What to Pack for Costa Rica

Cotton dies a slow, soggy death in Costa Rica. Swap it for synthetic tees that yank sweat off your skin and flash-dry while you climb Cerro Chato or weave through San José's sticky sidewalks.

One garment, two climates. Keep the legs on for cloud-forest pushes around Monteverde where vines slap your shins, then zip them off the moment you drop toward the blazing Pacific near Santa Teresa.

Nightfall in La Fortuna or downtown San José still simmers. A loose linen button-down keeps you looking sharp at an open-air café while a breeze slips through the weave and cools your back.

Throw one on after a waterfall plunge or when an afternoon cell opens up over Manuel Antonio, they'll be dry by the time you've finished your pipa fría.

Packable rain jacket, always within reach. At 2 p.m. the sky simply dumps. The jacket is your portable roof, weighing less than a banana and living in the lid of your daypack.

Guancaste's sun doesn't mess around. A 360° brim turns the burn off your ears and neck whether you're spotting crocs on the Tempisque or lounging at Playa Conchal.

River crossings, slick docks, tide-pool rock-hopping, sandals that sip water and grip algae beat soggy sneakers every time.

Cobblestones in Cartago, lava rocks in Rincón de la Vieja, rain-slick boardwalks in Tortuguero, one pair of grippy trainers keeps you upright and moving.

Humidity laughs at cotton undies. Sink-wash these at sunset and they're crisp by dawn, keeping your pack light as you hop from Tortuguero to Corcovado.

Stuff the muddy pants, keep the clean shirt pristine. Compression cubes turn chaotic luggage into tidy drawers and free up space for that bulky microfiber towel.

Folds to fist-size in your suitcase, unfurls to swallow a poncho, 2 L bottle, and a bag of coffee beans at the Mercado Central. Every park day starts here.

Wall sockets swing between Type A twin flats and Type B grounded twins at 110, 120 V. A universal adapter bridges the gap whether you're in a jungle ecolodge or a high-rise San José hotel.

Sloth photos drain batteries fast. A 10 000 mAh brick refuels your phone twice while you're far from a socket on a Caño Negro boat safari.

One cable always vanishes. Pack three: phone, power bank, camera, charge the lot from a single outlet during the brief breakfast stop.

Howler monkeys don't follow quiet hours. Pop these in on the overnight bus from Tilarán to San José or when cicadas roar outside your tent in Piedras Blancas.

Shoot sloths in the drizzle, text from the kayak, map-read in the spray, your phone stays dry and responsive inside its clear plastic second skin.

Old hotel in Alajuela? One lightning flicker can fry your laptop. A increase protector turns one shaky socket into four safe ports.

Sunscreen explosions ruin a packed bag. A clear, lined pouch corrals the goo and lets security agents see you're playing by the rules.

Coral in Cahuita thanks you. Slather SPF 30 reef-safe lotion every 90 minutes while you snorkel both coasts.

Dusk on the Osa Peninsula brings whining wings. A DEET-based repellent keeps dengue and itch at bay.

Blisters at the Arenal overlook or a sketchy shrimp cocktail in Puerto Viejo, band-aids, Imodium, and ibuprofen buy time until the next farmacia.

Salt, sun, and equatorial rays punish skin. Aloe gel knocks the fire out fast so you can head back to the surf tomorrow.

Sudden cloudburst at the San Carlos bus stop? RFID sleeve keeps your passport dry and your credit-card digits safe from scanners-wielding crowds.

White-water on the Pacuare or zip-line mist at Los Cañones, this pouch keeps cash and driver's license bone-dry when you're soaked to the skin.

Loop it through hostel lockers or around your backpack on the overnight Tica Bus. One small lock, big peace of mind.

Twelve hours of switchbacks on the Interamericana or a red-eye to Liberia, memory foam saves your neck and your mood.

Rolls to nothing in your pack, expands to 1 L at the trailhead. Fill it at potable taps and skip plastic bottles from Montezuma to Tortuguero.

Load it with guava and queso palmito from the Sarchí market, then repurpose it for wet boardshorts after Playa Hermosa. One bag, endless jobs.

Sunrise volcano hikes, dim eco-lodge paths, midnight wildlife sweeps in Corcovado or Monteverde, without a headlamp you're blind, with one you're first to spot the kinkajou's eyeshine.

Sip straight from the stream that tumbles out of Corcovado's jungle or the cloud-forest creeks above Monteverde. The filter turns wild water into safe water and keeps plastic bottles out of your pack.

Many cabinas skip towels. A thin microfiber version dries on the balcony rail while you watch the sunset at Samara and folds smaller than a paperback.

Bring your own mask and snorkel to Cahuita or the Catalina Islands, fit matters when you're chasing turtles, and you avoid yesterday's stranger's spit.

Pull them on before you wade in and your soles stay unscathed by scorching sand, jagged coral, or the sneaky rocks that line riverbeds below waterfalls. They're the difference between a carefree plunge and a limping exit at Costa Rica's patchwork beach entries.

Slip it on once and you're shielded all day, no greasy reapplication. It blocks board rash, dulls rock scrapes, and takes the sting out of jellyfish tentacles. Marathon surf sessions suddenly feel doable.