"Booked It Wrong, Lived It Right: One Heck of a Costa Rican Getaway"

Once upon a sunny Costa Rican morning, deep in the misty mountaintop jungles of Monteverde, a brave little white Toyota sat in a gravel parking lot, quietly whispering to itself:"I know I can… I know I can…"

And so began our epic (and slightly ridiculous) road trip to the Los Sueños Marriott Ocean & Golf Resort in Herradura. The distance? Only about 112 km (70 miles). The terrain? Questionable at times. The goal? Five-star relaxation by the Pacific, baby.

But first... the journey.

The Route Less Traveled (By Choice or GPS Confusion)

The Scenic (Slightly Heart-Racing) Route

We began our descent from Monteverde via Route 606. This route is not for the faint of heart or low-riding sedans with commitment issues. Our Toyota, however, was built different. With every twisty turn, it murmured, "I know I can… I know I can…"— as we dodged potholes and loose gravel like we were in a real-life video game called Survivor: Cloud Forest Edition.

Eventually, we hit the smoother stretch of Route 1 (Interamericana Norte), and things started feeling more like a "real road trip" and less like an episode of Top Gear: Jungle Edition.

From there, it was sweet, sweet pavement on Route 27, Costa Rica’s version of a highway with… gasp… toll booths and actual speed limits!

Highlights Along the Way (Or "Where We Definitely Stopped for Snacks and Sanity")

• The View Leaving Monteverde: A mix of cloud forest magic and sheer cliff drop-offs. Dramatic AND beautiful — like your favorite telenovela character.

• Fruit Stands of Glory: Somewhere around the halfway point, we pulled over for a bag of fresh mango and a coconut hacked open with what looked like a machete from a pirate ship.

• Tarcoles River Crocodile Bridge: Where else can you park on the side of the road and stare down a dozen prehistoric monsters while eating chips? Nature, you're terrifying and we love you.

• That Random Soda (local restaurant): We fueled our souls with gallo pinto and coffee so strong it could probably fix Wi-Fi.

The Grand Arrival: Los Sueños Marriott Ocean & Golf Resort

After 3-ish hours (we won't admit how long we spent at the crocodile bridge), we rolled into Herradura. The resort appeared like an oasis of beachside luxury. Our little Toyota gave a final puff, a proud chirp from the engine, and whispered: "Told ya so."

As soon as we pulled up, we were greeted by the valet—aka the Car Whisperer—who offered to take our trusty rental off our hands so we could go pretend to be fancy at the check-in desk.

At the counter, we were met by a cheerful young man who immediately clocked my vintage Gojo hoodie from Jujutsu Kaisen and lit up like I’d just handed him a Crunchyroll subscription. I love that hoodie like it’s family, and honestly, no matter where I go—from Tokyo to Toledo—some fellow anime fan always spots it and gives me the respectful nod of shared obsession.

I confidently told the front desk wizard that I had a reservation for today, and casually flexed that I also had another reservation for two additional days tomorrow —because that’s how travel-savvy ballers roll.

He clicked and clacked on the keyboard like he was hacking into the Matrix, then looked up with the face of someone who just realized they forgot their mom’s birthday. "Sir… I can’t find you in the system."

I leaned in like I was about to drop a secret, slid over my Bonvoy card like I was at a high-stakes poker table, and said, "I booked it this morning on Expedia. I'm practically family here."

After a few more dramatic keystrokes, he came back with a plot twist worthy of a telenovela: “Sir… we found your reservation… but it’s for next month.”

Apparently, in my rush to flee the foggy mountaintop of Monteverde, I booked our stay for the wrong freakin' month. Classic me. At this point, I had to dial back my Big Guest Energy and calmly asked if they had any rooms available.

He gave me a number, and before I could say a word, my wife’s eyes popped out like Roger Rabbit seeing Jessica for the first time. I blinked, swallowed, and said, “That’s fine… for one night.”

Then I noticed he’d quietly summoned a manager—uh-oh, boss level unlocked. Turns out they’d realized I had status with Marriott (cue the heavenly choir), and suddenly it was all “Sir this” and “Sir that,” and “We’re going to upgrade you to one of our best rooms with a killer view.”

Boom. VIP treatment at the Los Sueños Marriott Ocean & Golf Resort—even if it was by accident.

Los Sueños Life Hacks: Pro Tips for Balling on a Budget

If you want the same beachfront bliss, full access to resort amenities, and fewer digits on the price tag, check out the Marriott Vacation Club at Los Sueños. It’s on the same grounds, but cheaper, comes with a full kitchen, dishwasher, and a free laundromat so you can cook your own meals and keep your travel clothes smelling less like adventure and more like dryer sheets.

Just one catch: still no Mountain Dew. So pack your own nectar of the gods.

Room Expectations: Low. Ocean View Reality: Slapped Us in the Face.

We checked into our highly anticipated room with a view, fully expecting something straight out of a travel magazine—plush pillows, gold-plated faucets, maybe a harpist in the corner. Instead… it was a nice room. Not bad. Just not the “text Mom in all caps” kind of exciting. More like, “meh, it’ll do” with a side of “well, at least it's clean.”

By now it was dark, so we shuffled over to the balcony, hoping the view would redeem the room’s lack of pizzazz—and bam! there it was: a glowing, sparkling pool below us,

surrounded by people channeling their inner spring breakers. Apparently, we’d stumbled into the middle of Party Palooza Wedding Edition—drinks flowing, music bumping, dance moves ranging from “I’ve got rhythm” to “my knee’s going to regret this tomorrow.”

Now, the room came with one bed (cozy), a pullout sofa (less cozy), and—wait for it—a hammock… inside the room. Because why not add a little chaos to your sleep options?

Before we could start fighting over who got what sleeping situation, there was a knock at the door. In walked a young man sent by the concierge to set up the sofa bed. He was fast, efficient, and—plot twist—a fellow anime fan who immediately complimented my GoJo hoodie. Cue a full-on anime chat while he made the bed with hospital-corner precision like we were bunking down at the Ritz Emergency Ward.

The next morning, we grabbed our coffee, stumbled out onto the balcony, and—WHOOSH!—there it was: the view we were promised! The ocean, in all its turquoise glory, practically leapt out of a postcard and slapped us in the face with its beauty. Turns out we did get one of the best views in the resort. Take that, underwhelming first impressions.

Towel Wars: The Resort Awakens

While we were still gawking at the scenery, my daughter noticed guests down at the pool laying out towels like it was the Olympic finals of sunbed-saving. And just like that, she and the wife snapped into action. I swear I heard Wonder Woman’s theme music in the background as they flew into towel placement mode. Within minutes, they secured our spot poolside like seasoned professionals. Moments later, I got the thumbs-up from the balcony—mission accomplished. And that, my friends, is how you go from “meh” to “heck yes” in less than 12 hours at a resort.

Costa Rica Chronicles: Beer Pong Glory, Jungle Rumbles & the King of Breakfast

Let me tell you something, folks—our stay at the Marriott was the kind of vacation that makes you want to write a postcard to your high school gym teacher and say, “Look at me now, Coach!” The resort? Pristine. The vibes? Immaculate. The grounds looked like they were hand-trimmed by a team of perfectionist hummingbirds. And the pool—oh, the pool! It was giving lazy river realness without actually being lazy. Like, athletically relaxed. A toned-down waterpark for the grown and sexy.

Now, let’s talk perks. With the resort fee, you get access to everything: tennis courts (where I almost pulled a hamstring trying to relive my Wimbledon dreams), the driving range (I’m basically Tiger Woods’ cousin, Weasel Woods), valet parking (because obviously, we don’t walk when we vacation), bonfires with marshmallows (yes, gourmet s’mores were crafted), eco-tours via La Iguana, and even free kayaking, paddle boarding, and bicycles—for 30 glorious minutes. After that, you gotta pedal your way into a rental agreement. And then… destiny called.

Word on the resort street was there was a Beer Pong Tournament. The wife and I? Veterans. We’re talking Olympic-level pongees from the golden era of college basements and backyard BBQs. We signed up faster than you can say flip cup. And would you believe it? We made it to the finals. Our opponents? Two fresh-faced Jersey

girls with French manicures and fierce eyeliner. It was tense. It was dramatic. The game clock was down to one second. I pulled out a fadeaway pong shot, Jordan style, and SPLASH! Game. Set. Match. Jersey was defeated. Cue the music: Weee are the champions, my frieeeend! And yes, that was me belting it out like I was headlining a concert in the resort lobby. The Pacifica beers gave me the courage… and possibly a minor hangover.

Once the victory parade (read: high-fives and dazed laughter) wrapped up, we were starving. Now, I’m not saying the resort food wasn’t good—it was delicious—but the prices were looking like they thought we were Kardashians. So, we took a scenic stroll along the beach and hit up Coco’s, passed Burger King, and a few local gems. Listen, don’t judge me, but the King was calling my name. Breakfast sandwiches never tasted so royal.

For dinner, we elevated the cuisine and headed to El Hicaco for lobster. Now that, my friends, was next-level. No line when we arrived, but five minutes later, boom—place was packed like a Taylor Swift concert. Timing is everything.

As our Costa Rican chapter neared its end, we knew we had one more adventure in us. So we did what any normal person would do—we booked a Quad Tour through (Viator) the jungle and up into the mountains. We dodged branches, hit muddy bumps, and lived our best rugged life with a pit stop at a bar literally in the jungle. That cold drink in the forest? Chef’s kiss.

The next morning, we packed up, made our way back to San José, and hopped on our flight home—but not before paying the toll roads. Keep a few spare 20 Colone’s handy, or you’ll be doing the sad “I have no cash” shuffle at the booth.

Now look, was this trip perfectly smooth? Absolutely not. It had more bumps than a roller coaster in flip-flops. But if everything went according to plan, it wouldn’t be a real adventure, would it? And the best part? My wife looked at me, post-beer pong glory and jungle mud, and said, “This was one of the best vacations I’ve ever had.” I looked back and said, “Same.” (Then high-fived myself in the mirror.)

Costa Rica, you beautiful beast—we love you. We’ll be back.

From the Black and White Travel Chronicles, Pura Vida!