Dawn loosens its grip on San José as the bus noses west toward the Pacific. Coffee plantations shuffle by in tidy green rows, and the air trades mountain chill for coastal warmth. Puntarenas appears like a thin finger of land pointing into the Gulf of Nicoya, and the catamaran is already humming at the dock, chrome catching early light. The water looks lazy until you’re on it—tidal currents nudge the hull, pelicans draft in formation, and mangroves seem to breathe with the tide. Ninety minutes later, Tortuga Island pulls you into its orbit. White sand sighs underfoot. The water makes its pitch: clear, warm, and insistent, daring you to dive, paddle, or simply float. Here the day unfolds simply—swim, walk the shaded interior paths to a low ridge for a view of the gulf, linger over a beachside lunch, let the sun press its gentle thumbprint on your shoulders. The island is a reminder that Costa Rica’s big story often starts small: a palm frond tapping your shoulder, a hermit crab negotiating a footprint, the Gulf of Nicoya glimmering like a promise. Day two changes gears and compass. The road climbs into the volcanic spine of the country, fields giving way to rainforest, rainforest giving way to a silhouette that needs no introduction. Arenal is a near-perfect cone—resting now, but layered with history. You feel its presence on the trails around La Fortuna, where the forest keeps its own tempo: cicadas drumming, a stream threading the understory, bromeliads perched like quiet spectators. The path to La Fortuna Waterfall drops roughly 500 steps into a canyon where the falls launch themselves with pleasing inevitability into a jade pool. Mist lifts and sticks to your cheeks. The waterfall demands attention, but the surrounding basalt tells the deeper story—lava hardened into architecture, the land still cooling from 1968’s awakening. That night, Baldi Hot Springs answers with heat. Pools tier down the hillside, each a slightly different conversation between mineral, temperature, and view. You move from scalding to soothing, the volcano looming like a night watchman, and the day’s miles slide out of your legs. Then the river calls. The Pacuare doesn’t negotiate; it propels. Deep in the Talamanca foothills, the river escorts you through narrow canyons and jungle so thick it feels animated. Vines lean in. Kingfishers needle the surface. Somewhere upridge, the Cabécar people keep to traditional footpaths, the forest their ledger of time. On the water, your guide’s commands become your metronome: forward, forward, hold. Rapids stand up in sequence—wave trains smacking the bow, hydraulics tugging at your paddle, the current pushing forward with a personality all its own. Between the action, quiet slots appear: calm pools where you can track a black vulture’s lazy circle or catch a flash of toucan bill above the canopy. Expect several hours on the river—enough to earn a good appetite and a story or three. This five-day weave of coast, volcano, and river is classic Costa Rica—compact distances, oversized reward. It’s a sampler done generously, pairing the Gulf of Nicoya’s island charm, Arenal’s volcanic drama, and the Pacuare’s world-class whitewater. For culture and context, the route is a cross-section of the country’s character. Puntarenas was once the nation’s coffee portal, sending beans to the world; today, it’s mariscos and maritime rhythm. Arenal’s 1968 eruption reshaped the local economy from agriculture to adventure, building a global reputation on hot springs and crater views. And the Pacuare’s protected watershed—saved in part by opposition to hydropower dams—has become a symbol of how recreation can guard a river. Geology continues to write the itinerary in invisible ink. The Gulf is a drowned river valley—a jigsaw of islands, channels, and mangrove nurseries. Arenal sits on the Central Volcanic Range, a chain built by the restless collision of tectonic plates. The Pacuare slices a route to the Caribbean lowlands, carving sandstone and shale into its green-walled canyon. Practically speaking, the days are full but never frantic. Start early—traffic and tropical sun both reward those who move with the morning. Expect a comfortable catamaran ride to Tortuga Island, a hike with substantial stairs to reach La Fortuna Waterfall, and a rafting day that’s dynamic but approachable for fit first-timers (with professional guides and safety gear). Hydration matters; so does sun protection. Footwear becomes a strategy: grippy sandals or water shoes for the island and rafting, sturdy trainers for waterfall steps and Arenal trails. Bring a light rain shell; the forest writes its own weather. When the trip closes, don’t be surprised if you’re already scheming a return. The island will seem to whisper a reprise, the volcano will keep watch, and the river—ever moving, never the same—will be mid-conversation, waiting for you to catch up.