Christmas in Costa Rica: Why Tico Traditions Focus on Togetherness Over Gifts | Cultural Perspective

Christmas in Costa Rica doesn’t arrive with a shopping cart — it arrives with a chair pulled up to the table.

Skip still remembers his early Christmases back in Florida. December meant calendars packed with obligations, traffic that tested patience, and a quiet, unspoken competition that hovered over every gathering.

Gifts were wrapped beautifully, receipts tucked away “just in case,” and somewhere in the middle of it all, Skip often found himself exhausted by Christmas morning. He laughs now, admitting that some years he needed a vacation after the holidays just to recover from the holidays.

When Skip first began spending Christmas in Costa Rica nearly twenty years ago, he thought something was missing. There were fewer decorations. Fewer packages. No frantic rush. He kept waiting for the big moment — the grand exchange — only to realize the moment had already started hours earlier. It was in the kitchen, where everyone helped. It was on the porch, where stories were told again and again, each time with new laughter. It was in the way no one seemed to be in a hurry to leave.

At first, this unsettled him. “Are we… done?” he once whispered, glancing around for more gifts.

The response was a smile, a cup of coffee placed in his hand, and a casual, “Sit — we’re together.”

That was his first real lesson.

Teresita, on the other hand, never had to unlearn anything. Growing up in Santa Cruz, Christmas was woven into everyday life rather than set apart as a spectacle. Her family didn’t mark the season by how much they bought, but by how much they gathered. A cousin stopping by unannounced was not an interruption — it was the point. Children received gifts, yes, but what stayed with them were the long evenings, the shared food, and the feeling that no one was ever too busy for each other.

When Skip talks about his old habit of stressing over spending “the right amount” on everyone, Teresita laughs softly and shakes her head. She tells him that in Costa Rica, the value of a gift has never been measured in colones or dollars — it’s measured in intention. She reminds him that a hug lasts longer than a gadget, and kind words don’t break or need replacing next year.

Over time, Skip noticed something else — something deeper. He felt more connected to his family and friends in Costa Rica than he ever had before, even though the gifts were simpler. Conversations went further. Gratitude was spoken out loud. Appreciation wasn’t implied — it was declared. People said “thank you for being in my life” without embarrassment, without rushing past the words.

He realized that back home, love was often assumed. In Costa Rica, it was expressed.

Now, Skip approaches Christmas differently everywhere he goes.

He spends less time worrying about lists and more time thinking about people. He tells his friends why they matter. He calls family members just to say so. He’s learned that the most meaningful part of Christmas doesn’t come wrapped — it comes spoken, shared, and felt.

Teresita likes to say that Costa Rica doesn’t change people — it reminds them. Skip agrees. He came looking for warmer weather and found warmer traditions instead.

And so, while Christmas around the world may share the same date on the calendar, Skip and Teresita know the secret: the true celebration isn’t in what’s under the tree. It’s in who’s sitting around it — laughing, lingering, and knowing they are appreciated.