'Pura Vida'

There were toucans feeding in the trees outside our window our first morning in Costa Rica. They were striking—black with yellow breasts, faces and yellow and red bills. Another morning we woke to the noise of howler monkeys and could see them as they leapt from tree to tree. A third day we spotted a young two-toed sloth, fast asleep in an almond tree that leaned out over the beach.

We had come for a two-week stay on the Caribbean side of this Central American country, staying at Punta Uva, not far from the border with Panama. Close by is Puerto Viejo, a town settled largely by Costa Ricans of African heritage. Also nearby is the Jaguar Rescue Center, where our granddaughter works.

On a tour of the Center, we saw a range of animals, once injured or impaired, who have made the Center their permanent home: an ocelot, deer, peccary, sloth, macaws, caiman and crocodile. We were kept at a distance from wildlife, including young monkeys, armadillos and others in the nursery that the Center plans to release back into the rain forest.

Here the jungle comes down to the sea, and it was to the beach that we went each morning and afternoon. Accustomed to the frigid ocean around Cape Ann, we will never forget the soothingly warm waters of the Caribbean. Always there were swells coming in from the north, sometimes gentle, sometimes rough. Beyond the breakers, however, you could be at your ease, floating, talking, and gazing into the sky at pelicans and other sea birds. With goggles or mask, you could swim to the point to look for coral and colored fish.

The people we met on the beach and in town, those living there or vacationing, were friendly. A common greeting as you passed is “pura vida,” which translates literally as “the pure life.” Our granddaughter recommended good places to eat dinner, or to stop for pastry and coffee. We found beautiful art, much with Afro-Caribe themes, in the art galleries.

But our time in this paradise was not all easy. Getting there meant a grueling six-hour drive on the only highway from the capital city, San Jose, over the volcanic mountains towards the primary Caribbean port of Limón. Under perpetual construction, and the causeway for container trucks hauling goods, this road will wear you down.

Then there is the heat and humidity, common to tropical jungles. Staying in cabins with no AC, you stretch out at night in front of fans. There is also the lack of Wi-Fi in many areas, and the frequent loss of electricity from storms and treefalls.

But if you can adjust, if you can accept that no paradise is perfect, you will fall in love with this place. You’ll find there’s a pleasant breeze lying in the hammock. When the power goes out, you’ll play dominoes by candlelight. You make your own smoothies from mangoes, pineapples and papayas. And the next morning, there is always the sea awaiting. There is calypso music from Pablo’s boom box. There are children playing in the waves, young men and women surfing at the point or fishing with hand lines.

As we were leaving Punta Uva, leisurely navigating the narrow road with dozens of men and women on bicycles, I realized that their bicycles were telling me something. Maybe something important. All the bicycles, including the one our granddaughter takes to her job, to the grocery or to the beach, are one speed. No ten-speed bikes here. No racing handlebars. The bikes here have comfortable seats and high handlebars. The riders sit up straight, looking ahead, looking around. Greeting others as they pass.

No one is racing here, because where they are going is where they are. And it’s a good place to be. Pura vida.