I write this as our time in Costa Rica has come to an end. From the beginning, I took this course to get my second Hutton Honors class credit. The timeline of this course fits best with my summer schedule. I could have never imagined I would learn so much about myself and the world in these three weeks. I discovered a tropical rainforest, conducted a research project with fungi, saw a waterfall and a couple of fer de lances, and met some awesome people in just 21 days. The things I learned here will stick with me for the rest of my life. I learned about travel and how we are all connected in the big world of ours.
The climb to the Continental Divide began before the sun reached the canopy. A narrow track curled upward through damp branches. The air was cool but a much better experience than at La Selva. Birds weren’t as common here. I noticed it seemed like a whole different ecosystem on the other side of the mountains. Step after step, we followed the same brown line that previous travelers had pressed into the slope. After roughly ninety minutes, with about a thousand meters of height under us from the base, the grand view we had pictured did not. Thick white vapor swallowed everything beyond the pier. The moment still felt magical, but not the short view of the Caribbean and Pacific, like I was told before to be possible on a clear day. Walking without a clear reward reminded me that some choices ask for trust first and proof later. A trail is not only about where it ends. It is also about the decision to keep stepping when the finish cannot be seen.
When we arrived at our home stays Elizabeth welcomed Spencer, Mikey, and me with rice, beans, and stories told in patient Spanish. She has lived on that same hill most of her life and has never been to the United States. Her days are simply making delicious food and enjoying the beautiful scenery of Costa Rica. In a region famous for zip lines and adventure vans, her life looks different. She explores by digging deeper into one place rather than moving on to the next. I realized that travel does not always measure in miles. Holding the same ground through decades can reveal layers that visitors like me only see for a short time. Elizabeth’s life shows that staying put can be as revealing as setting out.
Our class nestled at Valle Escondido for the final two nights A lodge sitting at the of a wonderful lookout to the bay. We certainly enjoyed our time at the bar and had some deep conversations on our final nights. We dragged tables together until they formed one long row and traded memories that we had gathered during our time that would last a lifetime. I kept counting the hidden turns that had woven seventeen different lives into that single room.
Leaving Costa Rica reminded me how much control we do not have. My plane in San José waited on the runway for two extra hours while they waited for the whiteout weather to subside. We changed gates twice and were finally in the air eight hours after leaving for the airport. The delay shaved my Charlotte layover down to minutes. When the wheels touched U.S. soil, I sprinted through costumes to recheck my bag and go through TSA on the jet bridge with five minutes to spare. That sliver of time bent a row of future moments: a seatmate I never would have met, a stop at Taco Bell in Chicago after my flight because I didn’t have time to eat in Charlotte, the calm of waking in my bed instead of outside an airport hotel. People call it luck, chance, or the butterfly effect, the idea that tiny shifts can stir wider waves far away. Whatever the name, the lesson was clear to me. Journeys move on choices we make and on forces outside our reach, each tugging the route in ways we rarely notice until later.
Looking back, every stop offers its part of one larger message. The hidden ridge teaches trust when proof hides in fog. The coffee rows show how past work shapes present practice and future health. Elizabeth’s quiet porch proves that depth can equal distance. A bright lodge dining hall confirms that small moves weave big friendships. A delayed plane warns that maps can tear without asking permission. None of these thoughts stand alone; they overlap like contour lines on a hillside map, rising and falling together. I still love clean diagrams that tell me exactly where to turn, yet this trip convinced me to honor blank space too. Paths curve without warning, rise into clouds, cross other tracks, and sometimes vanish out of thin air. I will keep following where it points, but from now on, I will leave part of every legend empty, ready for climbs that disappear into the mist, farms that keep changing, neighbors who stay, delays that twist the clock, and all of the quiet nudges that turn a single line into a story worth carrying home.
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