Costa Rica Stories

Volcán Arenal spews white smoke into a clear sky.

Volcán Arenal spews white smoke into a clear sky.

I woke the other night to silence, but I could have sworn I heard something. Probably it was in my dream, of which I unfortunately forgot the details, yet I can remember the sound. I could have sworn from the tree swaying full of an early morning breeze outside our bedroom window, I could hear the waking call of the oropendola, as if Alison and I had never left the jungle shores of the Río Pacuare.

We did, but the memories are capture here. Gathered on this page are links to the Costa Rican stories I wrote for Compass Points. Enjoy!


We finally met Trent Hammond on Monday.

He stood knee deep in the green ocean, Costa Rican sun blazing down while he radiated California coolness. He wore sporty sunglasses, a gray ballcap turned backwards and an Adidas soccer jersey while a sharp, bearded chin contained a constant smile [MORE]


I turned my head to investigate what was happening behind me. Alison, who just five days prior had sparkled in her wedding dress, wasn’t where she should have been. Her seat in our inflatable raft was unoccupied. I craned my neck to look into the churning river. She wasn’t there, either.

The raft was slipping away from the rapids which nearly overturned our boat. Alison remained out of sight. [MORE]


The door of the van slid open with a rumble. I removed the hat that covered my face and was greeted by blinding afternoon light and the sweating mustachioed face of Crazy Joe. I spilled out of Crazy Joe’s van into a dusty gravel parking lot, and the day’s heat served to advance my unsettling nausea. Three hours of riding in Crazy Joe’s van as it wound through the mountain roads of central Costa Rica was enough to make my stomach and head feel like rotten guava jelly.

“Why’d we stop?” I asked, unable to stand up straight for fear of spilling lunch out of me. [MORE]



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