Visitors to this glamping resort can enjoy some of Costa Rica's most memorable animal 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. Films are constantly streaming, and there are innumerable ones that overlap. 

You may see some of them in Costa Rica, a country justifiably famous for its biodiversity. In just under half a million species' range, this nation's 20,000 square miles are home to twelve distinct ecosystems. 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. 

During my early June visit 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 to Arenal Volcano National Park. 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. On each side, we had walls of green that were clearly not intended to provide us with either comfort or food. It was as if we had flipped through a script and discovered that we were meant to be extras, not stars. 

The majestic volcano that sits atop the park is the inspiration for its name. About 5,300 feet in height, Arenal has been around for almost 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. You, the guest, will feel like you're at the center of everything while you stay there. Even though the staff at Nayara might not use those exact words, the resort does present chances for you to accept your own insignificance. 

In a manner of speaking, you can do this on the verdant resort grounds, where over 100,000 trees have been planted in a 14-year mini-reforestation. As a result, Nayara serves as both a lush haven for humans and a biological corridor for animals migrating between different rainforests. 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. We almost fell over a three-foot-long boa constrictor that was lying on the path near our tent one night as we were making our way to dinner. One of the employees 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. 

However, in a place where humans are on the brink of being irrelevant, one must transform into a different type of visitor in order to truly escape the human realm. With that in mind, Nayara's 12 full-time naturalists are available for a variety of personalized trips. 

Luis Andrey Pacheco Vásquez, better known as "Andrey," was our tour guide for two out of our three excursions. Joined by him, we embarked on a brief morning drive to the Mistico Arenal Hanging Bridges Park, where we could see the distant high ranges of the Continental Divide. The park features sixteen bridges, the tallest of which is 150 feet in the air, that wind through a primary forest that is owned by families. Thanks to the extensive tree cover, which offered shade and diffused light, we strolled for around two kilometers on a well-maintained trail. 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. (As many as 1,800 individuals can visit in a single day during peak seasons.) 

I have hunted the Big Five while on safari in Africa. What I later dubbed the Tiny Billion, a group of fascinating microfauna found in nature, was surprisingly exciting to me. Although it doesn't take much assistance to find an elephant, I would have missed most of the sights in Costa Rica if it weren't for the naturalists' expertise. Joining forces with someone who has spent years poring over the clues was like going on a treasure hunt. 

To become a certified naturalist guide in Costa Rica, one must complete a rigorous four-year program, so the term "study" is fitting. A greater respect for the complex intellect of nature was bestowed upon us by Andrey's extensive understanding. For example, tree frogs may deposit their eggs on the underside of leaves that hang over puddles and ponds. When the eggs hatch, the resulting tadpoles will dive headfirst into the water. 

As we watched a vibrant broad-billed motmot droop its tail like a fan in front of us, Andrey deduced that the animal likely had a nest close by. A little hole in the mud bank behind us was indeed found by him, and he used his flashlight to light up a tunnel that was probably about a foot long. At the end of the tunnel lay a cute little motmot chick. He kept bringing to light what we were lacking. In a nest perched a violet-headed hummingbird. Curled up on a leaf was an eye-lash pit viper. A stunning crested owl perched in a faraway tree, its pupils gently closing. 

At our feet, he highlighted what appeared to be a moving mosaic: ants that cut leaves and bring the resulting debris back to their colonies. As a group, they would excrete and ferment their haul, which they would then eat. Andrey would halt, get out his spotting scope—which can magnify an object 27 to 60 times—and let us look every time he spotted anything. From the 700-year-old pilón tree next to the short-lived blue morpho butterfly to the nest that houses more termites than San José residents, my perception of time and space was always changing. 

Along with Andrey, we embarked on a second trip, driving for around two hours to a refuge known as Caño Negro, with 15 minutes spent on a terrifying road. We got on a boat, where breakfast was waiting for us, and Andrey started looking through the trees. We observed capuchin, spider, and howler monkeys throughout the trip; some of the latter were swinging, munching, or sleeping with their 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. With more stakes, it was just as exhilarating as any chase scene in a movie. (Perhaps for the ravenous caiman as well, but definitely for the iguana.) To our delight, the caiman reversed course halfway across the river, allowing the iguana to press on in the direction of 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. The capuchin monkey, Andrey said, was descending a limb that was leaning over the lake. Instead of submerging her face in the water like we thought she would, she dipped her tail in, scampered back up the limb, and drank the water. On the other hand: dip, retreat, poor. Although it appeared to be an inefficient method of hydration, Andrey pointed out that it made perfect sense from an evolutionary standpoint: if you submerge your face in water, you risk losing your head to a caiman. I don't think you need a tail. 

We gobbled up these exquisite natural details. The question of why New World monkeys have prehensile tails when most monkeys in Asia and Africa do not has not yet been resolved by my husband, whose typical interests lie in music and history. (It's not easy.) 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. 

Their excitement was 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. First things first: I am not a fan of snakes, and the frightening kind seen in Costa Rica is no exception. (Confortably, it is also among the top producers and exporters of antivenom on a global scale.) 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. (Considering that whales can exceed 220 tons, the heaviest animals in the ocean, and that these only weigh around 20 pounds, this is quite remarkable.) Hanzel speculated that a vehicle had sped by. Through their vocalizations, the monkeys were claiming their domain. It wasn't our film; it belonged to them.