A Girl in Costa Rica

I’m writing this while the feelings are still fresh. The sole purpose of this trip was decided in a very unexpected manner, and everything about it turned out the same way.

Nothing about it was subtle, everything seemed kind of a mess, but in reality it was the right amount of chaos I needed to ground my thoughts and myself again.

I have always been scared of aging, of running out of time; although I still don’t know why I need to do so much running. The simple thought of getting older petrifies me. So, every year on my birthday for an hour or two, I freak out a little. Knowing this, I decided that Costa Rica was the perfect place to face that fear. One night, out of the blue, I called my friend who lives there and told her I was paying her a visit. Within the hour the ticket was booked.

As I mentioned before, nothing was subtle. A week prior to my arrival, thunderstorms flooded the area making it impossible for my friend, who was five hours away at the beach, to pick me up. When my plane landed at 1 AM I did what most of our mothers told us never to do: Got in a random taxi and asked the driver to take me to the beach. Of course the fear of being murdered and left by some dirt road in the middle of Costa Rica crossed my mind, but given that my options were limited I told the driver my friend was paying for the ride upon arrival and hoped for the best.

After five hours of listening to rancheras and deep conversation about life and dreams, we finally arrived. I said goodbye to Gilberto, paid him, and wished him luck in his somewhat-could-be-illegal hobby.

The next few days were very interesting; definitely some bucket list items were crossed in a matter of hours. But what is the fun in having memories if I turn them into words?

It would be impossible and terribly unfair to resume those eight days in a single blog post. What I will tell you is that I had no time to freak out over aging on my birthday. I was surrounded by great company from start to finish, had amazing food and drinks, and a little cliff-falling accident that turned out to be the highlight and reflection of the trip and punch line to future jokes.

As I am writing this, I am sitting on a bus on my way to the airport. (No Gilberto this time) I had to say goodbye to my best friend (which is always hard) and as I am fighting the tears and the need to get off and run back for more adventures, I look around at the people with me right now. They are all probably starting or ending a trip; they are all anxious for memories or full of them. Whatever their stories are, I know mine is my favorite. It was almost as if the universe knew I was craving a trip like this, an eight-day moment in which full consciousness and soul searching intertwined. The medicine I never knew I needed.

I met the best part of me and left the one I’m always fighting with. I liked who I was and became. Time didn’t seem to exist, but at the same time I was aware it was my only enemy. Is this it? Is this how someone falls in love with a place?

Counting the days to go back. Everything in Costa Rica was so happy, so simple, so tuanis…