The other Camino: Hiking the coast-to-coast Camino de Costa Rica

“Oro-lo-lo-lo!” The sweet, undulating lilt of the Montezuma oropendola bird is swiftly followed by the monster-like growls of the howler monkeys. Unfortunately, if sleep is on your itinerary, these two species do not synchronise their dawn chorus.

But the morning mayhem is worth it to wake up at Lirio Lodge by Pacuare Reserve, a remote, road-free, quasi-island rainforest on Costa Rica’s Caribbean coast, south of the better-known, turtle haven of Tortuguero National Park.

For 30 years, since British man John Denham created the Endangered Wildlife Trust and bought a piece of land in 1989, the 1,000-hectare reserve has been protecting its natural bounty (270 wildlife species of which 200 are birds, including the rare Agami Heron) through wildlife monitoring and reforestation, against the scourges of logging, plastic, climate change—and, to a lesser degree now, poaching and littering. It’s also a haven for nesting leatherback, green and hawksbill turtles, monitored by two wildlife stations.

Only accessible by boat from Barra del Pacuare village in one of the most pristine sections of the Tortuguero canals, a couple of dolphins join us for our transfer. “A lucky sign,” says our guide Carlos Perelo. Lirio Lodge, across the water from the reserve and on its own island of sorts, is all wooden bungalows, tropical gardens, hammocks, riverside dining deck amid jungle vegetation hiding basilisk lizards, butterflies and birds.

No wifi, no mobile reception, no electricity, no problem: This is off-grid, solar-powered, Instagram-free heaven.

But there’s another reason, beyond Caribbean beach and eco-bliss, to visit Pacuare. It’s the start of the 175-mile (280-kilometer) Camino de Costa Rica, a hiking trail launched in 2018 that cuts east to west across the country, through Indigenous communities, small villages and nature reserves.

Set up by non-profit association Mar a Mar (Coast to Coast) to bring travelers to Costa Rica’s lesser-visited villages and to promote conservation and rural entrepreneurship, this is definitely more than just a hike.

Forest trails open onto the Caribbean coastline, howler monkeys (“My cousins,” says Carlos) bounce about in the palm trees, and lizards lurk in the leaves. Carlos points out medicinal plants, blood-red frogs, technicolored butterflies and the community school. This isn’t just a nature refuge; around 85 families live in Pacuare too.

Split into three sections, the Caribbean, Central and Atlantic, the route touches parts of Costa Rica that don’t make it onto itineraries; now, rural areas also get a slice of the tourism pie (there are some forest and mountain trails too). It’s not fully signposted and and ideally experienced with a guide; in fact, Mar a Mar’s aim was to create employment and training via guides, drivers, and homestays, for example, and for small businesses such as restaurants and craft shops to flourish, all thanks to the trail.

Its versatility is a big draw. You can hike all the way, staying in a combination of small hotels, guesthouses and homestays, or you can weave the trail into your wider Costa Rica trip, as we did, hiking three sections across four days, around 15 kilometers each, stopping in local communities for lunch, coffee farm visits and crafts.

Hiking the Pacuare section is a breeze, although not always literally. Here in June, humidity loves to play its ‘How-sweaty-can-I-make-you?’ game. Forest trails open onto the Caribbean coastline, howler monkeys (“My cousins,” says Carlos) bounce about in the palm trees, and lizards lurk in the leaves. Carlos points out medicinal plants, blood-red frogs, technicolored butterflies and the community school. This isn’t just a nature refuge; around 85 families live in Pacuare too.

Of course, top of the must-see list is a sloth. Helpfully, they don’t move much, seemingly the ultimate embodiment of the Costa Rican ethos of ‘pura vida’ (pure or simple life). On our hike, we spot a three-toed sloth, the ‘postcard’ ones with the heart-melting half-smile, up a tree. They sleep for around 22 hours a day, descending once a week for a number two, before climbing back up, no rush, covered in algae for protection. A simple life, for sure.

Later, on the boat back to Lirio, we’re lucky to enjoy the jungle-lined river at golden hour, the water so still you could turn your photos upside down and wonder what’s real, what’s reflection. Daniela Moeller, Lirio’s then-manager, welcomes us back with an early dinner of casado, a Costa Rican combo of fish or meat, rice, plantain and vegetables. Out on the river, we hear a caiman make a splash.

By night, the turtle patrols are out in nearby Reserva Pacuare, from around 8pm to 4am. The hours aren’t sociable but this is no conveyor-belt wildlife experience. Sightings aren’t guaranteed, but best practice is. “We collect detailed data,” one researcher tells us, “even ‘false crawls’ where turtles come to shore, then return to the sea. We’ve had 400 turtles lay eggs this season. Once, three turtles together.”

It takes an hour to record the data; nesting trends, number of eggs, timings. Mother Nature also ensures turtles lay fake eggs to dupe raccoons, crabs and other poachers. “Turtles lay around 60-80 eggs and 30-40 fake ones, although one leatherback laid 130 this season,” says one volunteer. Eggs are usually relocated to safer sections of the beach or into hatchling stations.

“Many people do just a few stages. Some hike it all. But we want to show people a different Costa Rica, our villages, culture, people.”

- Fabián Araya, XTrek CR (Costa Rica)

We join a couple of night walks, sweating in the recommended if unbecoming long-sleeves/long trousers combo. Conservation is taken seriously here, and there’s no pandering to the tourist. It’s June, so sightings are every few nights. It’s unlucky for us, our attempts yield none.

But it is the season for hatchlings. Twice, by daylight, we join a group of research assistants and volunteers and help them release these almost unbearably adorable creatures into the sea, their tiny bodies edging forwards, resembling wind-up toys. Some make an instinctive beeline for the water, others eventually, after a couple of U-turns. It may not be quite as spectacular as witnessing a leatherback crawl to shore under the night sky, but it’s not far off. They don’t all make it, in typical circumstances, but we’re spared any evidence of that.

There’s a reason Costa Rica is dubbed the ‘Switzerland of Central America’—the scenery makes you deliriously snap-happy and its more developed infrastructure (and higher prices, relatively speaking) have often set it apart from neighboring nations.

But while some places certainly receive a lion’s share of the tourist dollar, many spots along the Camino don’t; like Pacuare, they’re low-key, under-the-radar, and keen to welcome visitors.

It’s the Central section of the Camino that best highlights Costa Rica’s rural life. Back at Barra de Pacuare, we swap boats and canoes for our own set of four wheels, skipping a couple of stages to hike near the quiet, cheese-making mountain town of Turrialba, 40 miles west of the capital San José.

And that’s the beauty of the trail, that you don’t have to do the entire thing, although I’m told an 83-year-old Spanish woman completed it in three months during weekend hikes. I’m slightly in awe but push the FOMO away. I’m more sloth this time, pura vida and all that.

“Many people do just a few stages. Some hike it all,” says Fabián Araya of XTrek CR, a local community rural tourism company that’s been championing this trail. “But we want to show people a different Costa Rica, our villages, culture, people.”

As the banana plantations of the Caribbean fall away, vistas turn to dense forests, sugar cane fields and coffee farms. At our new home, hilltop Turrialtico Hotel, hummingbirds flit about the dining room while we sink cold Imperial beers and gush at valley views, wondering if we’ll ever stop saying ‘amazing’.

The next day, we start early with our guide Sergio Calvo, a trail stalwart. He takes us first to a farmhouse in nearby Pacayitas village where we learn to make flour tortillas to accompany our now-standard gallo pinto breakfast of tortilla, beans, scrambled eggs and fried plantain.

It’s raining and the trail is especially beautiful as we trek from El Copal down to Tapanti National Park. Misty, cloud-covered hills and layer after layer of forest unfold ahead of us. Guides become friends, and lunch (casado again, but it never gets dull), is a sociable affair in the pretty valley town of Orosi.

Fueled up before our hike to neighboring Mollejones village and onto El Progreso, we’re joined by Geoba Montenegro Mota, a farmer, homestay owner and local guide, and Kike Jimenez, the support driver; the Camino’s remit is also to create jobs and we’re seeing it with our own eyes.

The landscape around Turrialba is Costa Rican-levels of lushness, but this hike is about more than the views. On our way, we stop in El Progreso at an old sugar mill, run by several generations of local man Don Belen’s family. Sugarcane is woven into this region’s agricultural heritage; Sergio explains the process from cane to molasses to sugar blocks, a staple in grocery stores and desserts.

In San Vicente village, we meet Rosario Hidalgo, whose small Don Fausto coffee farm is now a Camino stop. We grind beans, sip (and buy) delicious coffee and visit her small plot. “Coffee is very important to us as we can grow different things in between it,” she says. “Like plantain, sweet potato, pineapple, lemons, squash.”

Lunch, the now much-beloved casado, is at nearby roadside restaurant, Comida Rita. Run by warm, welcoming Rita Quirós Paniagua, it’s another example of a business set up because of the trail.

Another day, another gallo pinto, today in Pejibaye village by Pacuare River (“Grade 3 or 4 rapids here,” Sergio tells us, “or 5 in rainy season.”) where we’re joined by guide-in-training Johan Diaz.

Johan tells us a couple nearby make souvenirs, so we cross the river for a mini-shop. “Even a handful of hikers make a difference to these businesses,” he says. It’s raining and the trail is especially beautiful as we trek from El Copal down to Tapanti National Park. Misty, cloud-covered hills and layer after layer of forest unfold ahead of us. Guides become friends, and lunch (casado—when you’re tired of casado, you’re tired of life, said someone. Probably) is another sociable affair in the pretty valley town of Orosi.

Over dinner with XTrek CR’s Fabián, his enthusiasm for the trail is evident. “I want visitors to see places that don’t see tourists.” He also understands their diverse needs. “Some want to hike, not stop, not talk. Others enjoy the scenery, birds, plants. Do the Camino however you want.”

It’s music to my ears; multi-day hikes aren’t always the stuff of holidays, although my desire to return and complete the tougher Pacific section is getting stronger. “The beaches are great in Costa Rica,” he says, “but there’s so much more.”

With tougher questions being asked of our carbon footprint, ‘how’ we travel is increasingly part of the solution. The Camino ticks many classic ‘vacation’ boxes, but it’s also opening up a lesser-visited side of Costa Rica and is making entrepreneurs out of locals. It’s not just sloths walking around with a half-smile.

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The writer traveled to Costa Rica with TravelLocal who connect travelers to on-the-ground travel experts who create a tailor-made itinerary, working with local businesses where possible. TravelLocal work with 200 handpicked local experts in 80+ countries.

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