How a Traveller Changed My Outlook on Slow Travel
Non-stop adventure is not always the best way to go
Tortuguero: a village on a rainforest-covered sandbar on Costa Rica’s northern Caribbean coast. A side street off the main stretch led to a ‘garden hostel’, comprising rooms dotted around a lush, tropical garden, home to fifty shades of bird and any other animal that could withstand the rain and humidity.
Coming in and out of the rooms, I would often notice a woman lounging on the hostel’s resting areas — chairs, daybeds, cosy reading spots. We shared polite nods and friendly smiles, shy words about Tortuguero’s persistent rainfall. One day, filling up our coffees, we struck up a conversation.
I learned that Dana was a Canadian woman in her forties filled to the brim with fascinating stories and experiences. She was charismatic, chatty, and a true swiss-army of experiences, having travelled the globe and worked in almost every industry I could think of.
Our conversations were relatively short, as my schedule was jam-packed. One day involved a 6am kayak ride through Amazonesque rivers and mangroves in search of caimans (spoiler: we found them). Another day was spent hiking Tortuguero’s National Park. I went to the beach, on night walks, explored the town, planned the next part of the trip. At night, the fatigue lulled me into rich, deep sleep.
When I bumped into Dana, she asked me what I’d done or planned for the day. She had usually stayed in the garden, soaking up the sunshine or listening to the rain. Sometimes she’d go for a walk or go for a massage. Another day was a lone piña colada in the company of the sunset.
Dana had hinted that she needed to take things slow, but when we had a little more time, she told me that she was grieving. She liked slow travel anyway, but this time was a necessity. She was learning how to process the tragic, sudden death of her young step-daughter. It was recent, and she struggled to get the sentence out.
Dana found Costa Rica soothing. But she knew she needed a certain rhythm to her month-long trip.
I was touched by the details that she shared, but also found a lot of wisdom in her words. Sometimes we are so wrapped in needing to make the ‘most’ of our limited time in a place, that we forget to listen to what our minds or bodies actually want or need.
For Dana, being away from the source of her trauma was comforting. I am not surprised that she chose Costa Rica, with its famously kind locals, abundance of animals, bright greens and ‘pura vida’ lifestyle, celebrating the good and the simple.
And so Dana relaxed, reading books surrounded by the scents and sounds of that beautiful garden. She walked around the village with no plan or agenda, doing exactly what she felt like doing on that day. She traded stories, thoughts and experiences with fellow travellers. And when she felt it was right, or something piqued her interest, she moved on to the next destination. On her own time.
A few days before I left, Dana was relieved to the point of tears — she had finally gotten a good night’s sleep, the first in a long time. The following day, she discovered a graveyard behind the hostel (I looked it up, and it’s the Cementerio de Tortuguero). She suspected that this was the reason behind her improved rest.
“It was so peaceful. Like the souls there were at peace,” Dana said. “I dunno. But I believe in that kind of stuff. The world works in mysterious ways.”
Later on, I would bump into Dana in Puerto Viejo, a town close to the Costa Rica-Panama border. The last I saw her, she was looking for a piña colada to top the one she’d had in Tortuguero. She could hardly taste the rum in that one, and that simply would not do.
About me: I’m Jules, a freelance health and travel writer with itchy feet. Come along my journeys by subscribing to my stories (below), catching up with Stubborn Travel, or following me on Instagram.
