Guests of this glamping resort get the opportunity to witness some of Costa Rica's most breathtaking wildlife encounters.

Everyone says that we are the stars of our own stories, but doesn't every living thing also play a pivotal role in its own quest for survival? They, like us, are at the core of who they are. All the time, there are innumerable films that overlap with each other. 

The world-famous biodiversity hotspot of Costa Rica is an ideal location from which to observe a few of these creatures. Within its 20,000 square kilometers, the nation is home to twelve distinct ecosystems and about half a million species. A remarkable turnaround from the 1990s, when deforestation had stripped the area of more than three quarters of its natural forest cover, has resulted in over half of its landmass being covered by forests. This place is ideal for decentering your own life and exploring the lives of other creatures. 

Arenal Volcano National Park was our destination during our early June vacation with my husband Alex. We experienced this sensation for the first time on the roughly three-hour trip north from San José's Juan Santamaría International Airport. Up until we reached the rainforest, the meandering path was filled with human control: cities and slums, highways and trucks, fields for crops or cattle. Encircling us on all sides were verdant walls that served no use whatsoever, be it for shelter or food. It seemed like we were star-crossed extras instead of the main characters when we turned the page of the script. 

The majestic volcano that sits atop the park is the inspiration for its name. Arenal stands at a height of around 5,300 feet and an age of maybe 7,000 years. Even after its final big eruption in 1968, lava flows persisted for decades. Although it does not release hot rock anymore, it does release steam. Although clouds frequently cover Arenal, we were fortunate enough to have it as our constant companion for five days. 

Just outside the park, at one of three linked resorts, Nayara Tented Camp, was where we were staying. With our private plunge pool supplied by geothermal springs and the incredibly helpful staff who would ride golf carts about the property to make sure we were okay, we were certainly not roughing it, even if our tent was made of canvas. Guests there are made to feel like the only ones in the world. Nayara also gives you chances to accept your own insignificance, even though the employees may not say it that way. 

This is possible on the verdant resort grounds, where over 100,000 trees have been planted in a mini-reforestation effort spanning 14 years. Because of this, Nayara is not only a lush haven for humans, but also a biological corridor for animals and plants that travel between the several rainforests in the area. We watched a toucan soar across the sky as we lounged on our wooden patio and observed big kiskadees, clay-colored thrushes, scarlet-rumped tanagers, and other birds. One night, while we were making our way to dinner, we almost stumbled over a boa constrictor that was three feet long and lying on the path near our tent. A member of staff referred to them as "controllers" because of their role in maintaining a healthy rodent population. (We were advised that sightings on the site are quite infrequent.) 

During our morning nature walk, our guide pointed us sloths, strawberry poison-dart frogs, and a plethora of huge curassows, which are basically wild turkeys in a tropical setting. Evening strolls are comparable. At this resort, you may see examples of harmonious cohabitation, with both humans and animals enjoying each other's company and even crossing paths from time to time. 

Becoming a different type of guest is necessary to truly escape the human world in a context where humans are on the brink of being irrelevant. So, with a team of twelve naturalists on hand, Nayara provides a variety of personalized tours. 

Two of our three tours were accompanied by Andrey, whose real name is Luis Andrey Pacheco Vásquez. We went for a quick trip to the Mistico Arenal Hanging Bridges Park with him one morning, taking in the far high ranges of the Continental Divide. There are sixteen bridges in the park, the tallest of which is 150 feet in the air, that span a family-owned primary forest. We went for around two miles on a trail that had been well-kept, and we were grateful for the shade and scattered light that the thick forest canopy offered. Additionally, we were grateful that our journey did not occur during the busiest travel season, as this meant that we had very little wait time to cross the swaying, single-file bridges. (On days with the most traffic, as many as 1,800 individuals can be seen.) 

In my quest to see the Big Five, I have embarked on an African safari. What I later dubbed the Tiny Billion, a group of fascinating microfauna found in nature, was surprisingly exciting to me. While elephants are easy to see, I doubt I would have noticed much of the wildlife in Costa Rica had it not been for the naturalists' keen eyes. Joining forces with someone who has spent years poring over the clues was like going on a treasure hunt. 

The word "study" fits perfectly because becoming a certified naturalist guide in Costa Rica is a rigorous four-year program. A greater respect for the complex intellect of nature was bestowed upon us by Andrey's extensive understanding. To facilitate their descent into bodies of water upon hatching, certain amphibians, including tree frogs, place their eggs on the undersides of leaves that hang above bodies of water, such as puddles and ponds. 

Andrey deduced that there must be a nest nearby as he saw a multi-colored broad-billed motmot droop its tail like a fan. Actually, he did find a little hole in the mud bank behind us; with the help of his flashlight, he was able to see a tunnel that was maybe a foot long; and at the end of the tunnel, perched on its end, was a chubby motmot baby. He kept showing us what we were losing out on. A hummingbird with a violet head perched on a nest. Curled up on a leaf was an eye-lash pit viper. In the distance, a magnificent crested owl is seen in a tree, its eyes closing one by one. 

He then directed our attention to what appeared to be a moving mosaic at our feet: ants that cut leaves and bring the resulting debris back to their colonies. They would deposit their waste there, ferment it with their own excretions, and then eat the emerging fungus. Andrey would continually halt, raise his spotting scope—which can magnify an object by a factor of 27 to 60—and grant us permission to examine it. The contrast between the 700-year-old pilón tree and the blue morpho butterfly, which only lives for a few months, and the nest that houses more termites than there are people in San José caused my perception of scale to fluctuate in both time and space. 

On our second adventure, we accompanied Andrey and drove for around two hours, with 15 minutes spent on an excruciatingly bumpy road, to reach a sanctuary known as Caño Negro. Andrey started studying the trees as we boarded a boat where breakfast was waiting for us. While on the road, we witnessed capuchin, spider, and howler monkeys, as well as others resting, swinging, and eating while carrying young. A stunning variety of birds were also present, with some of the most stunning being the rare jabiru, the purple gallinule, the russet-naped wood rail, and the anhingas, which spread their broad black wings to dry. 

There is drama in nature even at its smallest scale. A tiny green iguana was fighting for its life across the water as we saw a caiman, a relative of the alligator, swim out after it. The stakes were bigger, but the thrill was the same, like in a film chase scene. (Perhaps for the ravenous caiman as well, but definitely for the iguana.) We erupted in cheers as the caiman retreated halfway across the river and the iguana persisted in its journey to safety. 

Being out in nature with knowledgeable guides is a great way to remember that all living things, no matter how big or little, face a perilous existence and that we can only do what we can to improve our chances of survival. A capuchin monkey was spotted by Andrey as it descended a limb that hung over the water. She was going to drink, but she dipped her tail in, scrambled back up the limb, and drank the water out instead of putting her face in the water like we expected. But then again: dive, pull back, stink. Even if it didn't make much sense from an evolutionary standpoint, Andrey pointed out that if you put your face in water, you risk losing your head to a caiman. So, it was an inefficient way to stay hydrated. You don't need a tail. 

We gobbled up these exquisite natural details. My history-and music-loving spouse still won't stop babbling about how and why New World monkeys have prehensile tails and their Asian and African counterparts don't. (Things get tricky.) With the help of our knowledgeable guides, a spotting scope, and an iPhone, we were able to get incredibly high-quality photographs and movies of even the most remote and microscopic species. The spotting scope, in my mind, is like the selfie stick in reverse; instead of highlighting your own secret experiences, it highlights those of other people. 

The guides' insight and energy were contagious, and their knowledge was astounding. We spent an hour and a half walking half a mile in the dark with our guide Hanzel Gomez on a nighttime nature walk on a former cocoa plantation approximately ten minutes away from Nayara Tented Camp. The unsettling variety of snakes found in Costa Rica is something I can't stand, so let me be clear: I am not a fan of snakes. (Reassuringly, it is also a top producer and exporter of antivenom globally.) I couldn't help but join in on Hanzel's excitement at seeing a rare coral snake from Costa Rica. Slithering through a tree's roots in a mesmerizing procession of black, yellow, and red was a sight to behold. I was glad to hear Hanzel say that the shiny skin was an indication of the animal's good health. 

We were looking through the spotting scope at the red-eyed tree frog's cute expression when we heard rumbling bellows off in the distance. Those were howler monkeys, which are among the loudest animals on the planet. (Since whales may reach 220 tons, which is quite astounding, considering that they only weigh approximately 20 pounds.) Hanzel speculated that a vehicle had sped by. Through their vocalizations, the monkeys were claiming their domain. Their film, not ours, was this.