Costa Rica's melting pot: the 'glorious' beach town that attracts artists, hippies and surfers with its hint of Caribbean atmosphere, affordable bars and the customs of a local tribe

Melting pots are good for the soul – and the one in Puerto Viejo de Talamanca is very good indeed.

By the time you get here, you're practically in Panama – but this dusty, dilapidated beach town on Costa Rica's southeast coast feels more African-Caribbean than Central America, with, crucially, a hint of the indigenous Bribri tribe.

The Bribris are a spiritual people. To them, the cocoa tree used to be a woman. Sibu (God) turned her into a cocoa tree, meaning that the branches are never used as firewood and only women are allowed to prepare and serve the sacred cocoa drink.

Perhaps it is the Bribri influence that attracts such a diverse crowd to this glorious place. Add to that the wildlife, the lively and affordable bars, restaurants and the mix of chic designer shops – plus the artists, spiritual healers, backpackers and hippies, who might have been interested in Ibiza twenty years ago, but fell short.

Puerto Viejo was where Jamaicans settled when they came to Costa Rica to build the railways in the early 20th century – or rather, it was the place where they were told to settle among mosquitoes, without fresh water.

But they made it their own by introducing crops such as cocoa, extracting timber and developing various British customs including cricket, maypole dancing and an interest in Shakespeare.

The area's fame then grew as surfers flocked to catch the famous 24ft wave known as 'La Salsa Brava', which crashes ashore between December and March and again in June and July.

The entire country suffered terribly during the pandemic, as the country's famous motto, 'pura vida' (pure life), was replaced by 'quedate en casa' (stay at home). But Puerto Viejo has returned.

We're billeted a few miles south of the city at Hotel Aguas Claras, where several cabanas are built on stilts in a rainforest bordering Playa Chiquita, a beautiful stretch of pristine beach that makes me think this is what Barbados once looked like. can see. .

Our elevated bungalow has a private veranda with an outdoor kitchen, from where we can sit and listen to howler monkeys, well, howling, and screeching macaws.

Speaking of macaws: we are warned about the Ara Manzanillo project near the hotel.

Here, about 35 years ago, a couple set up a non-governmental sanctuary for these beautiful birds, which have fallen into decline in Costa Rica.

But so far, almost 100 large green areas have been returned to the wild at this conservation center, accessible via a nearly vertical path deep in the rainforest.

We spend a few hours here and are shown around by an American volunteer graduate student, whose love for macaws is truly inspiring.

Our visit coincides with feeding time and so we see and hear the birds in all their glory. Pura vida indeed.

Back at the hotel there is a swimming pool and a hip bar, where we meet a Dutch couple who are enthusiastic about the Parque Nacional Cahuita. So the next morning we leave early.

It is one of Costa Rica's smallest national parks, about 20 minutes north of Puerto Viejo, near the road to Limon, where there is an airport for connections to and from the capital San Jose.

Cahuita itself is a charming village, much quieter than Puerto Viejo and offers plenty of cheap accommodation.

You enter the park via a footbridge at Kelly Creek. We planned to leave the car in the village, but an enterprising boy of about twelve persuades us to park in a restaurant car park, where, he says, he will 'take care of it'.

We hardly find this necessary as we feel safe wherever we go in Costa Rica – but we are happy to give him the equivalent of £3 for his troubles. This gives him a beautiful, wide smile and when he discovers we are from Great Britain, he looks as if he has seen Martians.

From Kelly Creek we stroll south into the park, with the sea to our left and beyond it an important coral reef 500 meters offshore.

We see a few raccoons during maneuvers, some monkeys, but unfortunately no kingfishers.

At one point there is a commotion at the base of a huge tree. We know from other parts of the country that this can only be a sloth sighting and yes, indeed, there it is sitting high on a branch doing nothing. Sloths have a reputation that far exceeds what they deserve. From the ground, this looks like a large, abandoned bird's nest.

Every now and then we cool off in the sea and enjoy watching families picnicking on the beach, knowing they did their best to get there on foot as absolutely no cars are allowed in the park.

We are particularly struck by the sight of a middle-aged woman sitting on a tree stump. Behind her is a young local man whose job seems to be to rub oil all over the woman's skin – and I mean everywhere.

To borrow loosely from Charles Lamb's quote, she seems “satisfied but wishes more.”

That evening, as dusk falls, I slip out of our cabana for one last dip. I have the beach to myself, except for a common black hawk circling above, as if putting on an air show all for me.

I am now satisfied and could not hope for anything more.