The Dawn Dance Escape Trail: A Week That Made It All Click

I’ve been itching to write this blog post all week. There are some weeks abroad where everything blurs together, and then there are weeks like this one—weeks that sparkle, misbehave, challenge you, exhaust you, and remind you why you got on the plane in the first place. So buckle up, friends. We’re jumping right in.

Let’s start with something that might seem small, but actually feels like one of the funniest and most unexpected parts of living here: getting my nails done. Now, if you know me, you know that in the U.S. I am not a salon girlie. I’ve never seen myself as the “every two weeks” type. It always felt too expensive, too unnecessary, and, honestly, I just never saw myself fitting into that routine.

But Costa Rica has changed me in ways I didn’t foresee. Here, you pay $15—yes, FIFTEEN—for a full gel set that lasts me five weeks. Five. Weeks. American salons could never. The frugal little goblin inside me practically weeps every time I think about it.

This week, instead of going to the familiar salon I’ve been to a few times, I decided to try something new. There’s a woman in my neighborhood who does nails out of her home. I’ve passed her little handwritten sign taped to her door countless times on my walks, and after slowly befriending half my street—neighbors, shop owners, the lady who sells empanadas—I figured it only made sense to complete the circle and get my nails done at Stephanie’s house.

So on Monday morning, I walked right over and knocked. She opened the door with the warmest smile and ushered me inside like she’d been expecting me for weeks. She handed me a café con leche that tasted like heaven and started talking to me like we had known each other forever. Her house smelled like cinnamon and something baking. A little radio played soft salsa music in the background.

It was so… human. So personal.

We talked about everything—from her kids to my studies to the neighborhood gossip that I’m apparently now included in. She worked gently but confidently, and by the end I had the most beautiful, glossy green nails. The entire experience felt like this cozy, unexpected pocket of peace. I left thinking, “Why have I been going to salons my whole life when I could be doing this?”

But the week didn’t stay peaceful for long.

I kept doing homework, running errands, planning my eventual return home, and by Thursday night, the stress of it all had built into this restless, buzzing energy. I needed a release.

Now, let me be clear: the party girl I once was—my freshman-year alter ego—no longer lives here. My brain chemistry has stabilized, my frontal cortex has matured, and going out is no longer the highlight of my existence. But sometimes? Sometimes the universe whispers, “A night must be had.” And when that whisper comes… well.

A night will indeed be had.

Anna and I left the red house on Thursday feeling amazing and looking like a million bucks. We walked into La Estación, a pretty popular bar here, and immediately I realized something crucial: the music was not going to do it for me. It wasn’t bad—just nothing I could lose myself in. And when I go out, I want to lose myself in the music.

Luckily, fate intervened. I spotted two girls from my school who were already halfway through their night and on their way to a gay bar just a few blocks away. They said the magic words (“Come with us!”), and before I knew it, the four of us were taking a couple more shots and heading out into the cool San José night.

And what awaited us… I swear, it took my breath away.

We walked into a room full of people singing Shania Twain at full volume—full-body, scream-it-from-your-soul singing. “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” was blasting through the speakers while complete strangers danced like they were reclaiming their entire identities at once.

I cannot explain the joy that washed over me.

THIS was the energy I had been craving. I felt safe, free, wild in the best way—not reckless, just alive. I danced harder than I have in years. Sweaty, joyful, hair sticking to my neck, singing at the top of my lungs. I was a beautiful tropical birds absolutely lighting up the sky. This was this shared, collective liberation. And yes, I learned in real time that Shania Twain is, apparently, a global LGBTQ+ anthem.

It truly felt like a movie… until I looked across the room and saw Anna looking like she had been personally haunted by a Victorian ghost. Sadly, what the shots did for me had the opposite effect on her. But our new friends and I rallied together, gathered everyone up, and made it home safely.

My past experiences with drunk people usually make me shut down emotionally—but I was having such an incredible night that holding a trash bag in the Uber didn’t even faze me. If anything, it just made the story funnier. I still swear I heard Shania echoing in the background.

Friday became a reset day. I stayed in, rested, and—this part makes me laugh—I ended up going back to Stephanie’s house because she texted me asking if I’d come over so we could hang out and she could practice some nail art. If we weren’t friends before, we definitely are now.

Now, here’s a plot twist: I was supposed to go on a weekend trip to Cahuita. I was excited about the beaches, the food, all of it. But things got complicated. People backed out, dynamics shifted, plans got weird, and it slowly transformed into this uncomfortable couples trip. I ended up backing out (and honestly was kind of asked not to come once it became too messy).

And you know what? I felt… weirdly relieved.

Because suddenly, the thing I’d been wanting to do for months—the Bajos del Toro hike—opened up like a perfect little opportunity. I immediately texted Emma and within an hour, we had everything organized.

Saturday morning, we woke up at 4:30 a.m., bleary-eyed and buzzing, and hopped onto a bus heading toward Sarchí. I’ve been to the area before, but never the rural corners, never the hidden pockets tucked deep into the mountains. The sky slowly shifted from black to deep purple to bright gold as the sun came up. It already felt special.

On the bus, we met two girls—Inés from Mexico and Natalia from Spain—who met while volunteering at a sloth sanctuary (which is possibly the most wholesome sentence I have ever written). They were kind, funny, and clearly just as excited as we were.

Our guides were two locals, Kenneth and Jorge, who had grown up in the Bajos del Toro region and had been hiking the canyons since they were children. They had that kind of calm, grounded energy that instantly makes you trust them with your life.

They told us the history of the area—that when the region was first settled, people began noticing these incredibly unique yellow-colored bulls wandering through the land. The settlers followed them, fascinated, and the bulls led them straight into the canyons. The trails we hike today? They’re the original bull trails.

Something about that story stayed with me the entire hike.

Around 5:30 a.m., after reading a charming little sign that said “DANGER: DEATH POSSIBLE,” we began our trek.

In total, we hiked about 7.5 miles and climbed roughly 4,000 feet in elevation. We crossed the river four times, gripping ropes, stepping carefully on slick rocks, getting absolutely soaked by water crashing from the cliffs above. The air smelled like wet stone, fresh earth, and something impossibly ancient, like moss mixed with time itself.

At one point, we entered Jurassic Canyon, where—yes, truly—one of the waterfalls was used in the Jurassic World movies. Standing there felt unreal. The walls around us were towering and emerald green, and the sound of the waterfall roared so loudly we had to shout to hear each other.

It was easily one of the most beautiful, surreal, and challenging experiences of my life.

Somewhere along the trail, maybe around hour five, I had this moment where everything got so quiet in my head. I felt myself becoming aware of how small I was compared to these canyons, and yet how powerful I felt at the same time. The fact that we were walking the same pathways as those yellow bulls centuries ago—it gave the whole hike this mythic energy.

Kenneth and Jorge were incredible the entire time—patient, funny, supportive, and so deeply in love with their land. You could feel it in every story they told, every plant they pointed out, every warning they gave. I walked away with so much admiration for them.

After completing the hardest hike I’ve ever done—easily one of the hardest in Costa Rica—Emma and I were exhausted but triumphant. We made it. We did it.

Afterward, we grabbed lunch at a little spot in Sarchí, where the world’s tiniest kitten waltzed up to me and demanded attention with loud, persistent meows. Despite being allergic and not typically a cat person, I melted instantly. For a good 10 minutes, I truly considered adopting this cat—until I found out she belonged to the house across the street.

We ate, we talked with our new friends, we laughed, and then we took the bus back to San José. I slept the entire way.

And today—Sunday—I woke up with jelly legs and the fullest, calmest heart. Not just because I crossed something majestic off my bucket list, but because I felt so present this week. So open to the people around me. So alive.

At one point during the hike, while walking alongside Jorge, he asked me what I was doing here in Costa Rica. I told him I was studying. He laughed—a light, knowing kind of laugh—and said, “That can’t be the only reason you’re here.”

And I knew he was right.

So I told him the truth: I came here because I wanted to learn how to slow down. How to breathe. How to live more peacefully, the way people here do—the way their whole culture is wrapped around “pura vida.”

He looked at me and said, in the most sincere voice, “If you—at 22—got on a plane alone, came here, faced the Bajos, and completed them… then you can do anything.”

Something about that stuck in my soul. He’s right.

Thank you, Jorge, for reminding me that what I’m doing is brave, and crazy, and cool, and meaningful. I did a great thing—and I made a great thing out of it.

And that, my dear friend, is my takeaway of the week.

As always, pray for me and wish me luck.