The Friendship Challenge: Why Making Real Connections as an Expat Takes More Than Just Being Nice!

(Skips's point of view)

When you first land in Costa Rica from your home country, friendship seems so easy. Everyone smiles. Everyone waves. The cashier at the supermercado calls you "mi amor." Some expat men think that means he's found a new wife in the first hour or two of being here! The taxi driver tells you about his cousin’s neighbor’s dog. You’re convinced you’ve just found the friendliest place on earth.

And yes, Ticos are friendly. Exceedingly friendly. But here’s the twist. . being friendly is not the same as being friends. That realization hits you about 5 or 6 months in, usually around the same time you stop thinking that living in flip-flops is a personality trait.

Tourist Friendships Don’t Last

You know those “best friends forever” you meet at the pool bar on your second night in Manuel Antonio? The ones you promise to visit in Des Moines, Chicago or Rome? Yeah. . those friendships have the shelf life of a ripe papaya. Tourists are here for a week! Expat life is a marathon, not a beachside sprint. And no, you probably won’t keep texting them once they return to their office cubicle and you’re laying in a hammock somewhere on the beach.

The Expat Bubble: Comfortable but Pliable

Then there’s the Expat Bubble. It’s like the gated community of friendships: safe, predictable, and full of people who know exactly where to get peanut butter and the good toilet paper. The bubble is nice. But if you only stay inside it, you’ll miss out on the richness of real Costa Rican life. (Plus, trust me, you can only talk about shipping containers, the best way to learn Pachuco and visa renewals so many times before your brain melts.

What It Really Takes

Here’s the honest truth. . making real connections takes more than just smiling, nodding and telling people you love gallo pinto. It takes work. You have to learn some Spanish. . not just enough to order coffee, but enough to actually understand your neighbor when he tells you his car broke down on the road to Jacó. You have to show up. . not just to parties, but to funerals, to baby showers to the Tuesday night fútbol game, even if you don’t know which way the ball is supposed to go. (If you don't know anything about soccer, it's time to learn!)

Friendship here isn’t instant oatmeal. It’s more like slow-cooked black beans. You’ve got to let it simmer. And when it’s ready, you’ll have something nourishing, filling and uniquely Costa Rican. You'll FEEL the love.

The Payoff

The reward? Authentic friendships that make you feel at home in a country that’s not your birthplace. The kind of friendships where your Tico friend makes you try chiliguaro shots you swore you didn’t want, or where your expat neighbor helps you chase the cute little lizard out of your kitchen with nothing but a broom and misplaced courage.

So yes, being nice is a start. But if you want real connections, you’ve got to dig deeper. Think less “Facebook friend” and more “ride-or-die during the rainy season.” That’s where the real Pura Vida magic lives.

One quick story about making friends. . true friends. . 

ONE WORD. . if you learn ONE WORD of Spanish, learn, "HOLA!" The more times you utter that 4-letter word to strangers, the more LIFELONG friends you're going to create. Simply as that. . end of story! 

(Your Friendly Neighborhood Tica's point of view...Tere)

Alright, fellow readers, let's talk about the beautiful, hilarious, and sometimes absolutely cringe-worthy world of expat friendships in Costa Rica. After years of working as a concierge and witnessing some truly epic friendship wins and spectacular fails, I've got stories that'll make you laugh, cry, and maybe reconsider that dinner invitation you just extended to your helpful local friend.

Chapter 1: When "Pura Vida" Meets "Wait, Was That a Date?"

Picture this: You're working as a concierge at a beautiful beach retreat, being your naturally helpful, welcoming tica self. Enter stage left: a sweet senior expat tourist who seems a bit lost and overwhelmed. Your tica heart kicks in (you know, that thing where we literally cannot watch someone struggle without jumping in to help), and you go full-on stress-free-welcome-wagon mode.

Everything's going perfectly for three days until... plot twist! He invites you to dinner at his villa. He was going to cook!!!

The worst part? After I said "¡Sí, claro!" (Yes, of course!), he gets this big smile and says, "I like you!"

Record scratch. Freeze frame.

THAT'S when I realized this was definitely NOT a "thank you for your professional service" dinner. This was a "I think we have a romantic connection" dinner.

Now, here's where cultural wires get crossed in the most spectacular way. In my head: "Aw, how nice! He wants to say thank you!" In his head: "I think we really connected..."

And me? Well, I did what every good tica does when put on the spot - I said "¡Sí, claro!" (Yes, of course!) while internally screaming "¿QUÉ ACABO DE HACER?" (WHAT DID I JUST DO?).

Tica Cultural Note #1 When we say we'll do something, we might mean it... or we might be being polite and secretly planning our escape route. It's like a cultural lottery ticket - you never know which one you're getting!

The day of the dinner arrives, and I'm getting serious "this feels more romantic than platonic" vibes. So what did I do? I pulled the most tica move in the book - I simply... didn't show up.

When he asked "What happened? You didn't come!" I deployed Defense Mechanism #2: "Oh, sorry! I got really busy at work!"

Was it the most mature response? Probably not. Was it very, very tica? Absolutely.

Lesson learned

 Sometimes being extra helpful can send mixed signals across cultures. Now I stick to professional helpfulness and avoid villa dinner invitations from guests who look at me like I just solved world hunger when I book them a restaurant reservation.

Chapter 2: The Gringo Who Out-Tico'd All the Ticos

Now, on the complete opposite end of the spectrum, let me tell you about my friend who has achieved what I call "Peak Tico Integration" - and it's both impressive and hilarious.

This guy doesn't just speak Spanish. Oh no, that would be too simple.

He speaks pachuco guanacasteco with an accent so authentic that when he showed up to my wedding, my own mother pulled me aside and said, "Mija, that's the strangest guanacasteco I've ever met. Ginger hair, blue eyes, white as a sheet... but he sounds more tico than your cousins!"

I'm talking about a guy who knows about clandestine liquor spots that even average ticos don't know exist. When he gets angry, he doesn't curse in English - he goes full pachuco rage mode, and let me tell you, seeing a pale, red-headed gringo angrily shouting "¡Pedazo de hijueputa, qué estás haciendo!" followed by expressions that would make your grandmother reach for the soap is comedy gold that never gets old.

The visual alone: Picture a Viking having a breakdown in perfect Costa Rican slang. It's like nature's way of proving that cultural adaptation has no limits.

Chapter 3: The Juice That Changed Everything

Here's what really opens ticos' hearts to expats: humility and genuine curiosity.

I've seen expats walk into humble homes with dirt floors, hanging light bulbs connected by hand-made extension cords, and plastic chairs that creak ominously when you sit down. The ones who become true friends? They sit in those chairs, eat what everyone else is eating, and treat the house like it's a five-star resort.

Case in point: We had this one expat visit a local family's home. The señora, being the ultimate tica hostess, offers him fresh carrot-orange juice made the old-school way. This guy takes one sip, and his eyes literally light up like he just discovered gold.

"WHAT… IS…. THIS?????" he practically shouts.

Before we could even finish explaining how to make it manually (because of course we're going to explain it the proper, traditional tica way with maximum pride), this man had downed THE ENTIRE PITCHER.

Then he proceeded to demolish the tortillas with cuajada like he'd been coming to family dinners for years. Six glasses of juice later, he's asking for the recipe to take back to his country because it was "the most refreshing thing he'd ever tasted."

That's it. That's the moment. That curiosity, that appreciation, that complete lack of pretension - that's when you stop being "the expat" and become "our friend who happens to be from somewhere else."

Chapter 4: The Mystery Tree of Gold

Sometimes the funniest friendship moments come from pure cultural unfamiliarity that leads to beautiful discoveries.

Enter: Canadian couple with a gorgeous house in Potrero and a "problem tree" in their backyard. For FIVE YEARS, they'd been cursing this tree that kept dropping "things" all over their patio, attracting flies and bees, making them sweep constantly.

When my husband and I went to assess this "pest tree situation," we looked at each other with that married-couple telepathy that said: "Oh boy, do we have news for them."

Their "problem"? A CAS TREE. They had been literally sitting on a goldmine of Costa Rican fruit paradise and treating it like a nuisance!

We spent the afternoon teaching them to make cas juice, cas ice cream, cas jam, and yes... cas cocktails (because priorities). Their faces when they realized they'd been throwing away liquid gold for half a decade? Priceless.

Now they've got cas frozen in their freezer for year-round enjoyment. From "pest tree" to "best tree" in one afternoon.

Chapter 5: The Great Social Thaw (Or: When Friendliness Breaks Their Brain)

One thing I've noticed about many expats when they first arrive? They come socially frozen. Like, seriously, some of them act like smiling at strangers might get them arrested or something. I'm guessing that wherever they come from, people don't just... talk to each other?

So when we ticos unleash our natural friendliness - you know, actually making eye contact, asking how their day is going, offering help without expecting anything in return - it's like watching someone discover fire for the first time.

"Wait... you're being nice to me... and you don't want anything? This is... allowed?"

The Social Thaw Process:

• Week 1: Suspicious of kindness

• Week 2: Cautiously accepting help

• Week 3: Actually smiling back

• Week 4: Telling you their life story in the grocery store line

It's beautiful to watch, honestly. Like watching a flower bloom, except the flower is a 65-year-old from Minnesota who just discovered that people can be friendly without ulterior motives.

The Sad Tourist Phenomenon

You know what breaks my heart? One-week tourists who go through this thaw process and then get genuinely sad when they have to leave. They've spent a whole week having their ice melted by Costa Rican warmth, and now they have to go back home and freeze up again to survive in their home social environment. It's like watching someone remember what human connection feels like, only to have to pack it away and return to a world where smiling at strangers is weird.

Chapter 6: The Innocence Problem (Or: Why Satan Apologizes to Some Ticos)

Now, here's where things get tricky, and I need to drop some real talk for a minute.

Most expats, and especially new ones? Bless their hearts, they're innocent as newborns when it comes to reading people here. They think: Nice person speaking to me = Good person who would never take advantage of me.

Oh, sweet summer children... NO.

Listen, we ticos can be the warmest, most genuinely helpful people on the planet. But let's be real - there are also ticos out there so sketchy that Satan himself sends them apology cards. And guess what? Those sketchy ticos can be just as charming and friendly as the good ones!

I've watched well-meaning expats get completely bamboozled because they equated "amabilidad" with "honesty." Someone sweet-talks them in perfect friendly tico style, and suddenly they're lending money, sharing personal information, or getting involved in "business opportunities" that sound too good to be true (because they are).

Red Flag Alert

If someone you just met is treating you like their long-lost best friend after learning your nickname, pump the brakes!

Yes, we're friendly. Yes, we're warm. But if someone's asking for favors or money after knowing you for five minutes? That's not tica culture - that's someone taking advantage of your beautiful expat innocence.

Chapter 7: The Money Talk That Kills Friendships (A Serious Interlude)

Okay, time for a more serious story that every expat needs to hear, because this one isn't funny - it's a friendship killer.

I met an expat who bought a beautiful, big house here. Gorgeous property, clearly successful, seemed nice enough at first. But then came the conversations...

"Well, at my job back home, I made [X amount]..." "This house cost me [Y amount]..." "I know [VIP person] who..." "My previous property was worth..." "Back where I come from, people of my social status..."

Money. Status. Money. Connections. Money. Repeat.

Here's what she didn't understand: In Costa Rica, talking constantly about your wealth and status isn't impressive - it's repulsive.

We have a word for this in Costa Rica: "rajona" (female of rajón) - someone who brags and shows off their lifestyle. And let me tell you, the moment a tico identifies you as rajón or rajona, they will RUN in the opposite direction. Not walk. RUN.

Why This Strategy Backfires Spectacularly

For genuine ticos: We believe we're all equal regardless of material blessings, education, background, or what country you're from. When someone constantly emphasizes their wealth and status, it signals that THEY don't see us as equals. So why would we want to be friends with someone who thinks they're better than us?

For opportunistic people: All that money talk becomes a flashing neon sign that says "COME GET MY MONEY." Suddenly, you'll attract all the wrong kinds of "friends" - the ones who see dollar signs instead of a person.

The tragic irony? This woman had all the money in the world but couldn't buy what she actually wanted: genuine friendship and acceptance in her new community.

The Tico Equality Principle

Ticos operate on an assumption of basic human equality. It doesn't matter if you're a millionaire or barely getting by - in our friendships, we're just people hanging out.

The expat who sits on the plastic chair in the dirt-floor patio and genuinely enjoys the company? That person gets invited back.

The one who keeps reminding everyone about their expensive house and important job? They get politely tolerated and then quietly avoided.

Real talk: If you want authentic Costa Rican friendships, leave your resume and bank statements at home. Show up as a person, not as a portfolio.

Money can buy a beautiful house in Costa Rica, but it can't buy you the thing that makes living here truly rich: genuine connections with the people around you.

End serious interlude. Back to the lighter stories...

The Real Secret to Expat Friendships

Here's what I've learned after years of watching expats navigate Costa Rican friendships:

The ones who make it aren't the ones who try hardest to fit in. They're not the ones who immediately start wearing guayaberas and saying "mae" every five seconds (though that can be entertaining).

The real friendship magic happens when someone shows up authentically, stays curious instead of judgmental, and treats people like people - not like cultural artifacts or service providers.

Whether you're sipping mystery juice in a humble kitchen, sitting in a creaky plastic chair at a backyard birthday party, or discovering that your "problem tree" is actually a treasure - it's about showing up with an open heart and a sense of humor.

And maybe, just maybe, learning to distinguish between friendly helpfulness and romantic interest. Because nobody wants to accidentally ghost their concierge! 😅

Final Tica Wisdom

The best expat friends are the ones who make us laugh, make us proud to share our culture, and occasionally make us say, "Wait, who's the tico here again?"

¿Pura vida, verdad?

What's your funniest expat friendship story? Share it in the comments - we promise not to judge your cultural mishaps too harshly!