We sail to Costa Rica

Picture this: our first attempt at a multi-day sail. We were like pirates, but instead of treasure, we were hunting for land—Costa Rica land. We set sail with a map that might as well have been drawn by a toddler, and a compass that seemed to think north was wherever it felt like that day. The wind was our friend, until it wasn’t, and the waves decided they wanted to dance with our boat, leading to a waltz we weren’t prepared for. But hey, we survived, and now we have a story that’s way more interesting than any postcard!

After a few months in Panama, we've been poked and prodded with enough vaccinations to make a porcupine jealous, and now we're ready to unleash ourselves on the world. Next stop: Costa Rica! We've got 480 nautical miles to cover before we land in Puerto Azul, Costa Rica. We have no clue what "nautical miles" actually means, but who cares? We're buzzing with excitement!

Right after breakfast, we hoisted the anchor and set sail for the great blue yonder. The first 12 hours were as smooth as butter, with a side wind, barely a ripple in sight, and Samsara cruising along at a cool 10.4 knots average speed. The big sails gave us shade galore on the foredeck and trampoline, so Sara and I could play without turning into little sun-dried tomatoes. As evening rolled in, the waves decided to join the party, and we had to hang out in the cockpit with our dads, which was a bummer because we had our running shoes on. But Daddy Charly kept us entertained, and soon enough, we headed into the salon with him to binge-watch DogTV while Daddy Micha played captain, steering Samsara through the wave rave. As night fell, the waves got so rowdy they almost tossed us off the sofa. Daddy Micha wisely opted to head for a tiny island to spend the night instead of wrestling with the weather. We think that was a genius move!

The next morning kicked off with a real downer. We took the dinghy to the beach, ready to unleash our boundless energy. But just as we started our first zoomies, two grumpy park rangers showed up and shooed us away. Apparently, we were in a nature reserve and might scare the wild animals. What a load of nonsense! As if we’d scare anyone. We’re all about welcoming everyone for playtime. The Paw-some Squad is open to all !!!

I suggested to Daddy that we turn the park rangers into a breakfast snack and then enjoy the beach in peace, but Daddy Charly wasn’t on board with that plan. So, after a brief stint, we headed back to Samsara.

After we yanked up the anchor to continue our journey, we zoomed ahead like we were in the world's wackiest nautical drag race. We hit 14.6 knots, thanks to some friendly wind and a helpful current giving us a nudge towards Costa Rica. But alas, our thrilling ride was short-lived. Once we left the Gulf of Panama, the wind, the current, and the waves decided to throw a party against us, turning our trip into a real-life rollercoaster. With no island in sight to rescue our seasick selves, we had to endure the wild ride, like it or not. For the next 3 days and nights, we were shaken, not stirred, and we all breathed a collective sigh of relief when we finally reached the Gulf of Nicoya and the weather decided to chill out.

After about 3 or 4 hours of playing "rock the boat" in thankfully calmer waters, we finally hit Puntarenas. But hold your seahorses! We had to anchor first because the river leading to the marina only rolls out the welcome mat at high tide. Daddy Micha hopped in the dinghy like a pirate on a mission to scope out the marina. By 5 p.m., we were back on the move, cruising to the marina where the welcome committee was ready to catch the ropes to tie down the mighty Samsara. We got the green light to disembark and explore the marina and the fancy resort next door with our daddies. Talk about a jackpot—there was a massive pool and enough grass to make a cow jealous! The locals were super friendly, and we scored plenty of pats and belly rubs as we strutted around.

The next morning, we had to play the "Welcome to Costa Rica" game, which involved a thrilling visit to the Port Captain, Immigration, and Customs to collect our golden tickets for staying in Costa Rica. Normally, this is a piece of cake and takes about 1 to 2 hours, tops. But Costa Rica decided to spice things up. Our agent, who promised he'd be at Samsara in 20 minutes, must have gotten lost in the Bermuda Triangle because he never showed up, ghosted us a few times, and then vanished into thin air. So, we hopped into a taxi to take matters into our own hands. Little did we know, the officials there were about as sharp as a marble and had no clue what planet they were on. Daddy Micha flashed all the papers, handed over the copies they needed, and still, they looked as confused as a chameleon in a bag of Skittles. They made a bunch of phone calls, and after hours of twiddling our thumbs, they told us to come back the next day. Meanwhile, Daddy Charly had a flight to Fort Lauderdale for some doctor's appointments and desperately needed that entry stamp in his passport. We spent the evening making frantic phone calls, and finally, we got word that we had to be at the immigration office at 8 a.m. the next morning to get the magical papers and stamps. Talk about cutting it close—Daddy Charly's flight was at noon, and the airport was over an hour away. The next morning, we were at the immigration office right on the dot at 8 a.m. and got seen immediately. But wait, they wanted a copy of Daddy Charly's flight ticket. Of course, they didn't have a copier, so off we went in a taxi to a copy shop and had to write a letter saying that Samsara was chilling at the marina during his absence. Complete gibberish, since we and Daddy Micha were staying there anyway. In the end, nobody even wanted the letter, which had to be in Spanish, naturally. Finally, around 9:30, Daddy Charly got the stamp he'd been dreaming of. Daddy Micha, however, was left hanging, so Daddy Charly had to zip off to the airport in a taxi. Thankfully, the taxi driver was a speedster and got Daddy Charly to the airport just in time. Meanwhile, we and Daddy Micha were stuck waiting at the immigration office, and after about 1.5 hours, an official who actually knew what they were doing showed up, and 10 minutes later, we had all our papers and stamps. Wow, what a rollercoaster!

We spent the next 4 days hanging out with Daddy Micha. Sure, we missed Daddy Charly—mostly because Daddy Micha's cooking is more "oops" than "yum"—but he's the undefeated champ in living room wrestling, so we had a blast. Daddy Charly will be back in a few days, and then we'll set off on a wild Costa Rican adventure.

But that's a tail-wagging story for another Bark!