Frequently Asked Questions

Guidebooks always play it safe, but I’ve found locals in Costa Rica mostly shrug at the warnings and send you down alleys the books say to avoid. They laugh, like you just ate a kiwi with the skin on because nobody told you not to. “Family-friendly” isn’t a marketing term—it’s just how people live.

What are the hidden safety tips for traveling around Costa Rica?

Honestly, every expat repeats the same thing: “Don’t flash anything shiny.” Phones, jewelry, even a glimmer of optimism. Turns out, it’s not paranoia if someone actually got mugged for a GoPro at Jacó. Harsh, but a Tico mom told me to hide cash in a fake deodorant stick—apparently TSA doesn’t care. SPF 30? They never reapply. I mean, why bother?

A retired San José cop swore you should always check your Uber driver’s shoes. If they’re polished, they’re local. Muddy and loose? Probably a tourist-trapping amateur. Also, buses are fine during the day, but after 5pm, it’s not about getting robbed, it’s about not melting into your seat.

Which Costa Rican locations do the locals recommend for families?

Lost count, but every grandma at the market said La Fortuna is for everyone. Or, go to Monteverde’s cloud forests for a weekend instead of frying at Tamarindo. Locals always know the chill spots tour buses skip.

First time in Nosara, the watermelon guy (always in shorts) swore his kids go barefoot everywhere and never get hurt. Sure, Playa Hermosa is “undiscovered”—right up until the third van of French surfers shows up.

Are there specific areas in San Jose that are considered safer by residents?

So, my internet guy—yeah, the same dude who moonlights as some sort of nightclub fixer (I didn’t ask)—just straight up laughed when I brought up Escazú. Didn’t even bother with the usual “oh, it’s nice” routine. Instead, he goes, “Barrio Amón’s fine unless you walk around looking like you just landed with a Lonely Planet guide stuck to your face.” Got a point, I guess? Avenida 7 after dark: mostly stray cats, hardly any tourists. If you ever wonder about Sabana Norte, he’ll just shrug and say, “It’s clean, walk fast, skip the pizza.” That’s it. No drama.

Locals? Most just steer clear of the red-light zone, not because of crime, but because apparently the ice cream’s garbage. Priorities, right? And can we talk about places named after gemstones? Jade, Emerald—nope, not the hotel, the clubs. Don’t. Just don’t.

Can you suggest any under-the-radar spots in Costa Rica that are family-friendly?

Honestly, it’s weird—nobody local ever suggests the obvious places. It’s always, “Oh, Santa Teresa’s side roads are where it’s at.” Not the main beaches, not the ones you see on Instagram, just these random tide pools that only exist if you know where to squint. Ask where they actually go? Half of them just stare at you like you’re asking for their PIN number. The brave ones mutter something about Playa Carrillo, but only if you swear not to ruin it with hashtags.

I mean, seriously, just talk to locals. Guidebooks are useless. My surf instructor—guy barely trusted me with a board—told me, “Go before sunrise or you’ll smell sunscreen all day.” His dog ate my sandwich once. Does that matter? Not really, but it’s the only reason he told me about the secret tide pool. Snacks > itineraries, every time.

How do local perceptions of safety in Quepos differ from common tourist advice?

I swear, every blog makes Quepos sound like a live-action Home Alone, but with monkeys. Locals? They just roll their eyes about parking scams and whine about bad ceviche. Nobody’s talking about muggings. My cab driver—who’s probably seen more weird nights than I have—insists the marina’s all hype and zero danger. Unless you care about coffee quality, then yeah, you’re doomed.

There’s always that one expat who can’t stop clutching their bag after dark, but honestly, Quintana’s family has been running the same soda for three decades and says the streets after 8pm are just busy, not sketchy. Don’t expect the ATM to work, though. Or the taxis to stop. One time I ate two plantain empanadas just standing in line for the ATM, and the line was still longer than the one at the police station. Am I missing something? Probably.

What should travelers be aware of when driving across Costa Rica for safety?

Map apps? Yeah, they just make stuff up. Locals laugh at you if you mention that “shortcut” over Cerro de la Muerte—like, do you have a death wish? I mean, sure, the GPS says it’s 30 minutes faster, but that’s if you ignore the shredded tires, the random goats, and the fact that your rental car is basically a tin can with Wi-Fi. Some mechanic (he fixed my brakes, so I trust him) told me, “Don’t believe in miracle shortcuts,” and honestly, I’m not arguing. Fill up at half a tank. Not quarter. Not “Oh, I’ll get gas in the next town.” Half. I learned that the weird way.

And potholes? They’re everywhere. No one fixes them, especially after rainy season. Waze is the only app people seem to use, but honestly, check the day—Sundays are chaos. Bridges: one lane. Cows: absolutely immovable. Horns? Pointless. I once sat behind a pineapple truck for, I don’t know, three hours? Maybe more. Still can’t eat pineapple.