Organic gardens, beachfront pools, and views of national parks characterize these Costa Rican eco-friendly hotels.

I gave in to the harness as the sunbeams peered through the forest canopy. It was almost time to return to the forest floor, but for the moment I remained where I was, slowly spinning around and taking in the verdant explosion of epiphytes (ferns, moss, lichens, and mosses) all around me. 

In the cloud forest of Costa Rica, on a private reserve of seventeen acres called Savia Monteverde, I was hanging from a massive tempisque tree. My home for the first few nights of a 10-day vacation across Costa Rica’s Puntarenas region was Hotel Belmar, the oldest continuously managed eco-lodge in the town of Monteverde. The owners of Hotel Belmar have just completed their latest project, Savia. 

Savia was created by the Belmar family as a peaceful substitute for the ear-piercingly fast zip lines that scream through the region's trees. It combines elements of an environmental education, a meditation session, and a thrill ride. "When we are in the trees, we are in an environment that is not our own," remarked Andrés Valverde, cofounder of Savia, who dangled next me in his very own harness. A multitude of bromeliads had taken up residence on the mossy branches of the tempisque, as he pointed out. "Imagine yourself in a coral reef." Our eyes landed on a clump of micro-orchids on another branch. These delicate blooms are pollinated exclusively by a rare kind of small, metallic-green bee. 

Just as I started to descend, an iridescent blur of a blue-throated mountain-gem hummingbird rushed into the trees. Vapors billowed through the foliage far away. "Amazement is a powerful force that can inspire change," Valverde stated. He probably noticed my expression of awe. I won't be able to rescue the planet with just 17 acres. I believe that if every individual who comes through this place experiences that bond, they will take action to protect it. 

La vida pura. Unadulterated existence. For decades, the phrase has been used as a way to say hello and goodbye in Costa Rican vernacular. It's a way to express gratitude, a way to say "no problem!" and a gentle reminder to live in the now and keep things simple. Pura vida is an ideology that permeates Costa Rican society. 

This idea helps to clarify why the nation is so dedicated to environmental protection. The government redirected the resources from the army's dissolution in 1948 to healthcare, education, and environmental protection. The following years saw the doubling of forest cover, the protection of almost 25% of the landmass through reserves, wildlife refuges, and national parks, and the inclusion of a right to a healthy environment in the country's constitution. 

Because of its emphasis on both people and nature, Costa Rica has become a popular tourist destination. The country's abundant biodiversity in the 1960s and 1970s attracted a large number of scientists. However, news of these riches quickly spread, and by the early 1990s, Costa Rica had become a popular destination for ecotourists. A new kind of ecotourism was born out of the emergence of rustic lodges and guiding services, some run by native Costa Ricans (or Ticos) and others by foreigners. 

However, there was a disclaimer. Some companies rode the ecotourism boom by only advertising themselves as "green," while others adopted responsible tourism standards. As a result, in 1997 the nation introduced its Certification for Sustainable Tourism program, which establishes stringent criteria to assess the sustainability efforts of a tourist entity. These days, a lot of Costa Ricans working in tourism are coming up with innovative ways to make the future better by learning from the past and incorporating it into their plans. 

Located on the outskirts of Monteverde's cloud forest, Hotel Belmar is a haven of tranquility encircled by fruit trees and organic vegetable gardens. With its honey-colored wood accents, large wraparound terrace, and windows that let in a natural soundscape, my room had all the makings of a tree house. A pale-billed woodpecker would rat-a-tat at my window first thing every morning. Squawking green parakeets from the trees around created a veritable symphony. 

Monteverde is the birthplace of Costa Rica's sustainable tourism strategy, which has gone on to become a global example. A small group of American Quakers who had refused to enlist in the peacetime conscription made their way here in 1951. In order to cultivate dairy and crops, they bought 3,400 acres of land and subdivided it into individual homesteads. 

They spared the summit with its forests in order to safeguard their watershed, which was gushing with springs that flowed into the Río Guacimal. 

Biologists were drawn to the small hamlet as they sought to study the abundant biomass of the cloud forest, especially the golden toad, which is now extinct. The scientists and Quakers collaborated in 1972 to create the Monteverde Cloud Forest Biological Reserve because they were both worried about the unregulated destruction of the region's forests. 

I had the pleasure of spending a morning at Vera Zeledón's estate, Finca Madre Tierra, in the neighboring hamlet of Alto Cebadilla, where she founded Hotel Belmar. Despite his diminutive stature, Zeledón's explosive spirit shone through as he rode up in a batter's mitt and dirty red-rubber boots. "There was just a little Quaker pensione when we first came here," she added. "I mastered the art of breadmaking, granola making, and cheesemaking at that place." She and her husband Pedro Belmar built their home in 1985. It was a guesthouse in the Tyrolean style, influenced by their ten years of working in Austria. 

She mostly dedicates her time these days to the farm, which was the first in Costa Rica to be certified as carbon neutral. Her humble beginnings with a few horses and cows have blossomed into a coffee plantation, cheese factory, and comprehensive composting system in the last fifteen years. Eggs, cheese, and farm-fresh produce are served at Celajes, the restaurant in Belmar. The hotel's leftovers feed the hens and the compost pile, and the cows get barley from the new microbrewery in Belmar. 

Zeledón said, "Everything moves in circles here" while we munched on fresh cheese, eggs, and tortillas prepared from scratch. We plant the seeds of environmental awareness all across the globe when people visit. That is our objective. 

Dan Buettner, a fellow at National Geographic, named five regions on Earth "blue zones" in 2004 because their inhabitants have very long and healthy lifespans. One such location is the Nicoya Peninsula in northwest Costa Rica. 

The next place I went was Santa Teresa, a hippie beach hamlet on the southernmost coast of Nicoya. The town has transformed from a sleepy fishing hamlet into a surfing mecca in the last ten years or so, thanks to its year-round waves. I ignored the waves, yet the water still called to me. My search for the beach at Hotel Nantipa's bungalow was immediately followed by my lace-up running shoes. As they sat on their boards, surfers stared off into the distance. There were splashes and chases on the beach. I got in my swimsuit and jogged till the sky turned pink, at which point I went for a sunset swim. After the tide went out, I found a deep pool to float in and concluded that Santa Teresa was the perfect spot for me to spend my golden years. 

During supper at the hotel's Manzú restaurant, Harry Hartman remarked, "Santa Teresa has something magical to it." The hotel's co-owner, Hartman, a native of San José and a boyhood friend of Mario Mikowski's, initially took his children on a trip to the peninsula when they were little. At some point, he bought the untamed beachfront land where we had our salty patacones, a dish of fried plantains topped with refried beans, guacamole, and fresh pico de gallo. 

In an effort to recreate Hartman's carefree childhood in Santa Teresa with his young family, his friends sought to build a luxurious retreat that would enhance the area's natural splendor without overpowering it. The indigenous Chorotega inhabitants of the peninsula achieved their aim with the construction of Nantipa, whose name means "blue" in their language. Despite authorization to fell eighty trees, just six were felled during the building process. Ultimately, Hartman and Mikowski went well beyond just doing away with single-use plastics when they established stringent sustainability criteria. Now they're helping out a bunch of different projects that, as Hartman said, "work with their fingernails" because they don't have enough money. The local producers and services will get their fair share of tourist spending thanks to the connections they've made.

Jason Rodriguez Ugalde, a Tico fisherman who operates charters off the coast near Cabo Blanco Natural Reserve, was one of the local providers I met the following morning as I made my way south to Malpaís. We sailed peacefully past Isla Cabo Blanco on his brilliant turquoise boat, a crucial nesting place for brown boobies in Costa Rica. The birds flew low and high in the sky. 

Since Ugalde's business allows him to recruit more personnel, he might go out two or three times a day during busy season. On his days off, he and his wife go fishing. He assured me there is an abundance of fresh fish for his family at all times. We spent the next two hours hauling in fat yellowfin after big yellowfin until my arms hurt from trying to prove his argument. 

During that afternoon, I strolled through Santa Teresa, going by cool surf shops, boutiques, and juice bars with a California vibe. I had lunch with Camila Aguilar, the concierge of Nantipa, at a small family-owned restaurant named Soda Tiquicia. We then got into the hotel's UTV and rode along with the other ATVs and motorcycles, bouncing over the bumps on the town's dirt main strip. 

We reached the Caletas-Arío National Wildlife Reserve, which is located approximately eight miles along the coast. Here, we found a crucial area for endangered sea turtles to lay their eggs. Hundreds of them use the beach as a nesting site from June through December. Organizational manager of the reserve Keylin Torres Peraza stated, "Only one will survive out of a thousand." This statement was made by the Center of Investigation for Natural & Social Resources (cirenas). A vast sandy area above the high-tide line was enclosed in driftwood and netting as part of Cirenas' sea turtle protection effort, which began in 2018. On their nightly patrols, staff and volunteers saved some 200 nests that held eggs that had been stolen or eaten by predators. 

Peraza had a bucket at his feet full with olive ridley turtles, some of whom had only been out of their shells for a short time. The bucket was turned on its side by Peraza. The young birds slipped out of their nests and started making their way to the ocean. Their cautious movement soon became into determined forward momentum as their small flippers propelled them onward until they vanished into the surf one by one. 

The hatchery was destroyed in an arson attack in late December, only six weeks after my visit. “Some people feel territorial about this beach,” Peraza informed me over the phone. "They aren't fond of our actions." Cirenas collaborates with neighborhood schools to teach environmental teachings and encourages families to attend turtle releases on the beach as a means of easing tensions. They would like to accomplish more, but they are unable to do so due to a lack of personnel and funding. The current focus, which Nantipa is helping to finance, is on restoring the hatchery and raising awareness about their work. 

"You are so lucky!" was the constant response I got from Costa Ricans whenever I mentioned my plans to visit the Osa Peninsula. The secluded Osa, a paradise for ecotourists, occupies less than 0.0001% of the Earth's area but is home to 2.5% of its biodiversity. Tapirs, jaguars, ocelots, giant anteaters, two-toed and three-toed sloths, and Central America's largest population of endangered scarlet macaws all call this mostly intact primary forest home. The peninsula is separated from the mainland by Golfo Dulce, a tropical fjord that is home to Pacific humpback whales during their mating and birthing seasons. 

During my most recent visit to Osa, I was a passenger on a little ship that made a brief port call in Panama to explore a small portion of Corcovado National Park. Lapa Rios Lodge, one of the first and most magnificent eco-lodges in Costa Rica, would be my home for four nights this time so that I could fully immerse myself in the rainforest. 

In 1993, Minnesotans Karen and John Lewis set out for the Osa Peninsula with the intention of purchasing property and preserving it through tourism; they were great birdwatchers. This journey led to the establishment of Lapa Rios. What Karen informed me was that the leaders of Costa Rica were aware of the abundance of tropical species in their lovely, secluded areas. However, they claimed that no one would ever show up when we informed them of our plans. There was no such thing as sustainable tourism in those days. 

Motivated by their experiences in the Peace Corps, the pair continued their work by establishing ties with the locals, constructing a primary school, employing locals to construct the lodge, and then training them to work as staff. After thirty years of working toward their goal—which includes protecting the 1,000 acres of tropical lowland rainforest at Lapa Rios via a conservation easement—they sold the lodge in 2019 to Roberto Fernández and Luz Caceres, two longtime Costa Rican environmentalists. 

I felt the atmosphere vibrating when I arrived at Lapa Rios at dusk; it was that wild and primal. Thousands of nocturnal animals' chirps echoed through the rainforest. The following morning, I was startled awake by the sound of squirrel monkeys screeching in the tree outside my window. The monkeys had small white cheeks with black goatees and were talking happily. I could hear a thud outside my bungalow, which is one of seventeen that stretch out across a ridge overlooking the Pacific. After that, I noticed two red macaws eating beach almonds. They threw the hefty shells onto the road. 

Although Lapa Rios has an impressive wine list, my time there was reminiscent of a youth camp in the rainforest. Andres Lopez, the charming lodge concierge, would spend each evening's meal describing the activities planned for the next day. These might include an early morning birding trip, a hike to a local waterfall, or a visit to a remote beach that encircles the peninsula. I went hiking on the Ridge Trail with Danilo Alvarez Seguro one morning; he was the senior guide at the lodge. He could make out legions of leaf-cutter ants working the crimson soil, calamine trees gushing sap that soothed the skin, and little poison-dart frogs with obsidian skins decorated with Day-Glo swirls. 

Sitting at the outside bar on my final night at Lapa Rios, I conversed with Angel Artavia as he crafted a mojito for me using Cacique Guaro, a sugarcane-based Costa Rican spirit. "Working in this environment makes you realize how critical it is to preserve the natural world," he informed me. I can show you how everything is related. Motivated, Artavia enrolled in Danilo Alvarez Seguro's biology and conservation courses. He currently spends his free time teaching environmental education at local schools alongside other employees of Lapa Rios. 

Across the bar, Artavia passed my mojito. A "pura vida," he proclaimed to Gina. As it dipped below the horizon, the sun dipped toward the Pacific, casting a gentle mist flecked with golden rays. As they swooped over the water and vanished into the treetops, I beheld a couple of macaws. The howler monkeys' low, primal cries reached my ears. I raised my glass, grinned, and sipped. "Pura vida" is right.