Are Costa Ricans really the Happiest people in the World?

Many an international study and op-ed claim, Costa Rican's are the happiest people in the world. Even the government of Costa Rica proudly displays billboards advertising how happy the people of Costa Rica are. So why is it I found myself questioning the supposed happiness of an entire country? Is it my own skepticism regarding happiness or is it my first hand experience in Costa Rica and the rest of the Central American region? I imagine at the core it is both and I saw this with good reason.

After seeing unprecedented poverty in Hondouras and the rustic simplicity of Guatemalan life, I can see how Costa Rican's(Ticos) more modern and less impoverished life style can lead to an increase in happiness. However, I question whether or not this happiness is universal among all Ticos. I heard about and saw more petty crime against travelers in Costa Rica than anywhere else in the region. I felt less welcome and less safe in small villages and on public transportation. I experienced the dollar sign effect, where a local would see me and assume only one thing, I had money and was stupid enough to spend it naively. I question the level of happiness of any society that has high rates of crime, particularly petty crime, which is often associated with poverty; poverty in turn is linked to unhappiness.

An entire population that in the past thirty years of tourism has lost its cultural identity to a westernized hospitality culture, dependent on tips for their income. Tour buses wind up and down the narrow roadways showing visitors only the chosen sections of the country, glossing over the real Costa Rica. After visiting Nicaragua and Panama, a few years behind, but developing economically along side Costa Rica, the Disneyland-ifacation of the country is all too apparent. Tourism is the main industry leaving traditional farming and crafts aside. I found many supposed Tico crafts that were made in Guatemala or worse yet, China. Those working in service, hospitality and tourism are less than thrilled by their daily existence. I overheard one woman telling her coworkers in Spanish, that if she had to help on more fat American book a jungle tour she was going to vomit, again making me wonder, how happy are Ticos?

My skepticism and perhaps jealousy, questioning the reality of Costa Rican happiness does nothing to change to numerous articles, reports and billboards claiming the happiest people in the world live in Costa Rica. So, here is something everyone can be happy about. Sloths, they are amazing and if something in Costa Rica is truly 100% happy it is probably this slow moving furry tree dweller.

Its Not Always Easy Getting to Costa Rica

The eastern border between Costa Rica and Panama is a stereotypically Central American sight; divided by a river, travelers are asked to walk cross a "bridge" all luggage in hand and if they make it to the other side, are allowed to immigrate onward. The following photos tell the story better than words.

Below: the river that provides the natural border between Panama and Costa Rica.


Below: the "bridge" between Panama and Costa Rica.


Below: an example of the rust on each segment of the bridge.

Below: the wooden slats one must step over and across to make it to the other side.

Bocas del Toro

Central American rainy season was in full swing when I board my bus to Bocas del Toro, Panama. The overnight bus dropped me off just before sunset at the boat doc where I waited for a small speed boat ("taxi") to take me to the Bocas del Toro archipelago. The questionably stable boat, took sharp turns and whizzed past many house on stilts and many houses whose stilts had failed. The sun began to rise as the boat bounced past one very tiny island after another until we slowed down to dock at the main township of Bocas del Toro. The town still asleep (it was only 5am), had an odd calm as it looked out across the green water. I found a hostel that would let me check in very, very early and immediately went to sleep.

I woke up a few hours later to the sound of my hostel roommates, packing their ridiculously large suitcases and speaking very loudly in Hebrew. I decided to get out and explore the island that so many of my fellow travelers recommend. I soon found my way to a local dive shop where I asked several questions about diving before finding myself on a boat headed to a "really awesome" drift dive. My first dive was not a drift dive, it was merely a shallow reef dive complete with jellyfish and not much else. Disappointed I was not convinced the second dive would be much better and then as the boat pulled us to our departure point I noticed something i've never seen before, I could see the drift current in the water. The fast moving current of very warm water was a slightly different color than the surrounding water. I could tell that this dive would be an adventure. I jumped in and was immediately taken into the current. I relaxed my body and decided to see where it would lead. I did something I never do I let the water have control. The surges in the current shot me back and forth over the beautiful coral and marine life for at least fifteen minutes and then suddenly the ride came to an end as I was shot out of the current into a sand bed about 18 meters deep. There I waited for my fellow divers to join me before exploring the cave that was starring at me and calling my name. The cave was amazing because it was home to at least twelve nurse sharks all resting in neat stacks. On the cave floor were several large lobster and a dead infant hammer head shark. Indeed, one of the coolest dives I've experienced and the reason that I am buying an underwater dive camera when I get home.

I returned back to my hostel on an adrenaline high and very hungry. Hoping I to make some friends, I began to make a very large bowl of pasta hoping I could share with someone, but nobody would talk to me. I felt like the kid picked last for a sport. Then I began to notice something odd. Everyone, and I mean everyone in my hostel was speaking Hebrew. It was as if every Israeli in Panama was staying at this hostel. I tried to start a conversation with a few people but they quickly moved away favoring spending time with other Israeli travelers. It was so peculiar, nobody would talk with me or eat with me, because I was not from Israel. I still can't figure out why. But the social isolation was the reason I chose to switch my hostel the next morning to the Aqua Lounge, a hostel on an nearby island built entirely over the water, with a view from a postcard.

The people at the Aqua Lounge were friendly and laid back and with easy swimming access I stayed for 3 days. Relaxing and doing nothing felt great. But after three days another problem arose. Sand-flies, my little buddies from Honduras, except these sand-flies were more itchy and more painful than their Honduran cousins. My legs were covered in bites and after 3 days of them feasting on me, I felt like I was on fire. It was time to say goodbye to Panama.

Obligatory Tourist Trip to the Panama Canal

I'm just gonna say it, the Panama Canal is boring. It takes hours to move one boat through a large square box filled with fresh water. This water is then wasted as it is pumped out to the ocean moving the boat another box forward. This goes on until the boat reached the other side of the continent. I'm glad I went because its one of those things to do in your lifetime, however my overall impression of this world engineering marvel was boredom. Here are some pictures from my visit, in case you want to see what I saw or if you need to fall asleep.

This photo is of canal construction in the early 1900s. Anybody notice anything interesting in regard to race and gender in this picture?

Panama City Downpour

I arrived in Panama city exhausted and shaken from my eventful bus ride. Rain was pouring from the sky, making it impossible to find a cab or any transportation for that matter to my hostel. I decided to wait it out and in the process meet two fellow solo-female travelers, both heading to the same hostel. We chat for a bit and then finally found a taxi, willing to drive in the late afternoon downpour.

As our cab float through the streets of Panama city I knew Central American rainy season had begun. It rained non-stop for the next three days, making sight seeing and other activities near impossible. The hostel had a movie room, packed with backpackers ridding out the weather and several other common areas where people were having drum circles, sing-a-longs and planning their next destination. Sick of hanging out in a hostel all day, I decided to find someone to brave the rain and walk the city with me. Diane, a Canadian backpacker was more than happy to join me on a walk through the Casco Viejo. Surrounded by decaying and very old buildings and slogging through rain puddles was an adventure and visually spectacular. Although soaking wet i was enjoying myself. The rain was just a part of the experience.

The next day, I woke to cloud filled skies and more rain. Diane and I decided to visit the Panama city mall, do some shopping and see what it was all about. I am confident this mall is the largest mall I have ever been to; it had numerous food courts, copious vendors and a store for everything ever made. I enjoyed looking through the many cigar shops and even bought a few to try. The mall interior was filled with strange fiber glass statues of animals and famous movie icons, an excellent chance for photo ops. An opportunity Diane and I took full advantage of, posing with various animals; kangaroo, orca, king kong. It was a surprisingly fun day at the Panama city mall, and in its own way a cultural experience.

That night while drinking at the hostel bar and complaining to my fellow travelers about the rain situation, someone mentioned going to one of the many casinos in the city. It was one of those good ideas that was actually not a good idea. It was a typical casino, gamble and get free drinks, or gamble and drink til you run out of money. I did neither, instead I chose to watch my fellow travelers attempt to strike it rich, playing black jack and poker with wealth Panamanian men. I must admit it was hard not to join in, they had a craps table, but nearing the end of my trip i knew i didn't have money to waste on stupid things like gambling. That's when I noticed how many of the people playing poker was casually using cocaine at the game table. Cocaine is illegal in Panama but for some reason people just don't care. It was a rare culture shock.

A Bad Feeling

I climbed on board my sixteen hour bus to Panama City, with a strange feeling, I knew something about this bus ride was going to make it worse than any of my previous rides. I had an odd anxiety as I took my seat, in the back of the bus next to the bathroom. The first bad sign. Less than one minute later my premonition began to reveal itself, a very, very heavy Tico(Costa Rican) man sat down in the seat next to me and also in half of my seat. Sixteen hours squished between him and the window, was gonna be uncomfortable, then things got worse. As the bus pulled away from the station the man, now more or less on top of me began snoring.

I awkwardly tried to get to the earplugs in my bag now wedged below my seatmate, but was so constrained physically by the Tico man I soon gave up. Unable to sleep I sat uncomfortable and frustrated for hours. The air-conditioning on the bus had reached arctic levels, the winding road were making me nauseous, I started crying out of shear frustration. Then I had one of those moments, where I remembered that this was all a part of my adventure and that with budget travel you take a chance at this kind of stuff. I laughed it off, turned on my ipod and envisioned the fun adventures ahead in Panama City.

Then three hours into the bus ride my now requisite, Central American bus ride - back pain kicked in, as did the man next to me's creepy wondering hands. First I felt his big sweaty hand brushing by my thigh; but given our proximity I ignored it thinking it was an accident. Then the thigh brushing slowly became a breast brushing. As I squirmed to readjust myself his hand landed between my legs. I screamed. He "woke up" and looked at me acting confused as to why I was screaming.

I demanded he let me out of my seat and as I pryed my way past him he pinched my behind! Feeling violated and angry I informed the bus attendant of the problem; the bus attendant met my concerns with total apathy and left me to deal with the situation alone. I searched the bus for an empty seat there was only one. I felt terrible waking up the young Argentinian man comfortably occupying both seats but there was no way I could stay in my seat. As I explained why I needed his extra seat in middle of the night incoherent Spanish, the young man started to look very angry. He asked me where I was sitting and I pointed a few rows back, he then let me take the window seat next to him and said he would help me "deal with things" when we got to the border in the morning.

At the border I emerged from the bus, afraid to encounter the large Tico man. My new Argentinian friend, Raul, exit the bus walked up to the creepy man and punched him in the face! Then reported him to the police at the border and the man was pulled into a room. An officer then came to me and asked what happened the night before, I told him my best Spanish version of the story and he told me, "they would take care of it." I then saw Raul and two officers speaking with the bus attendant, who came over to me, apologized for not helping and said that the large Tico man had been kicked off the bus and was not allowed to cross the border at this time.

I went through the rest of immigration, re-board the bus with Raul, thanked him for his help and took back my original seat. Raul told me I reminded him of his sister and when he thought about some random man treating his sister the way the Tico man treated me, he got really angry, that's why he hit the guy. It was nice to finally feel like some one was on my side, when it comes to creepy men and their wondering hands. I slept the next eight hours of the bus ride, safe and comfortable and had it not been for Raul I might have given up on all Latin American men.