Bahia Drake

If blundering blindly into a humid, pitch-dark Costa Rican jungle sounds like your idea of a good time (and frankly, why wouldn't it?), then tighten your boots and grab your flashlight for a night jungle hike through Bahia Drake's gloriously untamed forest. By day this paradise hums and preens like a lush postcard backdrop, but come nightfall, the forest truly flaunts its eccentricities-it's when the shy and bizarre creatures venture out, like crab spiders lurking on leaves, kinkajous darting treetops, and glowing fungi lending an eerie sci-fi charm. Historically speaking, Bahia Drake was a favorite stop of Sir Francis Drake (pirates always knew how to pick their playgrounds), and exploring by moonlight gives you a sense of how perfectly terrifying-and oddly thrilling-this jungle must've been half a millennium ago. Aim for around 8 PM, when the nocturnal residents clock-in for their graveyard shift. Plan this adventure at least a day in advance-local guides fill up quickly, especially in peak season-and budget about $35 to $50 per person. Bring sturdy boots, plenty of insect repellent, a headlamp, and nerves of steel (or tequila, whichever suits you better). Even if nocturnal sloths fail to appear, it's worth it for the ecstatic terror, the otherworldly chorus of invisible nightlife, and the bragging rights you'll claim when recounting stories about that one time in Costa Rica you stumbled upon something glowing and unsettlingly alive in the dark.

Snorkeling around Cano Island is like plunging your face into a Discovery Channel special, narrated by David Attenborough-except the narration is replaced by your own muffled exclamations of awe (and maybe mild panic if a curious barracuda drifts too close). Situated just 12 miles offshore from the Osa Peninsula, this idyllic marine reserve effortlessly blends Jurassic Park charm with the serene beauty of a tropical paradise. Early morning-preferably ungodly early-is your ideal window to dodge the crowds and spot playful pods of dolphins guiding you to your underwater playground. Book at least two weeks out, sock away around $100 per person, and don't forget sunscreen, a rash guard (seriously, don't underestimate tropical sunburn), and a waterproof camera-because nobody will believe your run-in with an arrogantly indifferent sea turtle otherwise. Sure, your mask might fog, and you may momentarily question your sanity hovering above a reef while white-tipped sharks lurk casually beneath you, but trust me, snorkeling Cano Island isn't just aquatic sightseeing: it's a rite of passage. Even if you're a hopeless landlubber, this adventure promises anecdotes that'll earn you free drinks at your next dinner party.

Spending a night at the Sirena ranger station in Costa Rica's Corcovado National Park is like agreeing to a sleepover in Mother Nature's unfiltered, unruly backyard-where tapirs wander around like drunken houseguests and your morning alarm clock is a howler monkey screaming existential crises into the dawn. Established in 1975 to protect one of the world's richest biodiversity hot-spots, Corcovado is the kind of place where jaguars occasionally stroll nonchalantly past your sleeping quarters, making your average Airbnb look positively pedestrian. Plan ahead-at least a month-to secure permits and space in the rustic but necessary bunks, and consider dry season (December through April) your ally unless you're particularly into mud wrestling. You're looking at parting with around $120 (park fees and bunk included)-but splurge a little more and hire a local guide who can spot a tree frog from twenty paces and spin tales so wild Bourdain himself would raise an eyebrow. Pack light but don't forget insect repellent potent enough to fend off Jurassic-sized mosquitoes, a headlamp to avoid midnight spider webs, and a sense of humor robust enough to survive losing cellphone service ten feet into the forest. Ultimately, an overnight at Sirena isn't just about bragging rights-though "Did I ever tell you about the jaguar at my doorstep?" certainly spices up cocktail-party banter-it's about reconnecting with the wild, primal side of our planet we secretly wish wasn't quite so endangered.

If you've ever dreamed of trading tourist traps for something a touch more badass-and culturally stimulating-consider journeying into Costa Rica's lush, little-known Boruca Territory for a real-deal Indigenous cultural experience that'll slap some perspective into your sunscreen-smeared vacation. Forget souvenir shops; here, the Boruca people invite you to sit among master mask-carvers, whose vibrant, fearsome creations have been frightening away Spanish conquistadors (at least symbolically) since the 1500s. Try your hand at traditional weaving-a humbling reminder that your fingers are better suited for tapping Instagram likes than threading intricate colors-and appreciate the colorful wisdom behind every stitch. Early mornings offer the best light and smallest crowds, giving you ample elbow room as you inadequately attempt craft-fueled brilliance. Book at least a week ahead (longer during holidays), budget around $50-$75 per person, and toss a reusable water bottle, cash in small bills, and a healthy dose of humility into your bag. Do this not just for the insight, the historical depth, or the handmade masks that will make your walls instantly hipper-but because stories are currency, and honestly, what's better currency than casually dropping "when I learned ancient Boruca weaving from Costa Rican artisans..." at your next dinner party?

If your idea of a memorable evening involves impersonating a radioactive jellyfish under the cover of darkness, heading out to Drake Bay Beach to float amongst bioluminescent plankton certainly delivers. Forget fireworks and glow sticks-Mother Nature decided to flex her evolutionary eccentricity along Costa Rica's remote shoreline instead. First documented back when sailors thought glowing oceans meant they'd angered the gods (or possibly sipped one too many bottles of rum), swimming amid this underwater disco is best attempted during moonless nights when plankton glow brightest and your dignity is hardest to verify. Bring along a towel, an adventurous companion, and perhaps some bug spray (because mosquitoes, unlike plankton, don't glow-they just nibble relentlessly). Set aside around $30-$50 for a guided tour-though you can DIY, a local guide brings amusing anecdotes, safety tips, and reassurance you won't accidentally summon Cthulhu from the depths. Book a day or two ahead, plan to go late evening, and leave the selfie stick behind-your smartphone won't capture the magic, only blurry, smudged confusion. Sure, it may feel like you're dipping into a giant cauldron of radioactive soup, but after witnessing your limbs sparkle with tiny constellations, you won't regret it. And even if your friends doubt your glowing tales afterward, it'll still be worth it-after all, how many times can you legitimately say you've swum among the stars?