• 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

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.

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.

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.

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.