Why do so many people dream of Costa Rica?
People come to Costa Rica chasing beauty, wildlife, and the mythical ease of “Pura Vida.”
Before I ever boarded a plane to Costa Rica, the country existed in my imagination as a place of endless green. It was sloths in trees, toucans on signs, and waterfalls waiting around every bend. I wasn’t expecting it to live up to the hype. But then I saw a monkey steal a bag of chips from a tourist in broad daylight. I watched a volcano puff a perfect smoke ring while I drank coffee grown on its slope. I met a man in flip-flops and a cowboy hat who sold me homemade cheese out of a cooler and then offered to teach me how to milk a cow.
So yes, Costa Rica is just as wild, weird, and beautiful as advertised.
What was the turning point from tourist to resident?
Somewhere between the mosquito bites and the mangoes, I stopped wanting to leave.
After a few months, I realized I was no longer just “visiting.” I was complaining about the cost of avocados like a local. I knew which potholes to avoid on the road into town. I gave directions using trees and chicken coops. And I had a favorite sloth.
I wasn’t just having adventures anymore—I was building routines. Routines that included racing home before the afternoon downpour, chatting with the neighbor’s parrot, and dodging iguanas in the driveway. I had absorbed the chaos. The jungle had claimed me.
Sure, I still struggled with Spanish tenses and occasionally ended up with three bags of cilantro instead of one bunch of parsley. But I was in it. And strangely happy.
What happens when you return to your country of origin?
You feel like a guest in the place you once called home.
On my first trip “home” after living in Costa Rica for a while, I walked into a grocery store and had a full-blown culture shock in aisle five. Why were there so many cereal options? Why was everything double-wrapped in plastic? Why did people look annoyed that I smiled and said “hello” in the parking lot?
At customs, I was questioned more intensely re-entering my own country than I ever was entering Costa Rica on a tourist visa. My boots were too dusty. My Spanish slipped into my English without warning. I said “permiso” instead of “excuse me” and got weird looks at the gas station.
I had reverse culture whiplash. My family asked about my life “down there,” as if I were reporting from another planet. I tried to explain the joy of watching ants build a dirt highway across my front step. Or how soothing it is to fall asleep to the sound of frogs the size of teacups. They nodded politely and then changed the subject to sports or traffic.
It hit me hard: I didn’t belong the way I used to. My cultural compass had been recalibrated. I was no longer American enough to slip back in unnoticed.
What makes Costa Rica truly feel like home?
It’s not the ease—it’s the richness of experience and the rhythm you surrender to.
Living in Costa Rica means trading convenience for character. The ATM might be out of cash. Your plumber might arrive two days late—but he’ll stay for coffee. The local bus might be thirty minutes early or forty minutes late. You plan less and live more.
You start measuring your days in rainstorms, fruit seasons, and animal sightings. Your sense of time stretches. You realize how unnecessary stress is when you’re surrounded by so much life, raw, unpredictable, and vivid.
You get used to being a little sweaty, a little confused, and a lot more human.
- You learn to laugh at yourself. Like when you spent ten minutes yelling at what turned out to be a coconut in the bushes.
- You adapt or you suffer. Like when you learn the hard way not to leave bananas on the kitchen counter unless you enjoy ants in biblical numbers.
- You become fluent in feeling. In the way the light hits the hills at 5 PM, or how the frogs fall silent just before the rain.
Costa Rica doesn’t just grow on you—it rewires you.
FAQ
Is Costa Rica a good place to settle permanently?
If you value nature, slower living, and a bit of beautiful chaos, it can feel like paradise—bugs, bureaucracy, and all.
Do people change after moving to Costa Rica?
Absolutely. The jungle has a way of stripping you down to what matters. You adapt, you slow down, and you become more present.
What’s the hardest part about returning to your original country?
It’s realizing you no longer fit quite right. You’ve grown into a different rhythm—and it shows.Can someone thrive in Costa Rica long-term?
Yes, especially if you can laugh when things go wrong and celebrate the moments when everything lines up just right.
