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You ever try speaking Spanish in Costa Rica when you barely passed high school Spanish class? It's like trying to do a magic trick with a manual written in a language you don't understand. I thought I was being all cultured, attempting to order food in Spanish. I look at the menu, and it's like they hired a thesaurus to write it. Everything sounded fancy until it arrived, and I realized I just ordered a plate of mystery meat with a side of confusion.
And let's talk about the coffee. They take their coffee seriously in Costa Rica, and I respect that. But when I tried to order, I felt like I was auditioning for a coffee commercial. I'm there like, "I'll take a medium roast with a hint of existential crisis, please." The barista looked at me like I just asked for coffee with a side of therapy.
I even tried to impress the locals with my Spanish skills, but I must have sounded like a GPS with a malfunction. Instead of asking for directions, I accidentally declared myself the mayor of a nearby pineapple plantation. I didn't even know I was running for office!
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So, Costa Rica is famous for its beautiful beaches. You see those postcards with the pristine shores and people sipping coconut water. I decided to hit the beach, thinking I'd fit right in with my beach body. Spoiler alert: my beach body is more of a "Netflix and chill" body. I looked around, and everyone seemed to be in peak physical condition. People jogging on the beach, doing yoga poses that I thought were only possible in Photoshop, and then there's me, struggling to inflate my inflatable flamingo. I was the only one on the beach with a sunscreen application resembling abstract art.
And don't even get me started on surfing. I rented a surfboard, thinking I'd ride the waves like a pro. Reality check: I spent more time underwater than a submarine. If they gave out awards for "most wipeouts in an hour," I'd be the undisputed champion.
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You guys ever been to Costa Rica? I went there recently, and let me tell you, it's like Mother Nature had a party and invited the whole animal kingdom. I felt like I was in an episode of "Animal Planet" but without the remote control. I decided to go on this nature hike through the rainforest, you know, get in touch with my wild side. Turns out, my wild side involves a lot of sweating and cursing at mosquitoes. I thought I signed up for a leisurely stroll, not a triathlon with spiders as spectators.
And let's talk about the wildlife. I saw animals I didn't even know existed. There was this bird with feathers so bright, it looked like it stole highlighters from a stationary store. I tried to communicate with it, you know, like a Disney princess. Turns out, birds don't appreciate show tunes at 6 AM.
But the highlight of the trip was when a monkey stole my sandwich. I was just sitting there, enjoying my lunch, minding my own business, and out of nowhere, Tarzan's distant cousin swings by and grabs my sandwich. I tried negotiating with him, but he was a tough negotiator. Ended up trading my sandwich for a banana. I got outsmarted by a monkey in Costa Rica. What happens in the rainforest stays in the rainforest, I guess.
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Now, leaving Costa Rica was a whole adventure in itself. The airport felt like a confusing maze designed by someone who thought airport signs were optional. I'm there, dragging my suitcase through what feels like the Amazon rainforest, trying to find the elusive departure gate. And security? They take their job seriously. I went through so many security checkpoints; I felt like a fugitive from a crime I didn't commit. They inspected my bag like I was trying to smuggle a toucan back to the States. Note to self: Toucans don't make great travel buddies.
And the departure board – a work of fiction. I'm staring at it, and my flight is listed as "TBA." I didn't know if I was going home or on a surprise vacation to Narnia. I asked the airport staff, and they just shrugged, like, "Your guess is as good as mine." I felt like I was in a real-life episode of "The Twilight Zone: Airport Edition.
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