When people ask us how we ended up living in Costa Rica, we usually start with the practical stuff – the residency requirements, the international schools, the peaceful country with no army. But the real story isn't found in visa paperwork or expat forums. It's written in moments: a Halloween party at a burger joint where we barely spoke Spanish, Christmas morning on a beach instead of in snow, the day we realized we weren't tourists anymore but weren't quite locals either.

We sold everything we owned in Canada and moved to Costa Rica sight unseen, armed with nothing but ten suitcases and the kind of confidence that borders on delusion. What followed was seven transformative months – from July 2017 through January 2018 – of discovery, mishaps, joy, and the gradual transformation from displaced Canadians to something entirely new: people who belonged somewhere we'd never expected to call home.

First Steps: When Paradise Felt Foreign

"We made it to Costa Rica yesterday. We didn't really do much yesterday, very tired from the flight."

Our first morning in Playa del Coco felt surreal. Walking out to a pool instead of scraping ice off windshields, seeing monkeys in mango trees instead of squirrels in pine trees. The boys were already claiming hammocks on the rooftop patio, but for Shayna and me, the reality was still sinking in. We'd actually done it. We'd left everything familiar and jumped into the unknown.

Those first few days established patterns that would define our entire journey – the daily walk to the beach, the struggle with basic Spanish, the constant sense of wonder mixed with moments of "what have we done?" The waterfall at the end of Playa del Coco beach wasn't much, just a small cascade, but watching the boys play in it represented everything we'd hoped for: adventure accessible by walking, nature as playground, childhood unbound by season or schedule.

The food hit us immediately – flavors that seemed impossible, ingredients that tasted like concentrated versions of what we knew. "The flavors are just heightened," we kept saying, unable to explain how rice and beans could taste so much more like rice and beans than anything we'd eaten before. Every meal became an education, every restaurant a small adventure in trust and discovery.

Beach Hopping and Reality Checks

Our taxi driver from the airport became our first friend, offering to drive us anywhere we wanted to go for prices that seemed too good to be true. This pattern repeated everywhere – Costa Ricans going out of their way to help, to include us, to make sure we understood their country wasn't just about what we could see as tourists.

Playa Hermosa delivered our first lesson in Costa Rican beach diversity. Busier than Coco, with darker sand and bigger waves, it felt more energetic, more social. The little restaurant right on the beach served food that made us question every "beachside dining" experience we'd had anywhere else. When you can sit with your feet in sand, watching surfers while eating fresh-caught fish, other vacation memories start to pale.

But it was the people that made the difference. Everyone willing to help, to practice their English while we butchered their Spanish, to recommend places we should go next. The taxi drivers who became tour guides, the restaurant servers who became cultural interpreters, the children who waved at obviously foreign families like we were neighbors rather than intruders.

Tamarindo: The Tourist Trap Reality Check

If Costa Rica had a spring break destination, Tamarindo would be it. After the peaceful charm of Coco and Hermosa, Tamarindo felt like sensory overload – vendors every ten feet on the beach, restaurants competing for space, people everywhere selling everything.

"Definitely a lot more people selling stuff on the beach here compared to Coco, but that's how they make a living."

We bought our first Costa Rican souvenirs here, handmade necklaces from a woman on the beach who was genuinely grateful for the business. But we also learned our first lesson about tourist pricing, about places that cater to visitors versus places that welcome neighbors.

The tattoo parlor visit became legendary in our family history – not just because Shayna got inked, but because of the kindness of strangers who helped us navigate an experience we hadn't planned. The artist took time to understand what she wanted, the other customers offered encouragement, and we left feeling like we'd been part of something rather than just observers.

Tamarindo taught us what we didn't want – the crowds, the constant selling, the feeling of being seen as wallets rather than people. But it also showed us Costa Rica's diversity, its ability to offer different experiences for different travelers.

Nosara: Finding the Bohemian Dream

"Today we're in Playa Guiones. I'm saying that right, a little more lively over here than Playa Pelada."

Nosara felt like stepping into a different Costa Rica entirely. International but not touristy, developed but not overdeveloped, expensive but worth it. The yoga retreats and organic restaurants existed alongside local sodas and traditional fishing. Here, we met expats who'd been living their dreams for years, locals who'd adapted to international neighbors, and a community that somehow made both groups feel at home.

The skateboarding park in the middle of jungle felt symbolic – someone had decided this place needed a concrete bowl, and somehow it worked. Kids from the local school mixed with children of digital nomads, everyone speaking the universal language of wheels on concrete.

Our guide Chirol took us beyond the tourist trail to his family's property, where we caught shrimp in streams and learned that Costa Rican hospitality goes deeper than professional courtesy. His mother's tortillas, made by hand while we watched, tasted like nothing we'd experienced. This was culture sharing, not culture selling.

Samara: Love at First Sight

"Our thoughts on Samara so far – we love it."

From the moment we arrived in Samara, something clicked. The beach was perfect for learning to surf but safe for children. The town was compact enough to walk everywhere but large enough to have everything we needed. The international school was welcoming, the community was diverse, and somehow it felt like home before we'd even unpacked.

Chris, who became our first local friend, took us to Luv Burger serving impossible-to-believe vegan food that converted even the most dedicated carnivores. The boys started surf lessons immediately, looking like tiny Californians with their blonde hair and confidence on the water.

But what sealed it was the everyday magic – walking down dirt roads where horses wandered freely, buying groceries where imperial beer shared shelf space with imported wine, meeting other families who'd made the same leap we were attempting.

The Reality of Becoming Expats

Moving from tourists to expats meant confronting bureaucracy, infrastructure, and the gaps between expectation and reality. The car shopping adventure in San José introduced us to Costa Rican traffic, Costa Rican negotiation styles, and the traffic jams that can turn a four-hour drive into an eight-hour odyssey.

But finding Christian at the dealership also introduced us to Costa Rican business relationships – personal, patient, built on trust rather than transaction. When we needed lawyer services, he knew where to go. This wasn't just car buying; it was community joining.

The earthquake at 2 AM reminded us we weren't in Kansas anymore. The 5.9 tremor that shook our house and woke everyone up was just Tuesday in Costa Rica – geological reality in a country where volcanoes shape geography and seismic activity shapes perspective.

Border runs to Nicaragua became part of our routine – every 90 days, like clockwork, maintaining our tourist status while living lives that looked increasingly permanent. These trips reminded us we existed in bureaucratic limbo, officially visitors but practically expats, legally temporary but emotionally invested.

Building Community, One Mistake at a Time

Our border run to Nicaragua taught us that Costa Rica's neighboring countries aren't just administrative conveniences – they're cultural extensions, places where the same warmth and welcome exist under different flags. The simple process of crossing borders reminded us that we were now Expats, not tourists, with different responsibilities.

The Halloween party at Luv Burger marked our first holiday as residents rather than visitors. Dressing up in costumes cobbled together from ten suitcases worth of belongings, we joined a celebration that mixed Costa Rican tradition with international influence. The boys fit in immediately, their Spanish improving daily through playground diplomacy.

Meeting other families through school, through beach encounters, through shared adventures at waterfalls and beaches, we began building the social infrastructure that transforms residence into belonging. The Canadians from Calgary who watched our videos and recognized us on the beach. The local families who invited us to their homes for traditional meals. The expat community that welcomed newcomers with advice, friendship, and shared war stories.

The Business of Belonging

"We're buying land and then we're getting shipping containers. I'm gonna do rentals out of those."

The decision to start our own business represented the final step from temporary residents to permanent investment. Buying shipping containers, converting them to rental accommodations, meant committing to Costa Rica not just as lifestyle choice but as economic future.

Jimmy's tour of the container yard in San Ramon opened our eyes to possibility – these weren't just metal boxes but potential homes, businesses, dreams. The finished 40-foot container with bedroom and bathroom showed us what vision plus craftsmanship could create.

Jayden's 10th birthday at the mall in Alajuela, complete with spontaneous puppy adoption, became family legend. Ollie the dog's arrival marked the transition from visitors with luggage to residents with responsibilities – pets, property, permanent address.

Seasonal Celebrations and Cultural Integration

Christmas on the beach challenged every assumption we had about holiday traditions. Church service in the sand, Santa delivering bikes instead of snow boots, reindeer carrots left on tropical tables – these moments redefined celebration from climate-based to family-based.

"You just wake up, you have Christmas morning with your family, and you head to the beach."

The boys adapted fastest, as children do. Their excitement about Santa's arrival remained unchanged despite palm trees replacing pine trees outside their windows. Christmas morning photos showed the same joy we'd experienced in Canada, just with different scenery.

New Year's Eve on Samara beach introduced us to Costa Rican celebration styles – family-friendly, community-centered, spontaneous. The fireworks show lasted twenty minutes, launched from the beach while families sat in sand rather than snow. Midnight felt both foreign and familiar, marking time's passage in latitude we'd never experienced.

The Gradual Transformation

"We haven't been tourists in our own backyard and started truly exploring the country we'd called home for years."

Somewhere between Halloween 2017 and New Year's 2018, we stopped being Canadians in Costa Rica and became Costa Rican Canadians. The shift was subtle but profound – we stopped comparing everything to "back home" and started evaluating experiences on their own merits.

The waterfall adventures with new friends, the beach picnics that extended past sunset, the Spanish phrases that came naturally instead of haltingly – these moments accumulated into identity transformation. We weren't visiting Costa Rica anymore; we were living it.

Our container project moved from dream to reality, representing not just business venture but community contribution. The plans to provide unique accommodations for other travelers meant we'd completed the circle – from tourists seeking authentic experience to residents creating authentic experience for others.

Reflections on the Journey

Looking back at those first six months, the transformation seems both rapid and gradual. Rapid in how quickly we adapted to daily life without winter coats, without central heating, without the cultural references that had defined us for decades. Gradual in how slowly we realized we weren't planning to leave anymore.

The boys' Spanish improved faster than ours, as always happens with children. They made friends who didn't speak English, played games that didn't exist in Canada, adapted to school schedules and social customs that felt normal to them within months.

Shayna and I learned different lessons – about flexibility, about trust, about the courage required to rebuild identity in your forties. Every restaurant visit was cultural education, every interaction with neighbors was language practice, every bureaucratic challenge was resilience building.

The vlogs we created during this period captured the daily reality of transformation – the excitement and exhaustion, the wonder and confusion, the moments of pure joy mixed with instances of "what were we thinking?" Watching them now, we see people becoming who they didn't know they could be.

The Foundation for Everything That Followed

Those first six months established the foundation for every adventure that followed – the business success of SeaCasa, the deep friendships with locals and expats, the comfort with uncertainty that defines expat life.

We learned that home isn't defined by geography or weather or cultural familiarity. Home is defined by community, by purpose, by the daily choice to engage with place and people as participant rather than observer.

The leap from ten suitcases to permanent residence taught us that the biggest risks often deliver the greatest rewards. Not financial rewards, though our business has thrived. Not status rewards, though our lifestyle improvement is undeniable. But identity rewards – the discovery that we could be more adventurous, more adaptable, more open to possibility than we'd ever imagined.

Costa Rica didn't just give us a new place to live. It gave us new ways to live, new definitions of success, new appreciation for simplicity and community and the courage to keep choosing adventure over certainty.

Ready to write your own transformation story? Costa Rica is waiting – with perfect beaches, welcoming communities, and the kind of experiences that change how you see both the world and yourself.

Watch Our Complete Journey

Want to experience every moment of our transformation from tourists to residents? Our complete moving to Costa Rica playlist captures it all – from those first nervous steps off the plane to the confidence of established residents.

Each video documents not just the places we discovered but the people we became in discovering them. The awkward Spanish conversations that became fluent friendships. The tourist attractions that became neighborhood hangouts. The foreign country that became home.

These aren't just travel videos – they're the real-time documentation of the biggest adventure two Canadians and their children ever attempted. And somehow, against all odds and despite all fears, it worked.