I’m Elizabeth Anderson, 36, and I came to Jaco to get warm and unstuck. I checked into a Modern Airbnb Vacation Apartment in Jaco Beach close enough to hear waves if I listened for them. Mornings were gray-silver before turning bright; pelicans skimmed the breakers like punctuation.

My four anchors were Surfing on Jaco Beach, a shaded Miro Mountain Hike, a sweet stop at La Mona Galosa Chocolate Farm, and a frothy afternoon at Jaco Blu Beach Club. People were impossibly kind—drivers, baristas, guides—and quick with real tips.

I toggled between Jaco Walk grazing and short rides to Herradura’s marina and Playa Hermosa’s steady wave lines. On a whim I reached Esterillos for a long empty beach. Ubers, taxis, and even the bus made everything simple, and it all felt safe to navigate solo.

A vendor handed me a coconut and a grin. “Pura vida,” he said. It felt like instruction and blessing at once.

Nights were a glide—beach bar, a small casino detour, music carrying down the strip. I liked how easy it was to say yes without ever feeling rushed.

Jaco returned me to my better pace—sun, salt, and small conversations that stitched the week together. I’m already plotting round two.