Playas del Coco

If your sunset sailing expertise has thus far been limited to pirate-themed booze cruises or your Uncle Jerry's pontoon boat, brace yourself: Sunset Sailing at Coco Bay is about to ruin ordinary evenings forever. Picture yourself aboard a quietly confident catamaran, slicing through waves as smooth as Costa Rican rum, guided by a local crew whose effortless charm and sly grins suggest they know exactly how to hide a body-or at least mix a mean guaro sour. Playas del Coco, once a sleepy fishing village and now a magnet for sun-kissed wanderers and expats dodging reality, offers the kind of pastel-painted sky that makes Instagram filters seem laughably redundant. Book your watery escapade a few days ahead (particularly in high season), budget about $80-$100 per head-trust me, this isn't the activity to pinch pennies-and step aboard at around four in the afternoon, armed with sunscreen, sunglasses, and a sense of humor for when the boat gently pitches your mojito overboard. As daylight fades into neon hues and golden moments drape the horizon like melted sorbet, you'll realize it's worth every colon spent-if only so you can tell friends back home about the evening you sailed into the sunset, feeling comfortably smug and infinitely adventurous.

At Rincon de la Vieja, you willingly smear yourself head to toe in warm volcanic mud, temporarily transforming yourself into something between a mythical swamp creature and an Instagram influencer gone rogue. Nestled within the notoriously restless landscape of Costa Rica's Guanacaste Province, these baths bubble above geothermal mysteries born from centuries of volcanic mischief. Go early morning (around 8 AM) before tourist hordes descend, leaving you free to wallow in mineral-rich mud pools that locals swear hold the power to rejuvenate tired muscles and knock ten years off your stressed-out features-though truthfully, looking like you've just wrestled a swamp demon is reward enough. Plan ahead at least a week or two, because spontaneous mud-dipping isn't exactly something you casually stumble into. A modest $30-$50 buys your ticket into this muddy paradise; don't skimp on bringing towels, water bottles, and a swimsuit you don't mind permanently staining. Why bother? Because when else can you lounge dramatically under a volcano's steamy breath, coated in volcanic goo, feeling equally absurd and gloriously primal-and emerge with a tale guaranteed to earn intrigued nods and raised eyebrows at dinner parties for decades to come?

Playa Penca is the sort of pristine, postcard-perfect beach that travel brochures desperately want to keep secret but can't help bragging about. Nestled defiantly away from its louder, flashier cousin Playa Hermosa, this secluded strip of sand feels like stumbling into an exclusive cocktail party uninvited-but without the awkward small talk or dress code. Arrive early, ideally just after sunrise when the turquoise waters ripple calmly, mocking your preconceived notions of paradise cliches. Plan your covert beach assault a day in advance-bring a sturdy pair of sandals for the short but rocky trail down, sunscreen for your optimistic northern skin, and a cooler packed with cold drinks and indulgent snacks because you won't find vendors hawking overpriced coconuts here. Budget-wise, breathe easy: your biggest expense is the gas or taxi fare and perhaps a six-pack of icy Imperial beer as an offering to the sun gods. Historically overlooked due to tricky access, Playa Penca remains deliciously under-the-radar, a quiet rebuke to the Insta-influencer hordes clogging up nearby hotspots. Go there now, savor its solitude, and later casually boast that you lounged on a hidden Costa Rican gem before it inevitably succumbs to fame and influencers armed with drones.

There's something deeply humbling-and deliciously voyeuristic-about stumbling along Playa Grande in the dead of night, guided only by moonlight, hushed whispers, and a biologist wearing sandals who knows far too much about reptilian romance. Sea turtle nesting tours aren't just nature documentaries brought vividly to life; they're like watching a prehistoric ballet, except the ballerinas weigh three hundred pounds and lumber ashore like exhausted marathoners at mile twenty-six. Playa Grande, on Costa Rica's wild and windswept Pacific coast, has long been a sacred maternity ward for leatherback turtles-majestic marine dinosaurs who've been loyally returning since long before humans started snapping selfies. Plan ahead-spots fill quickly during nesting season from October to March-and budget around $35-50 dollars per person, partly for conservation purposes, but mostly so knowledgeable guides can guilt you into reconsidering plastic straws at brunch the next day. Bring a flashlight with red tape over the lens (sea turtles apparently aren't fans of your glaring iPhone torch) and patience, as Mother Nature rarely works on schedule. But believe me: standing on a dark beach at midnight, sand in your shoes, whispering play-by-play commentary underneath a sky punctured by stars, as a hulking female heaves herself ashore, well-that's the sort of priceless inconvenience you'll retell with grateful exaggeration for the rest of your life.