Nature has a funny way of reminding you it can always one-up itself in the beauty department.
Santa Cruz Canyon is one of those places that feels ripped straight from a painter’s wildest dreams, a storybook of intrepid explorers, or maybe even a hallucination.
But No-this canyon is very real, a living, breathing wonder you can actually visit.
A few days ago, I shared how we arrived at Tomás’s place. The plan? A weekend getaway packed with exploration and zero regrets. Let’s break it down:
Friday
Santa Cruz greeted us with its signature weather.
The moment we hopped out of our ride, the skies unleashed a monsoon, threatening to drown our plans. But luck was on our side. Despite the mudslide-like trek to “home base”, the rain bowed out for good just as we arrived.
For me, it was a first -both, with this crew and this style of rugged travel (spoiler: I’m obsessed). After a morale-boosting coffee with Tomás, we tackled Operation: Tent City.
Some tents came with metal stakes, turning the concrete floor of our coffee-drying patio into a mission impossible. Teams split: Team Dirt vs. Team Concrete.
That night, we made trip’s first bonfire. A chaotic, bonding spectacle where I learned most of us were newbies to this wild side of life.
Saturday
Day two in this forgotten Eden. Breakfast? Let’s call it “survival chic”—guava juice (thanks, Tomás!) and mystery eggs (don’t ask, just eat). Then came the main event: hiking a nearby peak.
No trails. Just mud, sweat, and questionable decisions. The climb? Brutal. The payoff? A view that’d make Instagram weep. From the summit, the world felt endless. Phone signal? None. Time? Measured in sunbeams and snack breaks. By noon, we were back at base—downhill was a breeze (pro tip: hiking poles are life).
Afternoon agenda: river therapy. Getting there meant trespassing through neighborly jungles (Tomás vouched for us). The water? Polar plunge meets natural high. We hesitated, then dove—screaming included. Post-swim, we turned river rocks into a domino casino, gambling with dinner hot dogs. Let’s just say some folks almost starved.
As mosquitoes launched their dusk invasion, we raced back to cook. Dinner was a chaotic buffet: minimalist tomato spaghetti (rain-soaked boxes = improv), fire-roasted dogs, and Tomás’ legendary congrí (rice and beans, saving our culinary dignity)
Sunday
The night flew by-bonfire stories, laughter, and a rematch of Dominoes: Cleanup Edition. Losers packed camp. Thankfully, my domino skills spared me. Morning freedom!
I harvested coffee beans into cookie tins (shoutout to Mom-her college coffee-picking tales live on).
My adventure gen? Clearly hereditary-the apple doesn’t fall far.
Later, I wandered toward the river but got hypnotized by palm trees on peaks. How? Birds? Magic? Let’s blame artistic wildlife.
By afternoon, we were on route to San Cristobal, then home. Leaving this slice of heaven-and these incredible humans-wasn’t easy.
The Takeway
This trip shoved me out of my comfort zone and into a new mindset. Yes, I craved city comforts mid-hike. But curiosity (and peer pressure) turned me into someone braver. Santa Cruz taught me to embrace the grind, laugh at the chaos, and live in the now.
So here’s my advice: Take that trip. Leave your bubble. Don’t wait for tomorrow—live today, and make it count.
Got your own wild stories? Drop them below-I’m all ears.
Read you soon!
All photos are mine or shared by friends (with permission, of course!)
