By Nicole Eryan

I believe that sunsets are fights with the Horizon. It's the sun refusing to disappear without leaving a trace. So instead it explodes with colors and imagination. It demands reminders of its day and beauty. And I believe that travelers are fighters with the world. Travelers burst, we explode, and we refuse to end our lives without leaving a trace. We are forever chasing after this world, as much as the Horizon is forever chasing after the sun. As the sun spends its last few minutes fighting, Kim and I sit head to toe to head again in a hammock in La Fortuna. So I listen as she tells me about the way she sees the world. We end the conversation saying, "We all end up at the same place anyway." We all end up at the edge of the world, looking back at all the beautiful colors we've left behind.

Now, it was certainly ambitious to try and convince my supervisors to let me have two weeks off to visit Costa Rica. It was even more ambitious to go to Central America as a 22 year old woman traveling alone. In any case, the plane was booked, the Spanish dictionary was packed, and I had devoted at least five hours of my life forgetting all the reason I shouldn't be leaving. Then I left.

Expectations-typically I pack them tight in my suitcase and make sure to wrap them up in a Ziploc bag. I know when all my expectations are secure when the blue and yellow line says green. And green it is-the green rainforest that creates levels of air that I've never breathed before. The vast country of Costa Rica is so tiny but won't allow itself to be caught all at once by my eyes. It's a bit like looking into a kaleidoscope. Once you think you've figured out the next pattern the world will turn, in comes some green. In comes color. In comes a twist and turn that won't allow itself to be caught all at once by your eyes.

When the plane lands in San Jose, I eagerly await the airport pickup I carefully arranged with Costa Rica Backpackers Hostel. No more than two minutes on the ground and I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed, petrified, in-over-my-head to say the least. It was that feeling. You know the one you get when you're about five years old and let go of your mother's hand while walking in the middle of China town. It's that realization- that you are alone in the world, without a soul to know. Franklin, my cab driver, explains the Pan-American Highway to me and I decide to take my Ziploc bag of expectations and throw it out the window. Expectations didn't exist anymore. If a five year old girl walking alone in China town never carried a bag of expectations with her, then neither should I.

Even though I ditched my bag of expectations, I made sure to keep my bag with mace inside of it. "And you just press down on it like this," said Vicki as she taught me how to use the mace while dropping me off before I began this adventure,"Not like you'll need it, but just in case." This 'just in case' might actually be the case when I pull up to my hostel in San Jose and see a security guard with a gun and barbed wire on the doors. All the fears I had about traveling to a Central American country by myself had suddenly been ruffled up from the back of my mind and were sitting like little devils on my shoulder telling me to turn around and go home immediately. I stayed.

I paid a man 100 Colones to let me take a photo of him painting on the streets of San Jose. He was bursting, exploding, making permanent traces on his blank canvas. He painted only of his country; his very own Pura Vida. The main streets in San Jose echo with the same pitter patter that New York does. Everyone is off to work, in a rush, must get the laundry- it's all the same. Nevertheless, I head back to the hostel in the middle of the rain…one hand holding an umbrella, one hand holding a churro.

For less than $5, you probably couldn't get a better deal taking the public bus from San Jose to La Fortuna. For less than $5, you probably couldn't buy enough prayer beads to last you through the ride over rough terrain, hills, and yes- Costa Rica's rainy season. Nevertheless, La Fortuna is beautiful. The Arenal volcano looms over the city like a reminder of the past and a fortune for the future. Arenal Backpackers Resort greats me well and I pick my bed out of six. It smells a little weird.

For all the places I've been, I've never tried to leave a place worse off than when I came. I can't always improve it, but I never want to harm it. I failed miserably in Costa Rica. After a night at the local Tico bar, it resulted in four things: a man down, a tree down, a hammock down, and a complete lack of the laughter dying down. I'm sure my fellow hammock ruiner, Ryan, would agree. And here's the beauty of it: Kim, Renee, Mike and all the wonderful people I met that night would agree too.

Typically, while traveling, I keep my guard up. Occasionally, the pull of Arenal's volcano reminds me about the fortunes for the future and then I let my guard down. I let the Australian tell me about his advertising agency in Sydney. I let the Canadian pluck the guitar to American songs. I let the three girls tell me about getting their hair braided in Puerto Viejo. Most importantly, I listen.

I listen very carefully to Elsie, or at least I think that was her name. That's the beauty of traveling. I know that Elsie left her husband after 30 years and now has a French/Spanish lover who lives in Hawaii and yet, I'm not sure of her name. We spent two hours talking in the bathroom of our hostel that night. We talked about love and life and gratefulness and the ability to be happy, or not. And at double my age, I didn't judge her- I admired her. For less than $15, you probably couldn't learn what I learned that night in a year's worth of living.

When I left La Fortuna I was heading to Monteverde to do some world famous zip lining. The route was notoriously known in Costa Rica for bad roads and awful conditions. Given the case and lack of time, I decided to shell out my $35 dollars and take the jeep-boat-jeep to Monteverde. When I arrived at the Santa Elena hostel, I flipped my thumbs across a few pages in the guest book, "The jeep-boat-jeep was really a van-boat-van. Don't say you didn't notice." Youth screamed from these pages, and you know what, it really was a van-boat-van.

Zip lining in the worst conditions possible, I decided I would never again attach myself to a line and fly over the rainforest in a storm. Back in the hostel and safe on the ground, I was cozy playing cards with complete strangers from Seattle and San Francisco. All I could do was enjoy the moment and read the writing on the walls, "To days of inspiration, to La Vie Bohemia" and so I thought… "Yes, to days of inspiration, to playing 13 with Sean, to the third cousin of Paris Hilton, to Imperial, to the perilous days, to the perseverant, to the people, to the extra $1 paid for taking me up the bumpy road to the cataratas, to the 'yo necisito practicar mas', to the tree that fell, to the ash that falls, to the 'watch out, he's married', to the knives bangin' on tin cans, to the 'we all end up in the same place', to the suitcases in plastic bags, to the brothel we walked into, to our love generation, to the monkey's stealing mangos, to the man who pets monkeys, to La Pura Vida, and at the very least, to La Vie Bohemia."

I left the next morning and went to Montezuma. Rather than van-boat-van I took a bus-ferry-bus to the town everyone told me I would love. I would be spending my 23rd birthday here so I planned accordingly. Talk of laid back hippies and a true Costa Rican vibe were all that filled my ear before my trip. I thought "How perfect." Hotel Lys would be my home for the evening. Each room was given an astrological name and had an artistic theme. Every room had a story.

However interesting the story, I had my own contribution to the room. A nice stain from the 'and you just press down on it like this' when I had a few cervesas and decided to try the mace out myself. At least I held my hand over my eyes.

I spent the night with two Argentineans who have been traveling the world and selling their crafts. Before I knew it I was barefoot and playing the bongos while everyone geared up to say Happy Birthday to me. As the hostel owners passed out tin cans and knives, I took one look around me. I'm a 23 year old woman traveling the world, and this is what it looks like.

A few days in Montezuma are enough for anyone's fill, except for maybe Chris. A native Floridian, and in his mid forties, Chris has been living and working in real estate in this country for years. He explained it to me very simply, "People talk here. They have the time here. It's not 'I'm good thanks, how are you?' but it's really 'How are you?' You know what I mean?" I knew exactly what he meant. Time moves slow.

Taking the taxi boat to Jaco from Montezuma is a fine idea. The gulf of Nicoya is beautiful and the sun still bursts even when it's not fighting with the Horizon. Arriving on the beach near Jaco, I took a taxi with Steve, a 65 year old retired pilot from Florida. We arrived in the city of Jaco, with no plans, no reservations, and no idea how long we should stay.

And so we met Edit. She was outside the hostel planting flowers in pots. Dirty, sweaty, smiling…she invited us into her home. We toured the place and admired her map with hundreds of pins stuck it in from around the world. Each pin was colored and so…in came some green- in came color. I spent some time grazing my fingers over the pictures of strangers from around the world that are now lit up on Edit's wall. And I snapped photos of the Gallo Pinto that Edit was gluing on her wall-literally…she was gluing beans. She exuded peace and happiness as I left with a picture of her smiling, right next to her Gallo Pinto.

We ended up at Hotel de Haan and I went exploring the beach of Jaco. Known for its legal prostitution, I was sure to keep an eye out. Not surprisingly, I was caught in a rain storm under an awning in the hotel. That's where I met Simone and Oreal. Simone was an Americanized Italian constantly asking me how to pronounce words, so eager to get it right. And Oreal was "L'Oreal" to me, as I was so eager to pronounce his name right. When it rains, Oreal sings. We all chuckled at his awful renditions of various songs. But then he explained things of such complication to us, but ever so clearly. He began to tell us about ticks, "If you put a tick in an open bottle, it jumps as high as it wants. If you put a tick in a closed bottle is gets stuck at the top. So, when you put that same tick in the same bottle with no top on it, it will still only jump as high as the top. That's what people are like- they're ticks. Someone stopped them. Someone told them they couldn't do something so they stopped doing it. My mom always told me to do whatever I wanted. So when I want to sing, I sing." Surprisingly, he didn't sound so bad anymore.

During my time in Jaco, I met Rebecca- a solo woman traveler from Miami. She was half Lebanese and half Cuban, an interesting mix and a woman I could relate to. An instantaneous bond was created. There is something about a solo woman traveler when she meets another solo woman traveler. All of a sudden the things everyone from home said are irrelevant. The 'you're crazy, don't go, it's not safe' all go out the window. The signs pointing 'wrong way, turn around' leave, along with the bag of expectations. All the people who put lids on top of our jars telling us we couldn't do it, suddenly disappear. You learn you're not the only one defying the norm. Essentially, you destroy the norm. There is always a sense of pride when you meet another solo woman traveler.

When I left Rebecca in Jaco, I handed her over my Lonely Planet guide. Kim had given it to me in La Fortuna. When I returned home, Rebecca told me she passed along the Lonely Planet to yet another solo woman traveler. And so the world keeps turning. The sun keeps fighting the Horizon and the travelers keep fighting the world. It bursts and it's beautiful. It's La Pura Vida, La Vie Bohemia.