costa
It is a Monday night, and I am warm in Costa Rica. Three slices of the universe sit side by side on the patio of an Airbnb. In front of us sits a pool engineered to appear edgeless. Beyond the pool, the town of Tamarindo is laid out like a picnic blanket under the stars. The town dwarfs us, and it is in turn dwarfed by the Pacific Ocean. Three infinities of increasing complexity; us, the city, the depths.
We take different forms— one of us a Chicagoan, one a New Yorker, and one from Vermont. The next night, I will sit alongside a boy from Pittsburgh until three A.M. discussing everything.
The night before, I sat next to a Floridian and chuckled. Tonight, the friends sitting to my left and right each spot three shooting stars. Unluckily, I spot none. But I have more than enough time to see the unmoving cosmos. The Little Dipper is barely recognizable, but I am careful enough to spot it. Over 3000 years before this night, a Babylonian cataloger listed this constellation among the “Stars of Enlil.” Diogenes identified these as the constellation of Ursa Minor— little bear. The Greeks loved to see creatures in all things; one link of many in a chain binding humanity together via fierce creativity.
We are dwarfed by the stars, and could not care less which Greek philosopher decided to name them. Perhaps Juan Santamaria took his final breaths staring at the stars as well; I doubt that he cared much for the Greek’s naming conventions either on that fiery day in 1856. Perhaps it was night when, in a last-ditch effort to destroy the stronghold of American Filibuster William Walker’s imperialist forces, the young boy sacrificed himself for the independence of Costa Rica. Perhaps he had a clear view and looked on in awe as a shooting star passed by his face. Perhaps we both left Costa Rica behind as we joined the celestial dance, enjoying, if even for a moment, the security of the night sky’s immense indifference.
Juan Santamaria
A trip to Costa Rica in 2025 is a trip to a country which has continuously pried independence from the cold shackles of imperialism and dictatorship. In the early 19th century, Napoleon's occupation of Spain led to the outbreak of revolts all across Spanish America. Costa Rica joined the other Central American Intendancies in a joint declaration of independence from Spain in 1821. In 1823, Republican forces defeated a group of Costa Ricans hoping to join the Mexican Empire in the Battle of Ochomogo. That year, the United Provinces federation, a coalition of five Central American Intendancies freed from the Mexican Empire, rapidly disintegrated. In 1856, William Walker failed to take over Costa Rica and re-institute slavery. In 1869, Costa Rica became a peaceful democracy. However, a century later, the country transitioned from being a “development success story” to a state of severe economic crisis. A fall in the price of coffee (a main export, along with bananas) and a rise in the price of oil severely harmed the Costa Rican economy. Severe economic debt further harmed Costa Rica’s development chances. It is now increasingly dependent upon tourism for economic success.
There we were, then, dwarfed by the stars. I sat in silence, identifying constellations which I only recognized thanks to the Greeks’ penchant for seeing animals in the night over two millennia ago. I sat on a deck built upon land which had been converted to a tourist destination out of economic necessity. The necessity resulted from a lack of economic independence; this resulted from just under two centuries of continued struggles with self-sovereignty and, before that, over a century of resource extractivism at the hands of the Spanish empire. The moment was deepened, of course, by music. We listened to BOKeTE, a song by Puerto Rican artist Bad Bunny. The album containing BOKeTE, DtMF, represented “an act of activism and cultural reclamation” for the artist. Its sounds and lyrics were influenced by a long history of Puerto Rico’s struggles for national agency. We also listened to We Are Young by Fun, a classically corny anthem of college-age freedom. Two years before, I sat in my mom’s car, driving away from my high school graduation, while I sobbed to a poorly-recorded acoustic version of the song. Every moment converges onto every moment.
As we walk to dinner two days later, we stroll by remnants of the national history which Juan Santamaria died to ensure. A large Maersk shipping container sat to the right of the main road. It likely once held bananas or coffee— or, if it came from importation, equipment intended to help develop Costa Rica into a thriving export economy. Now, it acts as a shed for some small restaurant where only locals eat. The long-abandoned bones of a self-reliant economy which never came to be. The skeleton of a future which failed to materialize.
We don’t have time to comprehend the profundity of this small rotting corpse, because Tamarindo’s beauty and freedom grab us by the collar and shake us until our own bones start to crack from joy. Yes, it is a purchased luxury; and yes, later, in our own small ways, we will come crashing back down to the reality that life cannot be the maximally pleasant experience of vacation with friends. But, for now, we stroll to dinner and soak in this moment which has assembled beneath our sun-tanned feet. We ignore ethical implications of tourist-reliant economies. We stroll by a sign advertising Coke Zero. Costa Rica doesn’t have much Diet Coke; nor do many Latin American countries, actually. As I later will learn on Quora, Coke Zero tastes more similar to regular Coke, and this is more appealing to Latin American consumers. We ignore the tensions that have developed, or may develop, or will always develop when friendship becomes more than just an exciting hypothetical— when we get to live with the people of our enthusiastic choosing, if even for a day. I lightly hold a glass Coke Zero bottle in my right hand. It is empty, but I want to look cool. I want my friends to think I am cool— even now, in this moment, I want to make sure they are as impressed with me as I am with them. You could see this as sad. I think this impulse is deeply natural, and that it therefore cannot be anything other than a sign of my humanity (a prized possession if there ever was one).
Moments now converge onto other moments, as they always have and always will. It would be easier to count the stars than to articulate the total list of historical factors which influenced those beautiful few days among friends. Greeks. Spaniards. Armies for and against the resignation of self-sovereignty. Coca Cola’s business practices. Banana prices. Coffee prices. Oil. Puerto Rico. Tears spilled loosely in the back of my mom’s Volvo. A young boy in 1856, unprepared to let his country be anything but free. Is it ethical, entirely ethical, to enjoy this moment knowing that it has been handed to me by forces I am unprepared to critically examine? No. But I enjoy it nonetheless, because my friends are there and we are nothing if not a cloud of stardust hallucinating its own good fortune. It is night, and I am in Costa Rica. The moments have assembled, and they have done so in such a way that builds me a rather warm home in which I may rest for a few days.
Oh. Also, the food. I suppose I should share a few meals.
Steak and Shrimp Salad by the Shore (Yay! Alliteration!)
A fantastic salad. Everybody at my side of the table was envying my order (that is a guess, but I am a happy guesser). The vibes in this restaurant were immaculate; the ocean to our right, string lights over our head, and the buzz of 20 excited college-age conversationalists flying through our ears. In regards to the salad itself, the dressing was certainly a high point here. The steak didn’t particularly stick out; however, it was good shrimp.
A Meditteranian Dinner— Dips followed by Rice, Chorizo, and Shrimp
Solid pita and hummus— nothing to write home about. The other dips were pretty good. The real appeal of this meal was the chorizo in my main course. I have had many experiences with chorizo wherein I am left thoroughly disappointed by dry texture and tasteless seasoning.
A Pina Colada on the Beach
I consumed so much pineapple on this trip that I can feel my tongue slowly disintegrating. This is the only injury I have ever had that is 100% worth receiving. After this vacation, I am chemically constituted 10% more by fruit than before. Also 10% more by love; the proportion continuously compounding every time I see photos of those wonderful days spent among friends.