The Trip That Tested Me (and Taught Me How to Dance It Off)

This week absolutely flew by. When I finally sat down to write, I realized I wasn’t even sure where to begin. The start of my week was pretty simple—classes, time with Mamatica, hanging out with new friends, and wandering around San José to soak in as much as I could.

One of the highlights (believe it or not) was my encounters with the street cats. I kept running into them everywhere, and to my surprise, they’re so clean and friendly. Before you say, “Wait, who actually pets stray cats?”—yes, I do. And yes, they’re shockingly well-kept. Even the animals here seem to embody pura vida—you can feel it in the way they carry themselves.

The real milestone of my week, though, was giving my first-ever speech in Spanish. I’m happy to report that I absolutely crushed it. I even managed to weave in a little Cuban flair, which made it even sweeter.

But not everything was lighthearted. One afternoon, Mamatica warned me not to walk in the rain. You might be wondering, “Why on earth would she say that?” Two words: acid rain. Apparently, it’s a real issue here, and people are actually getting sick from it. The “crazy Cubans” who used to warn about mythical acid rain? Turns out, they were actually onto something. Needless to say, when Mamatica speaks, I listen.

Later in the week, our neighborhood was shaken by something much heavier—a robbery just two streets away. Thankfully, us girls in the house are safe, but the family who lived there suffered injuries and had to spend the night in the emergency room. Please keep them in your prayers. I know—acid rain and robberies don’t exactly scream “uplifting week.” But in true pura vida fashion, my friends and I decided to end the week with something bright. So, we did the only logical thing: we booked a trip.

What happens next will shock you.

We decided to take a weekend trip to Manuel Antonio—the infamous home of monkeys, sloths, and some of Costa Rica’s most beautiful beaches (this has been locally confirmed, by the way). It’s also where the national park everyone raves about is located. The plan was simple: hop on a bus in San José, ride for about three and a half hours, and arrive in paradise. Easy work. Honestly, I was even looking forward to zoning out, watching the world pass by the window, and soaking in the scenery.

But six hours later, our “easy work” bus ride had dragged into eternity. By the time we finally stumbled off at the station, every shop and restaurant had closed, which meant: no water. And because Mamatica and Jonathan have drilled into my head that I should not drink tap water once I leave the city, I went from 9 p.m. Friday night until noon the next day running on about three sad little sips of water. My body was not having it. By Saturday morning, I found myself dry heaving in a restaurant bathroom. How glamorous.

But not to worry—years of beach volleyball and my (slightly hysterical) ex-athlete parents (kidding…sort of) taught me how to rally. I focused on rehydrating, breathing, and staying calm because we were about to hike the glorious Manuel Antonio National Park. At least, that was the plan.

Here’s where things got messy. Out of respect for my own sanity, I’ll keep it vague: my friend Makena and I were, in a way, somewhat verbally assaulted by a weirdo. Don’t worry—it ended quickly (shoutout to my dad for passing down the assertive/ rage genes and for always telling me to keep my head on a swivel, it came in handy this time around). But in the chaos, my phone ended up in a moving taxi… that I was not in. To make matters worse, the park was randomly closed. No one could really explain why. So here I was: dehydrated, phoneless, sloth-less, and officially overstimulated.

Mom, I want to start by formally apologizing for the frantic phone call you received from me this weekend. I sincerely hope the universe repays you with a lifetime of happiness, wealth, and property for the way you calmed me down.

Thankfully, with the help of my mom, Makena, and two very nice drivers, I was able to find my phone. I wish I had a picture of the way that Tico man hugged me and held my face as I cried and thanked him well over 20 times. All he said was "tranquila chica, it's okay now".

All I wanted was a hike and a beach day. Instead, I got stress and chaos. But here’s the thing: the day wasn’t over yet, and I figured the only way left to go was up. So I did what any logical person would do—I put on my boogie shoes and hit the town.

Now, I love to dance. However, one guy, Davis, might actually love it more than me. Watching him dance is like watching someone hear their favorite song for the very first time—except it’s every single song. His passion was contagious, and it shook me out of my funk. Soon enough, each of us was throwing down some great (and, honestly, sometimes questionable) moves on a practically empty dance floor. It was the perfect reminder that even when travel goes horribly wrong, it still has the power to surprise you in the best ways.

The weekend, in its own chaotic way, taught me a lot about travel—who I want to travel with, how I want to handle challenges, and the kind of traveler I hope to become. It wasn’t the trip anyone imagined, and just to top it all off, I came home with a raging cold. Perfect ending, right?

To be fair, illness has been creeping through our program lately in bizarre ways. One guy is hospitalized with two types of E. Coli and a rare virus (like… how?!). Nearly everyone has a cough. And apparently, the rain here is still “contaminated”? I need someone to explain that to me, because what does that even mean?

But listen—I don’t want to sound like a downer. Because at the end of the day, I was in Manuel Antonio, Costa Rica. It was stunningly beautiful. And while I didn’t see a sloth, I did see a monkey, which honestly felt like a little “here you go” gift from God. Plus, I took my first hot shower in two weeks—an underrated blessing that nearly brought me to tears.

So yes, Makena and I came back a little worse for wear, but we’re determined to do the next trip the right way—with fewer bumps in the road, hopefully. The girls will be back and better… just give me 3–5 business days to recover.

I know that in a few weeks, I’ll probably look back and laugh at how spectacularly almost everything went wrong. For now, I’m choosing to rest, breathe, and remember that life is beautiful—and that I do, indeed, have time. Time to get what I want out of this experience, make meaningful connections, and step into the new and unexpected—even if it looks nothing like I imagined.

Pray for me, and wish me luck (please)!