“I own an island off the coast of Costa Rica. Really spectacular. It makes the one I had in Kenya look like a petting zoo.”
–Dr. John Hammond, “Jurassic Park”

MANILA, Philippines—You won’t find any genetically-cloned T-Rexes chasing after Laura Dern, or the doomed Dinosaur Disneyland of Spielberg’s CGI-soaked imagination. But Costa Rica—a tiny republic wedged between Panama and Nicaragua—is definitely where the wild things are.

Spotted jaguars roaming an open savannah, howler monkeys trapezing through treetops, rainbow-billed toucans feasting on fruit, sunburned homo sapiens chugging down margaritas at a million-dollar McResort—these are some of the diverse species on display at Centro America’s summer playground.

Costa Rica may only be a pixilated dot on the Google Earth map, but deep within its rainforests, concealed by a canopy of ceiba trees and clouds of volcanic smoke, you’ll find a wildlife wonderland that would give Steve Irwin a wet dream: the country, despite its size, houses 5 percent of the world’s biodiversity.

Of course, there is more to Christopher Columbus’ fabled “La Costa Rica” (The Rich Coast) than the prospect of snagging a hot double date with Flora and Fauna.

The Latin American nation has another wild side, apparently. Every year, it attracts over a million adventure-hungry tourists, all eager to zip-line through a virgin rainforest, rappel down a series of cascading cataratas (waterfalls), or ride a curling wave barrel for the tube ride of their life.

Capital punishment

Making your way from Manila to San Jose, the country’s capital, may take up the better part of two days, but there’s a surprising silver lining: Pinoys don’t need one of those red-taped tourist visas to enter Costa Rica (cue the collective gasps!).

Thanks to a well-connected Chinese-American businessman—who had the brilliant idea of hiring Pampangeños for his hotel in the 1980s—my humble green passport escaped the iron-fisted scrutiny of the immigration officer, who seemed more concerned about the time than the tattered travel document in his hands.

Situated 3,690 feet above sea level, in the mountainous belly of the Central Valley, downtown San Jose is sort of a cross between Baguio and Intramuros (or Ermita, depending on the time of day)—only, instead of askals and scantily-clad “streetwalkers,” you have iguanas and dubious vendors peddling their, um, wares.

The capital has a colonial complexion not so different from our own: Catholic churches blackened by smog, American fast-food joints littered on every corner, car-congested bulevardes cluttered by billboards and bordered by slums, and the occasional mega mall.

San Jose may score high on the ghetto-meter, but like Manila, it does have its own Third World charms. The almighty dollar goes a long way, the locally harvested coffee is fantastic (which makes up for their rather bland beans-and-rice diet), and dusky Ticas can all vie for the Miss Costa Rica-Universe crown. San Jose may not be a thing of beauty, but it is a necessary eye-opener before you board that rose-tinted bus bound for Touristville.

Pause, rewind, playa

What do Mel Gibson, Giselle Bündchen, and Joaquin Phoenix have in common? They’ve all carved out their own million-dollar cribs in Costa Rica’s Pacific Coast, seduced by its sun-dappled playas (beaches) and contagious pura vida spirit.

Over the last decade, North American sun-worshippers have started snapping up properties from Jacó to Hermosa, lured by the promise of a perfect weekend getaway, where tequila-fueled debauchery is never too far away.

National parks like Corcovado (“the most biologically intense place on earth,” according to National Geographic) and Manuel Antonio (famous for being one of the “1,000 Places to See Before You Die”) dot this ecologically rich coastline like green jewels. They’re excellent places to hike through picturesque forest trails, ride some white-lipped waves, and spot a three-toed sloth or scarlet macaw (those multi-colored parrots native to the Amazon).

If you have cash to burn and an Amex card to abuse, you can park yourselves in Marriot’s plush Los Sueños Beach & Golf Resort in Playa Herradura, the indigenously-styled setting of Ridley Scott’s Columbus drama, “1492: Conquest of Paradise.”

But if you’re short on colónes (1 US dollar is roughly equivalent to 500 colónes), head north to the hippie village of Montezuma, a beach town that will meet the exacting demands of every budget-conscious backpacker. The nearby Cabo Blanco Nature Reserve might be too eco-touristy for your taste, but you can pitch a tent on a cannabis-friendly beach, rub elbows with a tabloid-ready Joaquin Phoenix (he owns the El Sano Banano hotel), and become fast Facebook friends with the topless Tica beside you.

Lava-palooza

The sleepy towns of Tabacón and La Fortuna never knew what hit them in 1968. Arenal Volcano, after 400 years of dormancy, started spewing molten lava skyward. (Prior to the eruption, naive provincianos referred to their now-violent National Wonder as a “beautiful mountain”—go figure.)

Arenal’s crater hasn’t stopped growling since then, making it the world’s third most active volcano. Today, nature lovers, geological geeks, and octogenarian fossils have all descended upon La Fortuna like moths to a flame. They disembark from their tour buses, digital SLR in hand, and attempt to capture the fiery fireworks with their high-powered lenses.

But Arenal can be quite the camera-shy celebrity. During the invierno (rainy season), which runs from May to November, there’s a fat chance of having a cloud-free evening. Even in the summer, the region’s microclimates can be a bit of a buzz kill.

The consolation prize? The Arenal Route is awash in hot springs, waterfalls, and adrenaline-fueled activities: ATV riding, white-water rafting on the Rios Toro, waterfall rappelling, windsurfing on Laguna de Arenal, and, the most in-demand adventure of them all, Tarzan-inspired canopy (zip line) tours through a Costa Rican cloud forest.

After breaking a sweat, you can soak your sore joints at the Tabacón Hot Springs—the only hot spring worth your 16,000 colónes. The rest, like Baldi, serve overpriced Imperial (the local brew) in a Euro-trashy pool bar that has Wham!’s “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” on repeat. Then again, those tacky Mayan Pyramid waterslides were pretty fun.

Viva la vida

Gravity-defying feats and green-minded adventures aside, Costa Ricans are a proud and peace-loving people. Laidback and open-minded, they live by the philosophy of “Pura Vida!” (Pure Life!): spread the good vibes, celebrate your blessings, and the happy life is yours.

After a weeklong road trip on the Pan Americana (a highway spanning the Mexican border to Buenos Aires), which took me to a crumbling colonial capital, palm-fringed coastlines, and a lava-spewing volcano, it was easy to understand why.

When modern-day dinosaurs and prehistoric weather conditions began to wreak havoc on my carefully planned itinerary, I learned that a distilled shot of pura vida, like a dissolvable chill pill, can transform any Jurassic Park into your own private Eden.