Lessons from the Jungle: Our Family’s Volunteering Adventure in Costa Rica
- Klara Tselenchuk
- Sep 1
- 14 min read
Travel isn’t just about seeing new places. It’s about being changed by them. Sometimes life gives us the gift of slowing down in ways we never expected.
This blog post is about our recent summer adventure, when I took my family to volunteer on a farm in Costa Rica—and the reflections, lessons, challenges, and moments of wonder that turned it into something truly magical.
What began as a trip became a journey back to presence, connection, and gratitude.
A Hummingbird’s Greeting
I was standing on the porch, barefoot, still waking up from our first night on the farm. The air was cool and fragrant, carrying that earthy smell of the jungle after a night of rain.
My body was still adjusting to this new rhythm of early mornings, but my mind felt wide awake as I was observing the magical jungle and life around me.
And then, out of nowhere, a hummingbird appeared.
It hovered just a meter in front of my face. Its tiny wings were moving fast, and making this buzzing sound as it was holding itself impossibly steady. It felt as if it had come to look me right in the eyes.
For a few seconds, time slowed. The world around me blurred into the background. There was just me and this tiny creature... so delicate, yet so fierce... staring at each other in quiet recognition.
I felt a rush of emotion that’s hard to put into words. Gratitude. Wonder. A deep sense of being welcomed by the jungle itself, like the land had sent me a messenger to say, “You’re in the right place. You’re meant to be here.”
That was the moment I knew that I'm exactly when I need to be in the exact moment.
We hadn’t come to Costa Rica for a vacation in the traditional sense. No fancy resorts, no specific tours we planned ahead.
We had come here to volunteer on a farm, to exchange our busy routines for something slower, more intentional, and maybe even a little uncomfortable.
We wanted to step into a life that was raw, simple, and real, and experience a different lifestyle.
For me, it was also about healing. I’ve spent much of my life running... running to meet expectations, to be the perfect nurse, the perfect mom, the one who holds everything together. But that way of living left me burned out and disconnected from myself.
Over the years, I’ve learned that nature has a way of bringing me back home, and this trip was a chance to share that lesson with my kids, too.
I wanted them to see that life doesn’t always have to be fast or full of distractions... that there’s another way to live... one that’s slower, simpler, and deeply connected to the earth and community.
Costa Rica felt like the right place to do that. We had experienced it once, two years ago, and wanted to come back for more.
It’s a country surrounded by beauty on every side, where people live by the rhythm of sunrise and sunset, where pura vida isn’t just a saying but a way of being.
And so, we came.
First Impressions: Chaos and Windows to the Jungle
Getting there was its own little adventure.
We flew from Maryland to Panama for a 3 hour layover. Everyone was already a bit tired and cranky, so we treated ourselves to some local airport food to keep us going.
When we finally touched down in San José, we were exhausted and ready to just collapse into bed. But travel has a way of throwing surprises, and finding our first Airbnb felt like being on The Amazing Race. Between figuring out where to get the keys and navigating a parking lot that seemed to have no entrance, we finally made it into the apartment like survivors crossing the finish line.
The next morning, I woke to the sunlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows. And that’s when I noticed it… outside, even in the middle of San Jose's' busy traffic, I could see trees stretching upward and vines curling down.
It was as if the wild jungle was refusing to be pushed back.
It was such a contrast: the honking horns of traffic below, and yet this lush, green reminder that nature was still here... alive and unstoppable!
That was only the beginning of what Costa Rica had to show us.
The Caribbean Coast: Beaches, Monkeys, and the Language of Play
We left the city behind and drove toward the Caribbean coast. The road to Limón twisted through mountains, with beautiful views, little waterfalls alongside the road, and greenery all around us showing us the jungle in all its beauty.
Our first stop was Playa Piuta, a nearly empty beach with soft sand and shallow pools created by the rock formations around the bay. It was perfect for exploring.
We enjoyed dipping into the water, jumping on top of the waves, and searching for crabs within the rocky crevices.
For a while, it felt like the whole place was ours.
There was even a swing facing the water, and we took turns on it, feeling the breeze against our faces.
Since we had some time before we could check into our home for the next four days, we decided to go for an ice cream in town.
The place we tried first was closed with no sign of explanation.
At first, I felt frustrated and even a little angry... how could the Google listing not be updated?!
But like so many moments on this trip, the detour turned out better than the plan... Just down the road, we found a small shop called Limón’s, where we tasted ice cream in very unique flavors. It was refreshing, sweet, and surprising!
We were reminded that travel is often about surrendering... letting go of the plan so you can discover something better waiting just around the corner.
The following days were filled with moments that will stay with us forever...
One of my favorites was at Parque Nacional Cahuita, where we wandered along a trail shaded by palm trees, with lush jungle on one side and a beautiful white-sand beach, Playa Blanca, on the other.
We decided not to hire a guide because we wanted to wander at our own pace, allowing ourselves to be guided by nature instead.
We saw slow-moving sloths, howler monkeys calling overhead, and tiny capuchins jumping from branch to branch, playing together. Watching them made me smile and filled me with a childish joy as I observed them in their natural environment, just being free.
There was something so pure in seeing animals wild and free, moving exactly as they were meant to, without cages or human interference.
We took some time to enjoy the beach, and on our way back we stopped for lunch at Mar Café Tiko, a tiny family-owned spot run by a father and son.
The food was simple and delicious. It felt like stopping by for lunch at a family member’s place. We felt so welcomed and cared for. Everything was served with such kindness that it truly felt like eating in someone’s home. That kind of warmth that stays with you!
One of the evenings, we went back to Playa Piuta, where we stopped at a small restaurant called El Patio. The menu was only in Spanish, so we used Google Translate to figure things out, laughing at the mistranslations and odd combinations...
We ordered a mix of shrimp, pork belly, and fresh juices, and shared everything together, letting the new flavors roll over our tongues.
This was also a perfect spot to see the sunset.
As the sun was going down, the kids got into the water, joining a group of local children. They tossed seaweed at each other, laughing as they played.
They didn’t share a language, but it didn’t matter. They were playing together as if they’d known each other for years.
I floated nearby, just watching. And I thought to myself: This is the language of play. This is connection at its simplest and most true.
That night, as music played in the distance and the sky shifted through colors while the sun disappeared, a deep wave of gratitude washed over me.
We were in paradise, but more than that, we were present. Really, truly there. Together. In that moment.
The beaches filled us with joy, but the heart of our trip was still ahead. It was time to leave the coast behind and make our way to the farm, for our volunteering experience.
Farm Life: Learning to Slow Down in the Jungle
We transitioned from a weekend on the Caribbean coast—where we had control over what we were doing, what we were eating, and when... to life on the farm that had much to teach us about rhythm, patience, and trust, where the pace is not set by clocks but by the sun, the rain, and the needs of the land.
We stayed at Finca La Quimera.
To get there, we hired a 4x4 taxi because the trail was rugged and bumpy, the kind of road only a sturdy vehicle could handle.
I felt a bit of anxiety creeping in as I thought to myself, “How are we going to get out of here?!”
But when we finally arrived, the discomfort melted away. We were greeted with warm smiles, open arms, and a sense of belonging that can’t be faked.
It amazed me to think that just five years ago this land was nothing but thick jungle. Now it had been transformed into a sanctuary where people could live in connection with the earth, in balance and harmony. Thank you Alba ;)!
Our cabin was tucked in the middle of the jungle, with a small pathway leading to it, including a bridge made from eco-blocks, created out of plastic waste. I loved that! You could tell the cabin itself was built with so much love and care.
As part of our acclimation to the farm we learned to use the outdoor dry toilet, open to the air and facing the jungle.
I had seen photos online, so I knew what to expect, but I was nervous about how the kids would react. To my surprise, they weren’t fazed at all. That eased my own worries and reminded me how adaptable kids can be.
This wasn’t the kind of comfort we were used to, but soon we came to appreciate it. It was raw, it was real, and it reminded me how much we take modern conveniences for granted.
Our days began early, often around 6:30 a.m. The sunrise poured through the windows, waking us to the natural rhythm of the day.
On our first morning, after breakfast, we gathered with the other volunteers in a circle of introductions and then set out for a tour of the farm. We walked through vegetable and herb gardens and down the hill to the river. It was magical... the kind of place that makes you pause and think: This is what life is meant to feel like.
One of the first lessons I learned was about soil. We dug into the ground, pulled out rocks, mixed in charcoal and horse manure, and sprinkled everything with a natural pesticide made from fermented rice.
It was messy, hands-in-the-earth work, but it grounded me in a different way—and I actually thought it was fun!
Taking a shower was another adventure. They were outdoors, facing the open jungle.
After a few cold showers, we learned that the pipes are heated up from the sun so the best times to take a shower was after a hot mornings.
On cooler days we learned to boil water ahead of time and mix it with the cold water, and wash ourselves using a pitcher.
I’ll never forget my first cold shower. At first, I sprinkled myself cautiously, bit by bit. But then I surrendered to the full rush of cool water. Goosebumps spread across my skin, and standing there, naked in the open space, I felt both vulnerable and free.
Everywhere, nature offered us lessons.
Once, we watched a hornet drag a spider ten times its size across the ground. We learned the hornet had paralyzed the spider to lay its egg inside, which would later hatch and feed from within, using the spider as an incubator. Fascinating and twisted all at once.
We also learned that banana trees, once they bear fruit, have completed their life cycle. After harvesting the bananas, we cut the stem down to make mulch out of it, returning it to the soil and completing the circle.
The kids surprised me. They joined Spanish lessons with one of our new friends, Donnaji, played football, helped with meal prep by cutting fruits and vegetables, washed dishes, dried them, and even cleaned the chicken coop.
Gardening didn’t interest them as much, but that was okay—I believe they still got what they needed from the experience. I didn’t feel like I had to push them. They saw how everyone worked together, and as they were sometimes asked to help, they eventually just started joining in on their own. And perhaps most importantly, they began to disconnect from their devices. Not completely, but there was progress.
Sometimes the phones and tablets stayed behind, makeup was forgotten, and instead of scrolling, the girls spent afternoons swinging in hammocks, playing card games, coloring, or watching the clouds and birds.
Of course, it wasn’t always easy. The showers weren’t always convenient. Nights could be restless. Going out of the cabin with a flashlight to use the restroom meant watching carefully for nighttime wildlife—big spiders, snakes, and who knows what else.
Farm work demanded energy, and the sun could be harsh. At times, we were short on hands, since there weren’t many volunteers that season.
But in the middle of the challenges, there was something beautiful: the reminder that life doesn’t have to be comfortable to be meaningful.
On the farm, we also discovered the joy of slowing down.
Cooking meals over fire took longer, but the food tasted richer, and the process was more fun—especially since the kitchen was open to the jungle, surrounded by greenery and the sounds of nature.
Our time in the jungle helped us step away from the excess and uncover what truly mattered: connection, presence, and gratitude.
Challenges: Trusting the Process
Of course, not every day was filled with magic. Traveling in a new country and volunteering in a remote location brings its own challenges.
One of the hardest moments for me was when one of my daughters developed an ear infection. She woke up in pain, tears in her eyes, and I knew we needed help… but we were in the middle of the jungle!
I could feel the panic spreading through my body. How could I get her the care she needed? My mind ran through worst-case scenarios: what if I couldn’t find a doctor, what if they didn’t accept her the same day?
I had to tell myself to slow down and reach out for help. Thankfully, the community stepped in. Donnaji came with us to Turrialba, the closest big city, and together we took the bus.
First, we hiked up the steep hill from the farm to the main road, then walked down to the bus station. It probably took us an hour, and it was hard to see my child struggling, but we pushed through because it was the only way to get there.
Thank goodness for Donnaji, who helped us navigate and translated at the Farmacia San Buenaventura. There was a doctor on site that was able to do a quick ear check, no hospital, no all-day wait, and no huge bill.
The clinic wasn’t what I was used to... no gloves, no disposable covers for the ear piece, but I chose to trust the process. I let myself feel gratitude that she was seen the same day and that the meds were affordable. We left with antibiotics, ear drops, and lozenges.
I was relieved, not just because she had the medicine, but because I was reminded that even when things feel uncertain, we can still figure it out and find the help we need.
Another challenge came during a bus ride. After visiting our friend Lara’s farm, Finca La Huella, we found ourselves stranded when the bus broke down late at night, in the middle of the road.
We were hungry and exhausted, and frustration bubbled up, especially from the kids.
I remember reminding them, and myself, that dwelling on what went wrong wouldn’t help. We had to focus on the present and look for solutions.
And then, as if by miracle, we ran into someone we knew who helped us get a ride back to the farm.
It felt like the universe was whispering: See? You are being taken care of. Trust.
Not all challenges were dramatic. Some were quiet, like the loneliness that crept in when there were fewer volunteers to help with the cooking and cleaning.
Or the tension with Donnaji when she pushed the kids harder than I thought was needed... though we talked it out.
There were moments when I wanted to pack up and go home. But every challenge carried a lesson, and I’m grateful I didn’t quit.
I realized that flexibility became our survival skill. We learned to let go of rigid plans, to adapt when rain changed our evening walk to dinner at the soda up the hill, when power outages spoiled food in the fridge, or when leaks and spiders showed up uninvited.
And in doing so, we found freedom.
Life doesn’t always need to be controlled. Sometimes the best thing we can do is surrender and trust the process that things will work out exactly the way they need to.
Looking back, I realized the challenges weren’t interruptions to the trip, they were part of the lessons themselves.
Lessons from Nature: Simplicity and Rhythm
More than anything, nature itself was our greatest teacher.
We learned from the land... how yucca hides deep in the soil, requiring patience and care to harvest... it takes about nine months before it’s ready.
How turmeric grows best near yucca, each plant supporting the other...
How banana leaves, once cut, can become mulch, feeding the next cycle of growth.
We learned from the river... cold, powerful, cleansing... How to surrender to its current... and how to laugh with it...
How to find joy in something so simple.
We learned from the jungle’s pace—waking up to mornings alive with birdsong, finding patience in the heavy rains of the afternoon, and easing into evenings that were quiet and slow.
Time moved differently there. Sometimes I didn’t even know what hour it was, and that was okay. Life didn’t need to be measured by clocks; it could be measured by our presence and inner peace.
And we learned from ourselves, as much through the challenges as the moments of light.
I noticed more independence in my kids. They were more helpful, less tied to their devices. They argued less, played more, and discovered new strengths.
I grew softer, more patient, and more willing to let go.
The jungle reminded me of what I’ve always known deep down: nature heals. It grounds us, supports us, and reminds us of the cycles we are part of.
We are nature, and nature is us.
Simplicity isn’t a step backward—it’s a return to what matters most.
Coming Home: Gratitude in the Everyday
Before we knew it, our time had come to an end. On our last Friday before the flight, we had one final river day. On the way down, we stopped to prune and pick wild lemons from the trees.
One of my daughters held the curved harvesting tool, reaching high and trying again and again to knock the lemons down.
She looked up with determination and said, “I’m not giving up! I can do this!”
I stood there in awe, speechless, watching her confidence and persistence. I was so proud. And I’m cherishing this memory because I realized something about myself: sometimes I focus more on what’s being done wrong than on what’s being done right.
That moment became an anchor for me—a reminder to see and celebrate the person she’s becoming.
Afterward, we walked down to the river. The water was cold and refreshing, and we soaked in the moment, knowing this was the perfect closure to our time there—a memory we’ll carry forever.
The next morning, our taxi driver picked us up, and we began the long trip back to San José. We stopped at a local market for souvenirs, enjoying one last taste of the local environment before heading to the airport.
The flight was long, with a crying baby beside us, and by the time we walked through our front door at 3 a.m., we were completely exhausted.
The next day was filled with mountains of laundry and the return to ordinary life.
And yet, something had shifted.
We carried with us the lessons of Costa Rica:
Flexibility. Plans will change, and that’s okay.
Simplicity. Joy lives in hammocks, rivers, and shared meals.
Community. Kindness creates belonging, even across cultures.
Gratitude. Every challenge carries a gift, if we’re willing to see it.
The hummingbird that greeted me that first morning wasn’t just a bird. It was a reminder that we are always being invited. Invited to slow down. To notice. To connect. To live more fully.
And now, back home, I try to remember that. Even in the rush of daily life, I pause to breathe, to step outside, and to let the lessons of the jungle whisper back to me.
Over to You
Have you ever taken a trip that surprised you with the lessons it had to offer?
I’d love to hear your story—what did you learn along the way?
Share it in the comments below.
I truly believe we can all grow when we share our stories with one another.