San Jose

Scaling the heights of Costa Rica's legendary Chirripo Mountain isn't merely a hike-it's an exercise in humility, sweat-drenched perseverance, and existential awe. This beast, towering at over 12,500 feet, was once sacred turf for indigenous tribes who considered the cloud-shrouded peaks home to their gods-and, midway into your ascent, you'll likely plead with the divine yourself. Set off at predawn to escape afternoon thunderstorms and secure the best views as sunrise peels back the mist from the lush wolf-green valleys below. Plan ahead-a permit is mandatory, and locals advise booking your spot at least two months early, because spontaneous mountain adventures rarely gel in bureaucratic paradise. Budget around $50 for entrance and overnight stays at the rustic lodge, and pack layers, heaps of snacks, and waterproof gear unless you enjoy turning yourself into a squishy, weary sponge. Truthfully, even exhausting climbs can be transcendent, and conquering Chirripo earns you solid bragging rights-if not enlightenment, then at least an entertaining anecdote to tell over beers, complete with embellishments about monkeys mocking your pain and gods whispering sarcastic encouragement.

There comes a point in every caffeine addict's life when merely guzzling gallons of java no longer cuts it-you've got to chase the bean back to its origin story. Doka Estate, nestled in the verdant folds of Alajuela, delivers exactly that: a coffee plantation tour that feels delightfully akin to stepping onto the caffeinated set of Jurassic Park, minus rampaging dinosaurs (probably). Founded over a century ago, this family-run farm lets you trace the life of a coffee cherry from blossom to bean to burr grinder, guided by folks whose family tree might as well be a coffee shrub. Come early-9 a.m. is the sweet spot-when the morning sun bathes the lush rows in cinematic hues and caffeine withdrawal hasn't yet turned you homicidal. Booking a week or two ahead secures your spot, especially during harvest season (November through February), when the aroma could revive even the sleepiest of zombies. Bring about $30-40 USD per person, comfy shoes, and a willingness to feign deep appreciation for "subtle chocolate undertones" and "bright acidity." Even if your palate can't yet distinguish a Costa Rican peaberry from instant-coffee sludge, the setting alone-misty mountain slopes, antique roasting machinery, and the sweet chatter of friendly ticos-is justification enough. After all, returning home boasting about your newfound coffee snobbery or the time you nearly overdosed on fresh espresso tastings has got to be worth the trip's price of admission.

If you've ever harbored secret dreams of having breakfast with a bird that looks like it was designed by Pixar animators after one too many margaritas, San Isidro's Toucan Rescue Ranch is your quirky paradise. Here, amid Costa Rica's deliriously lush greenery, you'll get startlingly close encounters with flamboyant, fruit-snatching toucans and slow-motion sloths that seem perpetually stuck in an existential crisis. Founded lovingly to rehabilitate and release wildlife unlucky enough to run afoul of human encroachment or a misplaced power line, the Ranch offers a chance to appreciate nature's eccentricities while easing your eco-guilt. Arrive early-around 8 a.m. is peak toucan breakfast drama-and book your visit at least a couple of weeks in advance, as the limited slots fill quickly (turns out, toucan selfies really do top bucket lists). Budget around $35 for a guided tour, money well spent when it supports conservation efforts rather than another questionable souvenir. Pack a rain jacket, bug spray, and plenty of curiosity, because spotting a sloth lazily scratching its head is surprisingly addictive. Go for the surreal wildlife encounters, stay for the noble conservation mission-but honestly, even if you're skeptical of feel-good animal sanctuaries, the bragging rights alone of befriending a toucan named Mango are reason enough to show up.

When darkness descends on Monteverde's cloud forest, the cozy daytime trails turn into something resembling the set of a nature-themed suspense thriller-minus the blood-curdling screams, but plus an impressive abundance of creepy crawlies. Armed with a flashlight and ample bug spray (essential: you are a walking buffet), you'll follow guides who seem eerily comfortable navigating the pitch-black labyrinth, their eyes gleaming with excitement at every rustle and squeak of nocturnal wildlife. Book at least a few days ahead-these expeditions draw adventurous souls seeking night-time thrills-and budget around $30-$40 per person for the privilege. Go around 7 PM, giving critters ample time to emerge and guaranteeing your Instagram posts have that perfectly eerie Blair Witch aesthetic. And while you're tiptoeing through the darkness, reminding yourself repeatedly that statistically speaking, jaguar attacks are exceedingly rare, consider you're stalking trails discovered by the hardy Quakers who settled Monteverde in the 1950s, probably without headlamps or waterproof ponchos. So why venture into the shadowy cloud forest at night? Because years from now, when someone at a dinner party asks if you've ever stared down a tarantula on its home turf or locked eyes with a kinkajou eating fruit at midnight-do yourself a favor and be able to say yes.