Asher on Aspen: Jungle euphoria in Uvita

There’s a strange kind of freedom that comes from being on the open road in a foreign country. A liberating rush that settles in your chest like a good tequila buzz. We had just wrapped up a week in Santa Teresa — sunburned, salty, and high on pura vida — and decided it was time to trade in our beach-bum lifestyle for something greener, higher, and quieter. So, we rented a car in San José, cranked the tunes, and drove south toward a little town called Uvita. Just four friends on a jungle bender, half-lost in the Costa Rican countryside.

The roads were smoother than expected, winding us through thick jungle that seemed to stretch forever in every direction. Dense, green, alive. Vines dangled from the trees, mist hung in the air, and the coastline slipped in and out of view as we climbed. Four hours later, we hit the steep, final stretch: a rugged hill only climbable by 4×4.

At the top, Golden Pineapple Villas appeared through the trees — remote, quiet, and tucked in the clouds like a jungle fortress. We rolled in dazed and giddy, greeted by a cold pineapple cocktail and a panoramic view so stupid-beautiful it made us laugh out loud. Like, no way this was real life. Our Double Ocean Villa came with two private bedrooms, a full kitchen, a cozy living area, and a private patio with an infinity pool. Pineapple décor in every corner, and that surreal, cinematic feel — like we’d accidentally walked onto the set of “White Lotus,” only with better hospitality and fewer plot twists.

Every morning started with the sound of howler monkeys, nature’s brutal alarm clock but somehow soothing. Breakfast was delivered to our villa door daily. Local Costa Rican fare is always served with a smile by the holy trinity of hospitality: Leo, Marlon, and Pablo. These guys weren’t just staff; they were part of the gang now. Marlon in particular — he made sure our cocktails were stiff, and our stories were listened to.

Dinner at The Crown, their onsite restaurant, was next level. Jett said it was the best bruschetta of his life — and I know he doesn’t say that lightly. Every dish hit harder than the last. We ate like royalty, drank like pirates, and lounged in our jungle palace like we were running from something back home. Maybe we were.

But even paradise needs a little chaos, so we signed up for a zip-lining adventure deep in the rainforest. Seven zip lines, three rappels, two shaky-ass bridges, and a whole lot of mud. By the time we hit the third line, the skies opened up and unleashed a torrential downpour like we were being baptized into the jungle. Visibility? Zero. But we were flying — soaked, screaming, laughing like lunatics. Three hours of adrenaline therapy in the clouds. It was wild and raw and exactly the kind of fun we came looking for.

The next morning, we cranked it up again: jet skiing through the mangroves. Nothing like skimming across crocodile-infested waters to jolt you awake better than any cup of coffee. Our guide, fearless and grinning, pointed out birds and other wildlife while I tried not to think about being eaten alive. I couldn’t see the crocs, but I knew they were out there. Kristi rode in tow behind me, white-knuckled and hollering, holding on for dear life as I gunned it over the waves trying to catch air. I couldn’t help it — I was lit up with energy, flying across the water, yelling over the engine like we were being chased. Pure childhood glee with a splash of bad judgment.

And finally, the main event: the Whale’s Tail at Marino Ballena National Park. It’s a natural sandbar shaped like a whale’s tail, stretching nearly a mile into the Pacific. The formation only appears at low tide, a strange and beautiful coincidence of nature where two currents meet while leaving behind sand and rock. We timed it right and made the walk across the exposed sand, ocean on both sides, sky wide open above us. It felt like walking on water. One minute you’re on solid ground, and the next the tide’s creeping in behind you, slowly erasing your way back. Surreal. Biblical, almost. Like the ocean was letting us pass — but only for a moment.

That was Uvita. Lush, wild, and unforgettable. Golden Pineapple Villas wasn’t just where we stayed — it was part of the story. A tucked-away pocket of calm and comfort, where the view stopped you mid-sentence and the people felt like old friends.

We’re not done here, just moving down the road. Still chasing the light, still waking to the sound of howlers in the hills. Costa Rica has a way of staying with you. And Golden Pineapple? That place felt like a secret we were lucky enough to find, and won’t ever forget.