If you quit your job, go to Costa Rica.

Around this time last year, I quit my job and spent six weeks wandering around Central and South America. It was a pretty fantastic decision, maybe my best ever – and that’s coming from the person who practically invented the grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

In the interest of full disclosure, I had another position waiting for me back in New York. But even if I didn’t have that safety net, resigning would have been the right decision. It’s the only sensible thing to do when your last business trip involved almost falling in a pool and locking your keys in the car.

***

The decision to kick off my six-week travel extravaganza in Costa Rica was based on two key criteria: it was hot there in March and a one-way flight cost $120.

“Seriously?!” my co-worker asked. “That was seriously your process?! That it’s warm?” I had just finished debriefing him on the projects he was to pick up after I left, so he wasn’t in the best of moods.

“Well not exactly,” I said. “Costa Rica is also in close proximity to Ecuador, Peru, Chile, Argentina and Brazil.”

He rolled his eyes. “And which one of those are you going to next?”

“Well it depends on the price of the flights,” I said. “Try to keep up, would you?”

***

At the time I resigned, I was working with a reporter from Bloomberg Businessweek on a story about something really boring. Turns out, planning the adult version of my gap year was far more interesting for both of us.

“My brother goes to Costa Rica every year and loves it,” she said. “He’s a surfer though, so I don’t know if you would want to go where he goes.”

Actually that sounded exactly like the place I wanted to go. I took his recommendations and booked six nights in Playa Grande, the quiet beach right next to Tamarindo. I had no idea if he knew what he was talking about, but I sure didn’t so what was the difference?

***

Here’s the beautiful thing about traveling to Costa Rica – a direct flight from New York takes about five hours. I left my house at 7 a.m. and was on the beach by 2 p.m. I’d say I had a drink in my hand too, but I was still hungover from the party I threw the day before.

***

I was more than a little annoyed to find that my room was next to some very obnoxious neighbors who were causing quite the racket on our shared patio. I didn’t plan on spending much time in my room, but I still wasn’t too pleased about it.

On my way to dinner, I finally got a good look at the culprit: it was a little boy. More specifically, a little boy with Down Syndrome who was playing with a stuffed tortoise.

“HEY COOL TURTLE!” I shouted at him, which, as expected, made him run back into his own room.

I am going straight to hell. As if there was ever a question about that.

***

Aside from the surfers, Playa Grande was actually quite empty. There was nothing to it really: no shops, no restaurants, no beach vendors, not even an ATM. That didn’t bother me much, except for one small problem: the mojito stand where I imagined getting a drink every afternoon did not exist.

But just as I was getting used to the idea of a week without day-drinking, I happened upon a little beach bar tucked away behind some trees. The Taco Star: serving tacos and beer for $2 each. By noon, it was crawling with surfers. Made my mojito plan seem really uninspired

***

In Costa Rica, I averaged a book a day. These are the ones I remember:

1. We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families, by Philip Gourevitch. I know I’m about 15 years late on this and that it isn’t exactly light beach reading, but if you haven’t read this already, you really have to. It’s just as relevant today as it was in 1999 and it’s absolutely excellent. My favorite part?  When Romeo Dallaire, the Canadian commander of United Nations peacekeeping force and the only person who seemed willing to take any steps to prevent a genocide, sent a message to the UN that ended with, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Let’s go.” I’d like to start signing all my emails that way.
2. This is How You Lose Her, by Junot Diaz. This is a great read if you like Junot Diaz. If you don’t know if you like him yet, start with The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao instead. It’s even better and comes with the added bonus of not having to suffer through anyone telling you about how they read most of the This Is How You Lose Her essays when they were first published in The New Yorker.
3. Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns), by Mindy Kaling. Skip it. Sorry, I love Mindy as much as the next girl, but this book was half-baked. Do you disagree? Then explain to me why you liked reading an entire chapter about photos saved on a Blackberry.
4. How Did You Get this Number, by Sloane Crosley. This collection of essays is what I hoped Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? would be. It’s sassy and smart and funny and worth every penny of the $2.00 I paid for it on the used book table. Even better, she doesn’t spend any time complaining about being chubby or that good men don’t exist. Instead, she writes about important things, like causing a scene in the confession line at Notre Dame Cathedral and what happens when you put a hamster in a Barbie car.

***

Near the middle of the trip, I was enjoying an afternoon beer at The Taco Star when a group of middle-aged couples from Connecticut wandered up.

“It’s a good day not be in New York,” one guy said. “There was an explosion in Manhattan.”

“I live in Manhattan,” I said.

“Well it was in Harlem,” he said.

“I live in Harlem!”

“On the east side though,” he added.

“I live on the East Side!”

I canceled my taco order and went back to my room to check my email. A gas leak caused an explosion that leveled two apartment buildings. Eight people were killed and 70 more injured.

“I’m glad you weren’t in Harlem today,” a friend wrote in an email. “Of course, I could say that every day you’re not in Harlem.”

***

I was reading a book on the ledge of the pool when the boy from the patio snuck up behind me and whispered “Hi,” in my ear. I was so startled that I nearly fell in.

He and I became friends after that, which is to say that he practiced cannonballs and handstands while I continued to read a paperback on the steps of the shallow end.

“I’m sorry he got your book wet,” his father said.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” I said. “I’m the one reading in a pool.”

The next day, I took things a step further and sat under a picnic table when I couldn’t get an umbrella open by the lounge chairs.

“Is something wrong?” one of the landscapers asked me as he peeked under the table.

“Nope!” I said. “Just getting some shade!”

He offered to open the umbrella for me, but I declined. It was almost time for my Taco Star run anyway.

***

After reading the day away, I usually took a run along the ocean before dinner. It was so peaceful that, for the first time, I didn’t bother to play music. I just didn’t need the distraction.

My former job had sucked three good years out of me, but, thankfully, it only took six days to undo. The real trip was about to begin.

More to come.

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