Swaying Between Earthquakes and Ease

My goodness, was I excited to sit down and write this week’s blog. After last week’s reflections, I came into this one with a certain peace — that my speed is perfect for me, and that’s all that matters.

School-wise, the week was pretty calm, other than the fact that I had to give a presentation in every single class. But I’m happy to report that they all went well, and we are still thriving in the academic department. Outside of class, my weekdays have found a comforting rhythm. I’ve officially become a regular at my local panadería and the nearby craft store. In fact, one of the workers greeted me the other day with a cheerful “¡Hola, Lela!” — and I genuinely have no memory of ever telling her my name. Somehow she knew, and it made me weirdly, wonderfully happy.

On another note, I can now say I’ve lived through not one… but two earthquakes. One thing about Costa Rica is that it rests on several fault lines, which makes it pretty prone to tremors. Earthquakes are completely normal here — so normal that the locals are alarmingly calm when the literal ground starts to move. I learned about this my first week here and figured it was only a matter of time before I experienced one myself. Sure enough, Tuesday and Wednesday night brought two small ones. They weren’t aggressive, just a deep, rolling sway that you could feel rising from the earth’s core — strange, humbling, and oddly peaceful. One was a 5.3 and the other a 4.5 on the Richter scale, in case you’re wondering.

Originally, I had planned to spend the weekend in San José — a quiet city weekend sounded nice — but, per usual, that plan did not stick. I booked a trip last minute, and thank goodness I did.

A big group of us decided to head to a beach town in Limón called Puerto Viejo. It’s on the Caribbean side of the country, which has a culture that’s totally different from the Pacific coast I’ve explored most weekends. I’d been dying to experience it, so when the opportunity came up, I couldn’t say no.

We left Friday afternoon and, after a long and very cramped bus ride, finally reached the coast. Somehow, our first stop was an Italian restaurant — and honestly, that set the tone. I knew right away this trip was going to be good. After dinner, we explored our hostel, which looked straight out of a backpacker’s dream: triple bunk beds, bug nets, no AC, and the soft hum of fans filling the room. Oh, and Carlos the cat, the unofficial hostel mascot. He slept at the foot of my bed one night — and yes, I’m allergic to cats, but I adored it anyway.

We also met two girls from northern Italy who spoke five languages — Italian, French, German, English, and one called Ladin, an ancient dialect from the mountains of northern Italy and parts of Austria that predates Latin. Stuff like that is exactly why I love hostels: people from every corner of the world, each carrying their own piece of history.

Later that night, we took drinks down to the beach. The stars above were unreal, but my eyes kept drifting back down to the glowing tide pools around us, alive with tiny creatures. I spotted a few crabs, a stingray, and who knows what else. Inevitably, we ended up swimming under the starlight, and I had one of those pure gratitude moments: floating in the Caribbean under a sky full of stars. All you can really do in a moment like that is breathe it in and think, Qué dicha.

Saturday ended up being one of the best days I’ve had in a long time — and here’s why. We started the morning at the sweetest little café that doubled as a bookstore, then made our way to Playa Uva to begin a day of beach-hopping. I have never in my life seen a beach so perfect: crystal-clear water, schools of fish darting around, and a lush, green coastline that looked painted by hand. The Caribbean coast is a completely different world — reggae drifting through the air, smoke from grilled jerk chicken and fresh-caught fish wafting from beach stalls, the sound of laughter mixing with the waves.

I floated in the warm water for what felt like hours, then hiked with friends to a lookout point where the view honestly made me speechless. Later, we wandered to another beach shaded by palms — it even had a swing tied to one of the trees. We stopped for lunch at a food truck, where I ate a sandwich so ridiculously good I didn’t even care what was in it. From there, we ended the day at Playa Chiquita, just in time for sunset. The sky practically caught fire with golds melting into pinks and the ocean turning glassy. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.

Dinner that night was at a tiny local Caribbean spot. When our food came out, the waiter grinned and pulled out an unlabeled bottle, saying, “This is my homemade hot sauce.” It was incredible — easily the best hot sauce (and one of the best meals) I’ve had here. We left sniffling from the spice and laughing all the way to the next bar, where we danced, drank, and let the night carry us. Back at the hostel, we sat up chatting in our bunks, glistening with sweat under our mosquito nets, swapping stories with our new Italian friends.

Sunday morning came too soon. After a quick breakfast, we made our way to Playa Negra — the famous black sand beach. We were stunned by how dark the sand actually was. It’s amazing how something as simple as the color of the sand can change the entire mood of a place. We swam, took in the view, and wandered to a nearby restaurant for lunch.

Before eating, a few of us walked down to the water for one last look and met a man who asked us for a lighter. We stayed to chat, and I swear he was the happiest person I’ve ever met. He told us, smiling ear to ear, that he’s a fisherman who lives in a small shack on the beach. He fishes every day, but that day, he said, the weather was too beautiful to work, so he decided to rest instead. I remember thinking how lucky he was: to live, work, and rest all in the same place. The sea his home, his job, his joy. Maybe that’s the life, right there.

Lunch ran a little long, which led to a mad rush for the bus. There was a chaotic minute where we thought we might miss it entirely — but somehow, we made it with half a second to spare. On the ride back to San José, I kept thinking about how many things that weekend were uncomfortable — the heat, the sweat, the blisters from sandy shoes — but none of it mattered. It was one of the most joyful, freeing weekends I’ve had here yet.

Throughout my travels, I’ve stumbled upon what I call my blissful places — places that feel perfect to me, where I’m completely at peace and in awe of the beauty, culture, and people around me. Puerto Viejo is absolutely one of those places. I’ll never get over it.

I’m leaving this weekend with a very, very happy heart and a peaceful mind. I already knew I loved Costa Rica — but this weekend, it felt like Costa Rica loved me back. And what a special, beautiful thing that is. So as I catch up on some much needed sleep...

Pray for me and wish me luck!