Coming Up For Air in Playa Cocles

Hi friends — I know it’s been a little while since my last post, but I’m finally sitting down to catch you up. The past week and a half has been an absolute whirlwind, full of emotions I’m still sorting through, moments of joy tucked inside heavier ones, and a kind of mental exhaustion that only slows down once you decide to breathe again. First of all, Happy (very belated) Thanksgiving. Here in Costa Rica, Thanksgiving isn’t celebrated, so it’s still strange to me that it’s already officially the holiday season and somehow… December.

Even though there was no big Thanksgiving feast, I did get to go with Andrea and her family for breakfast in the park. It wasn’t turkey or stuffing, but it was warm, familiar, and grounding — a little pocket of family time, even far from home.

The real emotional weight of the week, though, came from having to take a few days off and fly back to the United States for my grandmother’s funeral. I’m not going to spend too much time writing about it, partly because I’m not ready and partly because some things feel too sacred, too tender, to put into paragraphs right now. But I will say this: the emotions were heavy. The circumstances were hard. And yet, being surrounded by my family — hugging them, crying with them, laughing in between tears — felt like the exact place I needed to be. The ceremony was beautiful. There is a quiet peace in knowing that someone you love is finally free from pain. And even in such a difficult moment, I gathered memories with my family that I will carry with me always.

My time at home was shorter than I wished, but I had to return to Costa Rica to finish out my program. Honestly, the plane ride back felt like a blur. I was on autopilot until I stepped back into the house, dropped my bags, and realized I needed to both unpack my life again and figure out what the rest of the week was supposed to look like. Naturally, that meant one thing: planning a trip.

After such an emotionally draining few days, a weekend away felt necessary — not as an escape, but as a place to breathe again. Plus, it was my last weekend in Costa Rica before flying home (for real this time), so I knew I needed to make it count. My friends and I decided to head back to the Puerto Viejo area. We had gone earlier in the semester and loved it so much that returning almost felt like returning to a familiar dream — just in a slightly different part of the coastline.

We took the early bus on Friday which was easy and went by pretty fast, and out first stop was to the hostel. We stayed at this hostel called Playa 506, tucked right on the shore in Playa Cocles, and honestly it ended up feeling like a little bubble separate from real life. It wasn’t fancy or overdone — just wooden walkways, warm lighting at night, and the sound of the ocean drifting into every corner like it lived there permanently. The whole place had this unbothered, slow-moving energy. People wandered around barefoot, carrying books or surfboards or mugs of coffee. Hammocks were everywhere, practically begging you to drop whatever you were doing and lie down for a minute. Our room opened up to a sandy path that led straight to the water, and every time we stepped outside, we could hear the waves before we even saw them. There was a small kitchen where people cooked at all hours, talking quietly over cutting boards like they’d known each other for years. It just felt… easy. Not curated. Not trying to be anything. Just the kind of place where the days run together in the best way — warm, simple, and full of salt air.

Even in all the fun, there were little pockets of silence where everything finally caught up to me — the grief, the beauty, the overwhelm, the gratitude. I remember floating on my back in the ocean one afternoon, letting the waves lift and lower me, and for the first time all week, I felt the heaviness in my chest loosen. The sky above me was completely clear, impossibly blue, and I had this moment of realizing how strange life is — how it can hold sadness and joy and exhaustion and healing all at once. The water moved around me like it had somewhere to be, but I didn’t. I was exactly where I needed to be. And maybe that was the whole point of the weekend: letting myself exist without rushing to the next thing.

And from that moment on, the weekend became exactly what my mind and heart needed.

I spent long hours on the sand, swimming in the crystal blue Atlantic while looking back at the lush, ridiculously beautiful shoreline of Costa Rica. I napped in a hammock with the ocean breeze rocking me, ate delicious sushi, and finally let my brain slow down enough to hear itself again.

There was this one small moment — after breakfast on our first morning — when I took a tiny walk by myself because I saw a spot that looked pretty. It was nothing extravagant, just a quiet corner of beach and sunlight. But for ten minutes, my mind went completely still. No thoughts racing. No emotions crashing. Just breath and calm. I didn’t realize how much I needed a moment like that until it happened.

But the weekend wasn’t just peaceful — it was fun in the simplest, purest ways.

We tore up this little bar called Tasty Days, which became our unofficial home base. Luis, the bartender, basically adopted us. On our second night back, he set up beer pong and darts for us without us even asking. He remembered us, joked with us, and by the end of the night he felt like a friend we’d known for years instead of hours.

Back at the hostel, the simple joys kept adding up — playing card games with friends, laughing during silly moments, and cooking this massive family-style dinner. We made fajitas, and when I say the guys cooked like five pounds of chicken, I’m not exaggerating. They grilled veggies, chopped everything perfectly, and it ended up being the most delicious meal. We all gathered around like a big, mismatched, temporary family — the kind of family you only get in travel moments.

Those little pockets of joy stitched my heart back together in ways I didn’t realize I needed.

Emotionally, I had been running on empty, and I think Costa Rica knew that. This weekend handed me rest in the form of ocean water, good food, card games, hammock naps, and some people who were fully present. I knew after the first time I had been that I loved Puerto Viejo, however that could not be more true now.

As the weekend came to a close and we packed our sandy clothes and half-eaten snacks into our backpacks, I felt this soft ache in my chest — the kind that comes when something is ending, but in a beautiful, earned way. This trip didn’t erase the hard moments of the past week, but it made space for them. It held them without drowning me. And in the middle of all the grief and the silliness and the ocean and the fajitas and the late-night bar games, I found something I hadn’t felt in days: myself. Maybe that’s the gift Playa Cocles gave me — the reminder that even when life feels heavy, there’s still room for light, laughter, saltwater, and healing.

It reminded me that being emotionally drained isn’t something you push through — it’s something you gently slow down from. And I finally got a slice of that slowness. I couldn’t have asked for a better way to spend my last weekend here. It wasn’t extravagant or wild — it was simple, restorative, and exactly what I needed to remember who I am before heading home.

Pray for me and wish me luck!