Sámara — pura vida in person
Sámara is a small town by the sea. Life moves slowly here — stepping off the Interbus, the pura vida atmosphere hit me immediately. A big friendly guy at the bar sells me coffee, straight out of a Hollywood film. A few minutes' walk and I was on the beach. Someone was walking their horse on the beach, off the lead, trotting freely between the tourists. For a moment I thought — am I in paradise?
The mission: find a motorbike in Sámara
The next day my mission was clear: get hold of a motorbike in Sámara. The reality of local rentals is mostly monotonous — either a scooter or a quad. At the third attempt I find nothing but a bare sign with a phone number. I send a message: "I have a European A licence, I ride a Kawasaki 650 and I want the most powerful thing you have."
The reply came back immediately and with an unexpected level of trust: "I have a Honda XR190 for you. It'll be 80 dollars, I trust you, no deposit needed."
Honda XR190
When I picked up the bike, a surprise was waiting. The motorbike was almost new and in excellent condition. Even though I'm used to much higher displacements, this light enduro turned out to be the ideal partner for Costa Rican terrain. At least until the steep hills arrived. There the laws of physics made themselves heard — my nearly 100 kg was a decent mouthful for an engine producing around 15 horsepower, and the speedo simply never got past seventy.
But speed wasn't the point. The area around Sámara is threaded with an endless network of dirt tracks that lead you into complete unknown. These dusty roads are the key to the best Costa Rica has to offer. They take you to remote beaches where there's either nobody at all, or just a handful of American tourists. The kind of places you won't find in any guidebook. A motorbike and the wild Pacific.
The ford
The navigation didn't warn me that just before town the road turns into a river crossing. I stood there, looking at the flowing mass of water, running a calculation in my head: the river looks deep, the bottom is uncertain, and above all — what if there are crocodiles?
Maybe it was just excessive caution, but in Costa Rica you learn one thing: nature always has the upper hand. I didn't want to get into it with crocodiles, and I didn't want to drown an almost-new motorbike in murky water either. I turned back. That's part of the beauty of travelling by bike — it's not about getting through everything at any cost. And even if I didn't conquer the river today, the feeling of riding through the wilderness was absolutely worth it.
