Finding Inner Peace Beside a Volcano

The Simple Joys of a Sugar-Cane Machete.

Allison had one country on her bucket list: Costa Rica. And, so, I flew her down there. 

This was 2017. I’d been divorced for a couple years, and was dating Allison, who I’d met at an investor conference in Bermuda. She told me one day that her dream country was Costa Rica.  

Of all the countries on the planet, Costa Rica, in the center of Central America, was the only country she really cared to see. The jungles. The volcanoes. The birds and wildlife. 

So, I surprised her with a trip to a jungle resort—Nayara Springs—near Arenal Volcano. A week exploring the jungle, zip-lining above and through the canopy, and relaxing in a hammock or in the plunge pool in our suite that was heated to body temperature by the thermal activity of the nearby volcano. 

That was my first visit to Costa Rica, and I have to say I totally understand the fascination with that country.  

As a rule, I generally prefer Europe to Central America, but I will say that I absolutely love Nicaragua, El Salvador, and, especially, Costa Rica. 

The Costa Ricans have a saying you see everywhere you go: Pura Vida, Spanish for “pure life,” or more colloquially “simple life.” And while it’s a great marketing campaign, the reality is that it’s more than that when you’re in-country.  

Just as Hawaiians say “aloha” to great people, Ticos (as Costa Ricans are called) announce “pura vida” when passing friends on the street, or when greeting customers who wander into a shop to buy T-shirts or, as I did, a sugar-cane machete. (Seriously—who doesn’t need a sugar-cane machete?) 

I’ve searched for that pura vida lifestyle in the years since my Costa Rican adventure.

I have found it to a degree as a digital nomad in Prague, but Prague is not the jungles of Costa Rica. I hope to find a deeper sense of it in my pending move to Portugal. But even there, in the little beach village we’re hoping to land in, I know something will still be missing.

It’s easy to say that the quietude of the jungle is the missing link. And maybe that’s it. As an only child who grew up with older grandparents, I’ve always felt most comfortable in the quiet moments of my life. I don’t like crowds. Hate noise. Happiest when it’s just me and the sounds of rain or birds chirping or waves crashing onto a lonely, empty beach.

But I think there’s more to it.

It’s the ambiance of Costa Rica.

The people, always smiling and seemingly content with life, no matter their station in it. The food. The atmosphere. The environment. The scenery.

I took a cooking class while I was there (cooking is my non-writing passion) and the chef, who grew up in Marseille, France, told me he’d come to Costa Rica about a decade earlier to learn about Latin cuisine and tropical ingredients, but he never left “because I found a lifestyle I love.”

I totally get that.

Of all the countries I’ve visited—more than 75 at this point—there are but a handful that I can honestly say that I would live in permanently. I’m moving to one—Portugal. The others are Spain, Uruguay, Thailand… and Costa Rica.

If my wife Yulia and I weren’t determined to earn European Union passports with our move to Portugal, I’d be pushing to live along Costa Rica’s Pacific Coast, maybe in Tamarindo. (Now that Costa Rica has a digital nomad visa, it’s never been easier to move there.)

What I’m saying is that there is something special about Costa Rica. Something hard to put into words, but which you feel in the middle of your being when you’re there. And maybe that’s pura vida—the sense of inner peace I’ve really only felt in a few places in the world over my 57 years.

Costa Rica is one of those few places.

I’m glad it was the one country on Allison’s bucket list.