chickens for their culinary properties). ‘We’ll have one for lunch,’ Marco says. Heartened by the resultant outrage, he continues. ‘We have green iguana, black iguana and marijuana.’
Green iguana
A row of long-nosed bats roosts in a line on a tree. ‘If they’re attacked,’ Marco says, ‘they move in a line, like a snake, to scare away predators. They eat a thousand mosquitos a night, each. Imagine how it would be without them.’ Marco regrets the passing of the crocodile hunting festival in the nearby village. ‘Everyone wanted to catch the biggest croc, they took them into town in trucks to measure them. But the authorities said it was too much stress for crocs, even though we put them back. Now, no festival.’
Bats in a row
Unstressed crocs
The Poas volcano (and road trip)
My visit to the Poas volcano, a day-trip from San José, is booked for 8 a.m., meaning yet another 5 a.m. start. The volcano is active and had a major eruption in March 2025. Rumours swirl that visitors must undergo a half-hour safety briefing and wear helmets, and that the fabulous cloud forest path to the nearby scenic crater lake is closed.
Costa Rica’s central valley, 06.45 a.m.
The zig-zag road to the volcano offers spectacular morning views of Costa Rica’s central valley, home to the capital San José, and the surrounding mountains. A café, open at 06.45, serves coffee and freshly-baked almond cakes. Good news: at the volcano, no helmets or safety briefing are needed, although the crater rim is thick with warnings and chunky concrete “ballistic shelters” in case of an eruption.
Above the spectacular active crater
Bad news: thick cloud blankets the summit, hiding both the active crater and the nearby scenic crater lake. The only evidence that we’re up a volcano rather than any other mountain is an ominous whiff of sulphur.
Ballistic shelter
It’s barely 10 a.m. Looking at the map a scenic tour presents itself. Why not visit Puerto Viejo de Sarapiqui and Santa Clara? I can view the La Paz waterfall and the rainforests of the Braulio Carrillo National Park.
Rainforest and clouds
A circuit of Routes 126, 4 and 32 showcases landscapes from the stunted cloud woodlands of Poas through mist-draped rain forests and the lush Caribbean lowlands that slope towards the Atlantic. I pass through Alajuela Province, Heredia Province, Limon Province, Cartago Province and San Jose Province. Rain pours down, followed by brilliant sunshine. Deserted, easy-driving single-track roads morph into steep, grinding climbs through the forests, stuck behind US-style trucks made by Kenworth, Freightliner, Mack and International. Costa Rica may be small. But it packs in an immense variety of landscapes.
Fruit truck in traffic jam, Cartago
Precolumbian Gold Museum
Coffee and bananas
In addition to lacking an army, Costa Rica is short of imposing public buildings. One exception in San José is the national theatre, inaugurated in 1897. It features a fabulous lobby, a café serving powerful coffee and cakes and, on the ceiling, a splendid “Allegory of coffee and bananas”. Both coffee and bananas still feature amongst the country’s exports, with numerous plantations to admire.
Gold object
Perhaps the most impressive sight of San José is buried in a reinforced bunker three storeys beneath the Plaza de la Cultura. I’ve got to be honest: for most of my South American journey I’ve been disappointed in the museums (the City Museum of Quito was a glorious exception). Too many seemed starved of funds, passion, or interesting exhibits. By contrast, San José’s Precolumbian Gold Museum features no fewer than 688 gold items, according to the museum’s own site (which includes a fine video) or 1,586 according to Wikipedia.
Another gold object
The gold objects on display are so numerous and, in many cases, unlabelled, that it’s tempting to wonder if they might be replicas. Jaguars, frogs, armadillos, lobsters, shamans and deities glow dully. Pendants, earrings, headbands and breastplates fill vitrines and decorate models. Some designs are complex, with attached pendants and other moving parts. I find it evocative and strangely moving.
Chunky frog
Reflections on Costa Rica
At first sight, Costa Rica seems too good to be true. People seem comfortably off, and improbably polite. Most tourists are locals. If you thank a waiter, he or she will tell you, usually with enthusiasm, that it was an enormous pleasure. A request for directions turns into an exchange about alternative routes, places to stay, enquiries about your health, how you are enjoying Costa Rica, and so forth. Of course there are plenty of poor people, too, and sleazy districts in San Jose. Beggars gather at traffic lights – including Venezuelans draped in the national flag and mothers cradling listless babies.
Education display at airport
Yet first impressions of an unusual country rest on substantial foundations. Since July 2025, the World Bank has classified Costa Rica as a high-income country, on account of rising income per capita, in addition to a diverse economy. Costa Ricans are proud of their health and education systems: a national health service, known as the CCSS, has existed since 1941. The country has had free, compulsory primary education since 1869, partly funded by abolishing the army in 1949. Not many capital cities I’ve visited have, like San Jose, a “Parque de las Garantia Sociales”.
Goodbye to Costa Rica, and my #patrica trip
Finally, to the airport. Taxi driver Maria keeps busy. ‘I’m studying for a psychology degree. I run a centre for psychology and learning, education, workshops and tours, though I can’t do counselling until I qualify. And I drive an Uber: the money’s OK, especially in the run-up to Christmas, when I have to work eight or nine hours a day. It just about covers my university fees.’ Isn’t it stressful? ‘Not really. I don’t have a family, and I sleep nine hours a night. When I drive I’m always relaxed, otherwise it’d be impossible. After this ride I’m going to see my nieces and nephews.’ She seems a good advert for the Costa Rican way.
Back in Amsterdam
Feedback
I’d welcome feedback on these travel blogs, in the comments or direct by e-mail. I’m also posting a few photos on Instagram and elsewhere, with the hashtag #patrica (for Patagonia to Costa Rica). Previous posts explore Chile, Peru, Ecuador and Colombia.
If you enjoy travel writing, you may like to explore my US road trip piece from 1979 “A voyage around America“. Or feel free to read my short piece The Russians: Vladivostok; or my account of a disastrous boat trip to visit the dragons of Komodo.
My trip-of-a-lifetime was organised by Sinead at Travel Differently. Excellent work.
