I go to Costa Rica in search of the pura vida. I find it only when I learn to slow down.

I come to a small town called Puriscal outside of the capital. It’s a place with dusty dirt roads, trees with pink flowers blossoming, and green parrots that fly through the pale morning sky just before the sun starts to bake the landscape.

It’s a quiet spot and this is where I arrive with time on my hands and a goal to see a slower side of the country. This Central American nation has topped bucket lists around the world in recent years and these days, it’s almost impossible to talk about Latin America without hearing a fellow traveller gush about Costa Rica. With its picturesque coastlines on both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, iconic spots like La Fortuna and Monteverde’s cloud forest, monkeys swinging from jungle vines, and sloths that lounge in treetops, Costa Rica’s an easy sell.

But I want to go beyond the top-ten bucket lists and box checking travel. I’m here to slow down and pick up on the little nuances that make this place special. After a period of time that felt too mediocre, I decide I could probably use a little pura vida. Once I find out precisely what that is.

At first, I push too hard. Though I intend to see the quiet, nondescript side of this country, I fall into old ways of wanting to do everything and do it now. This leaves me feeling unsatisfied and impatient. I succumb to external pressure and question the style of travel I’ve laid out for myself. The questions from others wash over me each bringing a sense of doubt along with it. “Have you seen x yet?” “Don’t leave the country without doing y!” and “You’re not going to z?! But that’s where all the travellers go!”

I explain that I’m not here to see the entire country. I’m combining budget travel with work. I’m looking to do some of those things… but mainly just appreciate the little things that make life here special. You know, the small glimmers worth noticing once you’ve slowed down enough to do so.

Still, the doubts creep in. What if I’m missing what could be the highlight of my trip? What if I never come back and this is therefore my only chance to see all these gems? Shouldn’t I see as much as possible? Is my commitment to a slower style of travel boring? Why am I spending my mornings writing and late afternoons with fruit juice under the sunshine when I could be (should be?) ziplining through the trees or at a beach party? The indecision gets under my skin.

This is a common traveller problem. For many of us who have caught the travel bug, we arrive in new spaces wanting to explore, have unique experiences, connect, and get the most out of the time, money, and effort that goes into travel. At the same time, you can never do it all. You can’t see all the best sites and have a relaxing vacation to totally unwind. You likely can’t see every city, province, beach, or national park. Or, if you’re me, you can’t be a remote worker committing to slow travel and a North American vacationer with money to burn in all of the country’s most Instagrammable places. We must choose.

Noticing the conflicting travel styles, I go with my gut. I chose my travel goals for good reasons and decide to stick to them. Yes, Costa Rica has a lot to offer but I came here to experience the local lifestyle. The pura vida.

After some time, the dust starts to settle. I rise early to admire the morning sunlight while sipping Costa Rican coffee and watching parrots. I’m up before clients’ emails begin to stream in and with no tour to get to or check-out time to abide by, I can appreciate the cows mooing, the sun’s rays burning off the clouds in the mountains, and flocks of birds I’ve only just slowed down enough to notice.

I learn about the local cuisine—beyond merely eating it a few times between tours. I learn how to cook rice and black beans the proper way. I eat fresh white fish ceviche while watching the sunset over Puriscal’s rolling mountains. I walk along dusty dirt roads to buy mangos and blend them into juice in the morning. I try homemade tortillas still steaming from the pan.

One morning, a day that still stands out as one of the best of the whole trip, I wake up with the sunrise. Puriscal is waking up for the day. I see men already working in the fields, farm dogs stretching, and shops just opening up. I pour a cup of strong coffee and make my way outside. My friend’s mother, Clara, is dressed in boots and work clothes and suggests I accompany her as she goes to milk the cows. We can have breakfast afterwards in the family’s farmhouse, she says. I agree. We make our way down the slopes of the mountain on the family’s farm past banana trees and sugar cane. I stand aside as she milks her cows. She tries to teach me, I fail miserably, and we double over in laughter.

The light at this time is golden and even though it’s only 7 a.m., it’s already starting to get hot. My stomach growls. Breakfast time. Together, we enter the family’s grandmother’s kitchen. Clara cooks a traditional Costa Rican breakfast, gallo pinto, over the old wood stove in the kitchen along with eggs, fruit, and coffee. I’m looking at banana trees and bright pink flowers out the window and taking in the character of this old Costa Rican home. There’s a statue of Mary, a rosary, and many other Catholic symbols, little knick knacks on the shelves and window sill, and hummingbirds flying outside. It’s such a tranquil morning and one that shows me so much about Costa Rican culture. Yet, I’d never be able to book this kind of experience or jam it in before a checkout—and it’s not something easily defined in a ten-top guidebook article either.

That’s the point of slow travel. When you unwind, stay in one place a little longer, and keep both your mind and schedule open to whatever the day presents, you’re bound to have incredible experiences that show an authentic and invaluable side of the culture. That’s true whether you book an extra few days at a hostel with a goal to experience the local lifestyle, decide to volunteer somewhere, work at a hostel or homestay, or do the digital nomad thing like me. From backpackers to nomadic workers to hostellers moving through vast spaces, we each derive purpose from our specific travels. Mine is to go slow and see what happens.

Puriscal is the perfect place to test out my travel style. My doubts have been silenced. Yes, I see some of the top bucket list things here in Costa Rica but the majority of my time is spent enjoying the little things. I’m not a North American on a two-week vacation from a full-time salaried job, I’m a freelancer seeking to appreciate pura vida moments.

I find them that morning in the farmhouse and also in the break I take from writing one afternoon when I walk to the front window and spot two toucans playing on the balcony. I see the pura vida again when my friend Angie and I accept an invitation to a local’s ranch where old friends practice the art of lassoing bulls. It’s there again when a cow gets loose and I have to send Angie to chase it down in the fields. One afternoon, I go for a run in the hills behind the house. I see monstera plants growing wild, women selling tropical fruits, and kids walking home from school. Afterwards, sweating and exhausted from the hot sun, I stop to buy a sugar cane juice and chat with a roadside vendor. It occurs to me that this is an experience I can fit in between deadlines and for less than $2. Travel doesn’t have to be expensive, firmly planned, or filled with top-tier activities to be enjoyed.

One day, anxiety is getting the best of me for reasons I can’t remember. I run up the mountain and happen upon a little country restaurant overlooking a valley of coffee plants and pink-blossomed trees. There, I order Puriscal’s famous chicharrón, a pork belly dish specific to this region. It arrives accompanied by an ice-cold local beer already sweating from the heat. Then, I taste the most delicious pork I’ve ever had: tender, crisp on the outside, and bursting with salt and lime flavour. I’m in no rush to get back to my run. All in due time. I’m enjoying one of the best—but unexpected—afternoons of my trip. I realize then with 100% certainty that by leaning into slow travel, I’ve at last learned to embrace the pura vida.