In Search of Pura Vida. The sun rises at 5:30 a.m. The eastern sky glows softly, painted in layers of pale pink, lavender, gold, and blue, like the gentle sweep of a watercolor brush. For a brief moment, everything feels possible. The air is cool, almost tender, and the world seems to pause in reverence to the new day.
From somewhere unseen, the low, comforting coo of a morning dove echoes through the distance. It is a sound that speaks of continuity, of ancient rhythms that existed long before alarm clocks, traffic lights, and concrete streets. In that moment, one might believe that this—this calm, this simplicity—is the true meaning of Pura Vida.
But then reality interrupts.
Outside, the streets are already jammed with hundreds of vehicles. It is rush hour. Engines roar to life. Horns blare impatiently, one after another, forming a chaotic symphony of frustration. Motorcycles weave dangerously between cars, their riders leaning forward as if preparing for takeoff. Could it be stress? Impatience? A desperate race against time?
Is this the meaning of “Pura Vida”—the phrase Costa Rica is famous for? Pure Life?
I don’t think so.
Alone in a Small Apartment
I am alone here in my small apartment, searching for Pura Vida—that elusive state of being said to exist so naturally in this lush, tropical, tiny country called Costa Rica. It is supposed to be everywhere, spoken casually in greetings, farewells, and even apologies. It rolls easily off the tongue of locals, a cultural mantra infused with optimism and acceptance.
Yet my tranquil thoughts are quickly interrupted.
Barking.
Barking.
And more barking.
Dogs here come in all shapes, sizes, and colors. They roam the streets freely, unbothered by fences or ownership in the traditional sense. These are the perros de la calle, the street dogs—yet many Costa Ricans believe they are good luck dogs. Somehow, miraculously, they never seem to get hit by speeding cars or the wildly reckless motorcycle pilots.
I call them pilots because they don’t simply ride motorcycles—they operate them as if they were aircraft. Flying. Dodging. Swerving. Landing inches from disaster and then vanishing down the road.
And still, the dogs survive.
Perhaps they already understand Pura Vida better than I do.
The Mango Tree Outside My Window
Gazing out my window, my eyes rest on a small garden—a modest oasis amid the urban noise. At its center stands a magnificent mango tree, proud and generous. In the month of May, she brings forth her fruit in abundance, offering sweet nourishment to anyone patient enough to wait.
Her broad branches stretch outward like welcoming arms. Her shadow shields the flowers beneath her from the relentless tropical sun. She asks for nothing, gives without hesitation, and stands calmly through storms and droughts alike.
Perhaps Pura Vida is not found in slogans or conversations, but in this quiet resilience. In a mango tree that simply exists, rooted deeply in the earth.
Why I Came to Costa Rica
I came here to rest.
To meditate.
To clear the cobwebs from my mind.
I came believing that Costa Rica—celebrated worldwide as a haven of happiness—would offer me the peace I longed for. I imagined slow mornings, birdsong replacing traffic noise, and days shaped not by deadlines but by sunlight and rain.
But now I wonder: will I be successful?
The noise creeps in. Pollution hangs in the air. Humanity presses close from every side. There are moments when the idea of Pura Vida feels like a beautifully marketed illusion—something promised, but not always delivered.
I feel restless. Disconnected. Overstimulated.
And then the thought arrives, clear and insistent:
I must move away.
The Call of the Jungle
Far away.
To the jungle.
To escape—yes, escape.
From what, you might ask?
Noise.
Pollution.
Humans.
I want to be wrapped in the arms of nature. I crave the gentle wind moving through ancient trees, the warmth of tropical rain falling without warning, the sacred silence that hums beneath the surface of the rainforest.
I want to rest in the shadows of what I believe is God’s greatest gift to mankind—the rainforest.
But where will I find it?
The Myth and Reality of Pura Vida
Pura Vida is one of the most misunderstood phrases in the world.
To outsiders, it sounds like a promise of eternal happiness, simplicity, and peace. To Costa Ricans, it is something far more complex. It means:
- Life goes on
- Things could be worse
- Be grateful
- Don’t rush
- Accept what is
It is not a denial of hardship, but an acceptance of it.
Costa Rica is not a utopia. It has traffic jams, rising costs of living, noise, pollution, bureaucracy, and inequality—just like everywhere else. The difference lies in how people respond to these challenges.
While horns honk and tempers flare, there is also laughter. While motorcycles race by, someone nearby is sipping coffee slowly, unbothered. While dogs bark endlessly, neighbors shrug and carry on.
Pura Vida is not the absence of chaos—it is the choice not to let chaos rule the soul.
Searching Beyond the Cities
Perhaps Pura Vida cannot be found in crowded cities or busy neighborhoods. Perhaps it lives farther away—in places where the jungle presses close and the roads turn from pavement to dirt.
In the depths of Costa Rica’s countryside, mornings begin not with car alarms but with howler monkeys announcing the dawn. Rivers wind lazily through valleys, their waters tinted blue or jade by minerals and sunlight. The rainforest breathes—inhale, exhale—wrapping visitors in humidity, scent, and sound.
Here, time feels different.
Clocks matter less. Schedules bend. People pause to watch rain fall or birds glide between trees. The world slows to a rhythm older than human urgency.
Maybe Pura Vida lives there.
Nature as Teacher
The rainforest does not rush.
The river does not hurry.
The mango tree does not question her purpose.
Nature teaches patience effortlessly. It reminds us that life unfolds in cycles—growth, decay, renewal—and that resistance only brings suffering.
In the jungle, silence is not empty. It is full—of unseen movement, subtle sounds, and deep presence. In that silence, one can finally hear their own thoughts… and then, eventually, let them go.
Perhaps that is why I feel drawn away from civilization. Not because I reject humanity, but because I need space to remember who I am beneath the noise.
Finding Pura Vida Within
The truth I am slowly learning is this:
Pura Vida is not a place.
It is not guaranteed by geography, climate, or nationality. It cannot be purchased, planned, or photographed.
Pura Vida is a state of being.
It is found when you wake with the sun and allow yourself to notice the colors in the sky.
When you listen to a dove and feel comfort instead of distraction.
When barking dogs become background music rather than irritation.
When a mango tree reminds you to stand still and give freely.
And sometimes, it is found only after you leave everything familiar behind and walk quietly into the jungle—both the one outside and the one within.
Where Will I Find It?
Where will I find Pura Vida?
Perhaps in a remote cabin where the rainforest presses against the windows.
Perhaps beside a river that glows blue beneath the sun.
Perhaps sitting silently beneath towering trees, letting warm rain wash away expectations.
Or perhaps—most surprisingly—I will find it within myself, once I stop searching so hard.
For now, I listen.
I breathe.
I wait.
The jungle is calling.