Photo by Meryl Baer
I never considered myself high maintenance, and my husband Steve would generally agree with me. However at times my flexibility and willingness to ‘go with the flow’ is tested.
That is what happened upon our arrival in the Costa Rican town of Domenical, a quaint Spanish/California/hippie hodge-podge of an enclave famous for its waves, attracting surfers from around the world. The town never grew up, although that is changing. The town sits in a flattish plain hugging the Pacific Ocean. Surrounded on three sides by mountains, the west faces the ocean, an ideal location for viewing sunsets.
Following an all-day trip via two taxi rides, the second one four hours long, and two plane rides totaling four hours – not counting airport time – we were travel-exhausted when we reached our destination. The hotel was hidden behind high, thick greenery and an unpaved, stone parking lot. It took the driver a few minutes to locate the place.
First impression, “Doesn’t look like the pictures.”
The hotel’s website displayed an alluring series of photos of the pool, patio, bar, and gardens, as well as a couple of pictures of the rooms. The outdoor facilities appeared fine, no criticism, but underwhelming. But that is why professional photographers are hired to make something look as tempting as possible online.
We checked in, a seamless process, and followed the leader to our room.
That was when we were gut-punched.
The room was small, and that is an exaggeration, 8’ by 10’. A queen bed was positioned with the headboard side against the back wall. The other three sides had limited walking space between the bed and wall. I could only move forward or back a couple of feet. The bathroom was basic; it would suffice. Barely.
The only places for clothes and toiletries were six wall hooks and an undersized set of plastic wire shelves, each shelf wide enough for one book, or a couple of garments folded several times and pressed into a tiny square. Or a pair of jeans thrown on a shelf and hanging over the edge, Steve’s idea of a quick unpack.
We looked at each other and realized there was no way we would survive in that cell for an entire week. But it was evening, we were tired and not thinking straight. I paid for two nights with the idea of finding another hotel the following day.
I pondered the lack of features in the cell and realized the usual occupants of this particular hotel were young folks on an outdoorsy vacation requiring minimal clothing. And I mean little/minute/petite. Walking around town I observed women in string bikinis partially covered with weightless, transparent tops and/or bottoms. The wardrobe for an outdoor adventure vacation in the tropics does not take up much space. A couple of bikinis, a pair of shorts and a T-shirt for evening wear and hiking, and that’s it. I guess as we age, or as I age, the size and amount of clothing and toiletries needed/required/desired increases.
I woke up our first morning in Costa Rica refreshed and ready to go hotel-hunting. Domenical consists of one main street lined with restaurants, coffee and ice cream shops, surf and sports adventure outfits, a grocery store, clothing and souvenir shops, and hotels, hostels, and cabins for rent.
The area is a sports mecca for surfers and outdoor enthusiasts – hiking, kayaking, rafting, swimming, surfing and paddle boarding, and other sports generations younger than mine enthusiastically embrace. The town’s accommodations cater to that crowd – budget-friendly with minimal amenities.
I walked around town in search of another hotel room. Domenical’s year-round climate is hot, hotter, and insufferable, and always humid. Moving quickly was not an option, so it took time to find and investigate the possibilities. But I was beginning to immerse myself in Costa Rica’s pura vida lifestyle; an unhurried demeanor part of the country experience.
My persistence paid off and I found a place! Most hotels were booked. I eventually discovered a two-room apartment in a hotel a block from the beach for a very reasonable price – cheaper than our first night’s cell.
I did not look forward to two or three trips hauling luggage between hotels. We did not rent a car, so an easy transfer was not happening. But I misjudged or did not understand the kindness of locals. The staff at the hotel pulled together for us. The hotel owner used his van to cart all our luggage – two carry-on-size suitcases and two larger ones – to our new place. He loaded the van, including Steve and me, then unloaded everything and put our things in the new room.
Perhaps he was glad to get rid of us, but I prefer to think the experience was an example of local hospitality and kindness.
Our new digs do not quite rate as an American four or five-star resort. The internet works in common areas like the restaurant, swimming pool, and reception lobby, but not in the room. The kitchenette is dated, but we do not plan on preparing gourmet meals. The TV is limited to Spanish stations.
On the plus side, the surroundings are beautiful. An abundance of greenery and a waterfall provide a scenic backdrop behind the large pool. Breakfast is part of the package, served in the poolside restaurant every morning. One and two-story buildings are strategically positioned around the landscaped environs. Trees, bushes, and flowers grow prolifically in the dense climate, offering semi-privacy for a series of outdoor patios.
Inquiring minds might wonder: Why Domenical? What does it have to offer two over-the-hill, mostly inactive seniors?
Friends.
Friends retired to Costa Rica a few years pre-Covid. We visited before the world shut down. It was time to go again. Previously we stayed at our friend’s compound halfway up a mountain, a house with an infinity pool, outdoor kitchen, and gardens. But for the entire week we did not want to intrude; we all need quiet downtime. We thought it would be fun to stay in Domenical – the closest ‘downtown’ to our friends’ residence – and explore, walk along the beach and Malecon (paved boardwalk), and immerse ourselves in local culture.
So far we have immersed ourselves in oppressive heat and mini-rooms. But our Costa Rican interlude has just begun.
Photo by Meryl Baer
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