Costa Rica Cost of Living Update: Kiwis— $3 per pound

There are places here that remind me of when we first moved to Costa Rica. A feeling of weightlessness is the best way to describe it. You hover above them while breezes drift under your feet.

One of these spots is Playa San Juanillo, a beach 1 1/2 hours from Tamarindo. To get there, you drive through a town oddly called April 27 (Abril de 27). Over a hundred years ago this town, then known as El Gallo (The Rooster) decided it was time for a name change.

I’m sure residents must have tossed their suggestions to the council, one kid yelling, “Cielo Soleado (Sunny Skies).” Or a farmer hollering, “Tierra Rica (Rich Earth).”

But apparently, they couldn’t reach a consensus, so they settled on the date in which they held their meeting. Henceforth, the honorable town of The Rooster became the city of April 27. You might think this is a lateral move, but I applaud these townsfolk. City boards spend an inordinate amount of time and money on changing the name of a street, no less an entire town. It’s easy to make something simple complicated.

There isn’t much to see in Abril de 27. In fact, I wasn’t sure if we were actually driving through it. Like most Costa Rican towns, there is a lot of countryside before seeing a square with a church and soccer field. There is always a church and soccer field. And always laughing children playing outside. Neighborhoods bleed into each other around here — blurry boundary lines in a beautiful countryside.

I never mind a bumpy ride down an equally bumpy road when I’m with my husband. I love our little trips together — no pressure to be anywhere. We could pull off where we see men fishing and ask what they’re catching. Or stop at a roadside melon stand. One place is as pretty as any other. But today we are determined to find San Juanillo, a spot the Ticos keep telling us to visit. And now I understand why.

Playa San Juanillo is a small stretch of white sand with a peninsula jutting out of its center. It reminds me of the peninsula in Uvita, the one known as the whale’s tail because of its remarkable resemblance to… you got it… a whale’s tail. But San Juanillo’s peninsula looks more like a poodle’s tail. One groomed with a perfect pom pom on top.

We lay our towels under an almond tree and settle in. We never have much more than that. Maybe some cold drinks but we aren’t as prepared as other families here: no hammocks or umbrellas, barbecue grills or rafts.

“We have to remember to bring those things,” I tell Rob. But we never do. These trips are always spur of the moment. Not much planning is involved, and I suppose we subconsciously keep it that way. The whole purpose is to enjoy the day; to not make something simple complicated.

We do bring a snorkel and mask. Rob loves to snorkel. He would snorkel in someone’s fish tank if they’d let him. He needs to see what’s under the water’s surface. Whether it’s fish or coral, he finds this world infinitely fascinating.

As I relax under the tree’s shadow, I realize why Ticos keep telling me to come here. Sunrays lovingly tap the waves like a parent patting the top of their child’s head. You feel welcome here. You feel happy.

And maybe that’s why I feel weightless in so many of these beautiful places. Nature hardens my armor against sadder times. When a depressing thought hits or an old grudge bubbles up like a shaken can of seltzer, I stare at the ocean and it gives me mental space. And isn’t that what most of us are missing? Space from our worries? A little room to stretch out, as if our body was crammed inside an economy airline seat for the better part of twenty years.

Rob and I are both quiet as we drive home.  I watch grains of sand fall off my arms, onto the car seat, then to the floor. By the time we make it home, there will be a mini beach at my feet.

The date we moved to Costa Rica was Sept 2nd. That was over ten years ago. It wasn’t a day specifically planned, but one where we could get our pets on the same plane with us. I knew from that day on things would never be the same. I was anxious because that didn’t scare me.

So just like the town of The Rooster, Rob and I convened and changed what defined us. We finally stretched out and found shade under an almond tree, taking road trips to nowhere that blurred our boundary lines. Feeling welcome and happy.  Finding joy with two towels and a sandy car.

You can find all of my favorite places using the 2019 edition of The Costa Rica Escape Manual. Follow along on our adventures through all of my books! Or come see us at The Happier House and we can share these stories with you in person.