Playa Naranjo occupies a fold in the coastline where the Talamanca foothills nearly reach the water. You park along the Punta Uva road, near a faded wooden sign, and follow a path through a tunnel of wild ginger and heliconia. Within five minutes you emerge onto a beach that curves gently southward, bookended by headlands draped in climbing pandanus.
“You'll experience the Caribbean coast as it was before the boutique hotels arrived—ungroomed, unattended, and utterly itself.”
Credit: UnsplashWide white-sand beach with footprints
The trees here—beach almond, coconut palm, mango—lean seaward at improbable angles, their roots exposed by erosion. You claim a spot in their shade and watch the surf, which arrives in disorganized pulses, each wave collapsing differently than the last. A half-dozen vultures roost in a dead ceiba at the beach's northern end, their wings spread wide to catch the morning thermals. The only other visitors are a pair of caballeros exercising their horses in the shallows, the animals snorting and tossing their heads against the reins.
You swim carefully, aware of the sudden depth and the rip current that tugs persistently southward. The water temperature hovers near eighty-five degrees, warm enough that you stay in until your fingers prune. When you emerge, a coati is investigating your bag, its ringed tail raised like a question mark. You clap once and it retreats, but slowly, with obvious reluctance.
