Lapa Rios Lodge

Untroubled by seatbelt checks and tedious safety spiels, we zip up and out of smoggy San José aboard a tiny 12-seater plane, heading southwest over the mountains of Costa Rica for a 90-minute flight into the great, green beyond. So this is what it takes to get off the beaten track...

Gung-ho Mr Smith has relished every second, but I’ve been engaged in silent prayer. With the door handle held together by tape and the pilot’s packed lunch stowed on the flight panel, it’s like being aboard an ancient Land Rover that’s suddenly taken to the skies.

It comes as a relief to alight at small, sweetly lo-fi Puerto Jiménez, where locals’ laundry flutters along the landing-strip fence and the driver awaits to take us to Lapa Rios, a boutique hotel set deep in the rainforest. Our bags exchanged for refreshing coconuts poked through with straws, he points to the tree above our heads, and right on cue a pair of scarlet macaws shyly sidle into view. It seems like an excellent omen for our stay; lapa rios means ‘red macaw rivers’, well, in Mr Smith’s Spanglish, at least.

From here, it’s a 45-minute excursion – dodging potholes, spotting sleeping owls and fording a small creek. We arrive at the hotel, perched on the tip of the Osa peninsula overlooking the sea, amid a thousand-acre swathe of protected lowland rainforest. This is the kind of place where work will never, ever find you; it doesn’t even have a landline, just a marine radio for emergencies.

We’re greeted by cool towels and smoothies in the lofty, bamboo-clad main pavilion – home to the bar and restaurant, along with a low-key library (trashy poolside reads and twitchers’ handbooks satisfy both of our needs).

Happily, lunch takes precedence over check-in, and we’re led to a table on the deck. Over cool gazpacho and citrusy fish tacos we contemplate the view: treetops swaying down to the sea and birds soaring over the valley. ‘Big birds,’ nods Mr Smith sagely, having consulted his birding tome.

Our bungalow is one of 16 sea-view hideaways strung along the ridge, past the glinting saltwater pool and hibiscus-shaded loungers. Saucer-sized blue butterflies flit across the path, while spider monkeys launch an aerial offensive (after a speeding nut narrowly misses Mr Smith, we decide it’s not the moment for a photo).

Instead, we make for the palm-thatched safety of our room – a palatial take on the jungle hut, with hardwood floors and a stately, canopied bed. With mesh screens replacing three of the walls, we’re immersed in the rustling, chattering jungle; round here, it’s the howler monkey that decides when it’s time to get up.

The bathroom features sleek twin sinks, a stone shower room and a stash of natural, biodegradable toiletries.  This place is impeccably eco-friendly, as well as seriously luxe. The usual TV and gadgets are conspicuous by their absence: instead, a laminated wildlife guide is the sum of the in-room entertainment. Out back, we discover a private deck and outdoor shower, and for the duration of our stay, we take our morning ablutions under a toucan’s curious gaze.

One of the lodge’s major draws is that all guided hikes are included, and in the spirit of research – and a few beers to the wind – we’ve signed up with giddy abandon. Over the days that follow, our books remain untouched. Instead, we stalk through narrow jungle trails, necks cricked and cameras at the ready. Leaf-cutter ants toil past our boots, howler monkeys roar overhead and coatis (racoon-like critter) stare down their narrow noses as we pass.

There are also languid sloths, squabbling lizards, neon-tipped dragonflies, tiny poisonous frogs and trees with sap like blood and strangling vines. The guide’s telescope-like magnifying lens pulls every detail into wondrous close-up. Perhaps a little too close, when a surprised Mr Smith finds his gaze trained on a grizzled primate’s privates.

After each hike a truck picks us up, and we return to find Roberto, the handsome barman, waiting for us at the hotel’s gates with a mint-spiked passion fruit granita. When it’s too hot for a hike, we loll by the pool, or meander down to the beach – a pristine, undeveloped crescent of sand, backed by riotous jungle. We float on our backs in the balmy waves, surrounded by bobbing pelicans, and on shore we watch the steeplechase of scuttling, fingernail-sized crabs in the sand.

Back at the lodge, any calories expended are swiftly regained tenfold. Breakfast brings pancakes, syrup-laced French toast or egg and salsa-topped corn arepa. Lunch and dinner are three-course feasts. We indulge in octopus-avocado cocktail, lobster-infused fish stew, buttery risotto and silky chocolate mousse. Staggering back to our room at night, we find it lit by flickering candles, with chocolates by the bed that we somehow manage to squeeze in.    

On our last evening, Mr Smith proposes a midnight swim (daringly late-night for Lapa Rios, whose bar closes at ten). We creep up the moonlit path to the glimmering pool to find we’re not alone: a posse of masked tree-frogs has the same idea, and is shamelessly cavorting in the shallows.

Their squelchy, whoopee-cushion croaks are less than conducive to romance, and knowing when to admit defeat, we beat a dignified retreat. It’s an unexpected reminder of what the staff have told us all along – that this place belongs to the wild things, and we’re just their fortunate, fleeting guests.