-You instinctively order sugar cane alcohol and maracuya juice at the bar -
-You consider $5 to be an expensive dinner - 
-You don’t own a jacket or blanket - 
-You refer to Americans as 'gringos' -
-Kamikaze showers don’t bother you - 
-The local bartender knows your astrological sign and dietary restrictions - 
-A trip to “the most biologically diverse place on earth” is as easy as this

If you happen to have been eating lemony BBQ, playing small-sided soccer, or surface diving for conch shells on a remote island in the Pacific Ocean, off the southern tip of the Osa Peninsula, you might have seen me.  I was the one with the berry-juice tribal tattoos, sand head to toe, and six goals to my name.   First leg of trip: 50-minute flight to Palmar Sur.  I was hungover, feeling like someone had my head in a vice and the turbulence wasn’t helping.  I tried to distract myself on the flight by reminiscing about high school nerds, laughing about college enemies, and contemplating how many sturgeon are really caught each year in the Caspian Sea.  The scenery was my cure though.  When I looked out the window of this shifty dual-prop jet, I felt lucky.  I saw dark green forests pressed right up against aqua blue waters and clouds that looked like giant cotton balls.  We were going to the Costa Rica’s final frontier—the Osa Peninsula, supposedly known by National Geographic as one of the most biologically intense places on earth.

The jet started its descent into what looked like a palm tree graveyard; lower and lower, until a small strip of pavement appeared.   The teetery plane hit the ground hard, then wobbled down the runway like a kid who just graduated from training wheels.  Our destination, the Palmar Sur airport, which more resembled a picnic area, consisted of a short amateur-paved runway, a small hut-covered waiting area, and three star fruit trees.   We de-boarded the plane and were greeted by two 10 year olds clad in neon orange reflector vests -  the baggage handlers. 

Second leg of trip:  a 30 minute bus ride to the town of Sierpe.  Along with us in our bus was an over affectionate couple from Mexico, as well as Steve who looked like he could play the mad professor role in a Richie Rich sequel, and Mike, a freestyle traveller/Steven Speilberg lookalike.  Our bus driver avoided deep potholes and ambitious stray dogs.  Past machete-wielding farmers and giant banana trees to the town of Sierpe which is about as big as my left pinky toe nail.

Third leg of trip: one-hour boat ride up the Sierpe River.  Our motor boat chugged upriver, past sunning crocodiles, mangrove estuaries, and unspoiled beaches.  We waved to local families in their dugout canoes, stopping at one point to buy some snapper from a family of proud fishermen.  This was the real Costa Rica.  No giant Coca-Cola signs flashing, no annoying taxis honking for your attention, and no aggressive guys trying to sell you brooms.  Only the water, the land, and the slackjawed visitor.  Every metre we travelled was further and further away from home. 

When we reached our eco-lodge Aguila de Osa, I felt like a little boy in a candy shop.  I belly-flopped onto my bed and tested out the hammocks on the panoramic porch.  Whenever I enter a hotel room I always do this curious and excited little inspection; I open closets, search the mini-fridge, and check out what free toiletries they’ve offered.  The entire suite was open air and the shower looked out over the Pacific.  Remember that sound machine you bought your mom for her birthday when you were younger?  This was the real thing.   Rain drizzling, ara-cari’s singing, ocean waves lapping, and my stomach rumbling…I was hungry.  Dinner was served family style, forcing me to make conversation with a sleepy girl from England, two mute Frenchies, and a talkative duo from Manhattan.  Some grilled pargo filets and two flasks of wine later, I found myself the last person at the table and was forced to retire to my suite out of embarrassment. 

The following morning, the hotel set up an all-day excursion to Caño Island, as if I needed to go somewhere more remote. The ocean was so calm that it looked like a giant dance floor.  Dolphins surfed in the boat’s wake, baleen whales did full breaches in the horizon, and sharks went about their gentle business below.   It was a world of nature and wildlife that I had never ever seen before, like some Discovery Channel re-enactment of what nature was like before man started destroying it.  Standing at the side of the boat, the sun reflecting off my sunglasses, my T-shirt blowing around in the wind, looking out at the perfect view, and with a giant undisguised grin on my face.  I was content. 

The island itself was as virgin as a 4th  grade computer geek;  fallen coconuts collected in mounds, hermit crabs wandering around the sand, and birds nesting in the trees.  The only way you could tell anyone had ever been there was the ramshackle ranger station and adjacent picnic tables.  I played dominoes and ate BBQ sandwiches served on old newspapers.  I wandered to several isolated beaches where I saw sloths hanging from branches, toucans hopping atop trees, and most importantly zero signs of civilization.  I rounded coves of hardened lava, swam in bathtub-warm water, and peed wherever I wanted!  The place was so beautiful, that doing nothing was perfectly fine with me.  It was post-cardpicturesque and I didn’t want to leave. 

That afternoon I relaxed on my porch playing word games and trying to remember which country uses drachma as its currency.   I snacked on crunchy corrn chips and bright green guacamole.  Having been in the sun and water all day, I took a skin-stingingly perfect shower.  That post shower feeling of exhaustion and relaxation kicked in and led me to nap for several hours.  I had dinner with the owner of the lodge, Brad who was so quirky that if you didn’t know he was the owner, you would have him escorted off the premises by security.  He also did lots of dramatic pauses before saying mundane things like, “I’d say the river is about…(10 second real-time thinking pause)…six miles long.” 
I turned in early for my trip home the next morning. 

Osa was unlike any place I’ve ever seen.  Because there is so little development, you won’t find signs telling you to beware of poisonous snakes or police scolding at you because an area is off limits.  The airports still use a pencil and paper for check in and the roads are nothing to write home about.  You won’t find any TVs or high-tech electronic gadgets because that’s not what it’s about down here.  It’s all about nature.  It’s about preserving land that has been relatively untouched for hundreds and hundreds of years so that other people can see it too.  When National Geographic made that statement, they were definitely on to something.