Why a horseback tour of Arenal reveals a different side to Costa Rica's volcanic region

“Time to fly,” Andrés Elizondo says, glancing back from astride his golden palomino. My dark-haired guide is just 25 years old and has the easy confidence of someone who’s been riding their whole life. We’ve been trekking for several hours across the northern lowlands of Costa Rica, climbing steadily through lush glades and sugarcane fields. “Cantering is the purest connection you can have with a horse. Are you ready to try it?” I consider the question — and the long stretch of packed red earth ahead. I’m still a rookie, adjusting to the rhythms of ranch-style riding: the loose, one-handed reins, the unhurried cowboy gait, the minimal commands. But Andrés is already nudging his horse forward. “Follow my lead.”

We surge into motion. The stallion beneath me lengthens his stride and suddenly we’re racing, hooves drumming the volcanic soil. I adjust my heels and grip with my knees, settling into the motion as I’d been taught. It’s breathless, electrifying. And then, all too quickly, we’re slowing down, the countryside settling back into stillness. The colours around me appear sharper than before: the cobalt of the cloudless sky, the emerald of the tropical vegetation that surrounds us. “Just like flying,” Andrés says with a smile. Shall we go again?”

The day tour had begun at the stables of La Finca Lodge, a family-run hotel set in rolling farmland just under 20 miles from the popular adventure tourism capital of La Fortuna and its centrepiece, the towering Arenal Volcano. Horses waited quietly in the shade — sleek Costa Rican pasos and compact criollos chosen primarily for their stamina and reliable sure-footedness. “Matching a horse to a person is as complex as choosing a partner,” Andrés had said, finally presenting me to a glossy chestnut named Asombro. “Personality matters. Chemistry matters. I think you’ll respond to this one’s strength.”

Before mounting, he showed me how to greet the horse properly: hands offered to smell, calm eye contact, steady movements. The lodge prides itself on grounding guests in the basics — posture, balance, respect — before ever leaving the yard. “The first half hour is just for you to make a connection,” Andrés explained. “Riding’s about confidence.”

La Finca Lodge grew from a passion for horses. Andrés’ father, Esteban, a stocky, handsome man with a healthy glow, bought this farm with his wife back in 2004 to cultivate their shared love for cross-country riding. “You should see Monica on a horse — she rides like an Amazon,” he’d told me the night before at dinner. They started to offer bespoke tours to travellers, weaving together cloud forest, wetlands and beaches on multi-day adventures. “Clients began asking for somewhere authentic to stay, away from the circus of La Fortuna, so in 2008, we opened up our family farm. It’s been a way of life ever since.”

The lodge is elegant, but retains the relaxed atmosphere of a working estate rather than a resort. Sixteen airy rooms sit in private villas shaded by tall ferns, all fanning out from a stilted pavilion restaurant overlooking a jungle-fringed pool. A trio of black labradors escorts guests on walks through the estate, its greenhouses and paddocks, where a menagerie of peacocks, piglets, miniature horses and even an Asian water buffalo can be spotted — all members of the family.

On the trail with Andrés, the horses settle into an easy rhythm along dusty lanes. Small farmsteads appear occasionally, some painted in bright pastels. Men wearing straw hats greet us with a cheery “Pura vida!” Riding allows the landscape to unfold gradually, the pace of travel matching that of rural life. “La Fortuna has grown rapidly in my lifetime — hundreds of restaurants, eco-hotels, every adventure tour you can imagine,” Andrés says. “That’s wonderful for many travellers. But our guests come here for something much simpler, closer to the land.”

Horse culture runs deep in Costa Rica. The figure of the sabanero — the country’s cowboy — once defined life on ranches across the north west, where riders spent long days tending livestock across vast plains. While the estates have largely been reclaimed by reforestation efforts and eco-tourism, horsemanship still carries that heritage — Andrés is sporting a leather-sheathed machete at his hip, a classic tool used by sabaneros to cut lassos. In landscapes like these, where farm tracks snake through forest and pasture, travelling by horseback feels like a continuation of tradition.

The trail dips towards the San Rafael River, its clear water sliding over a bed of smooth stones. Andrés leads the way straight in. The horses step carefully into the current, hooves clattering softly beneath the surface. I tense as water climbs over my boots and towards my knees. But Asombro steadies beneath me and wades forward, tossing his head with obvious delight at the cool water. When we climb out, giddy and damp, we take a meandering route through sun-dappled woodland that opens, suddenly, onto a verge. The countryside falls away in folds of green towards the horizon. It’s here that Arenal finally appears.

The volcano rises in perfect symmetry above the valley, its cone snagging a gauzy cloud. Until 2010, it was Costa Rica’s most active volcano, regularly sending lava streams down its flanks after a violent awakening in 1968. Today, it rests, though geothermal heat beneath it still feeds the region’s famous hot springs and sustains an ecosystem of astonishing richness. “Arenal is the magnet that brings people to this place,” Andrés says, following my gaze. “But people soon realise the real treasure isn’t just the busy nature parks. It’s the lifestyle here — slowing down, enjoying the details.”

By the time we return to the stables, the sun is high and the horses’ coats are darkened with sweat. Andrés moves between them, loosening saddles with his younger brother Mariano and hosing flanks. I leave Asombro with a stocked hay rack and inspect myself: mud-flecked clothes, sun-tight skin, aching thighs — and a blissful sense of having earned the adventure.

As dusk settles, Andrés suggests one last stop before dinner. We take my hired 4WD along narrow backroads and leave it beside a forest path. A trail descends to a hidden clearing with eight milky stone pools of different temperatures — natural hot springs fed by the landscape’s geothermal veins. Strings of lights flicker in the branches. Apart from the occasional whirr of a blender at a small cocktail shack, the forest provides the soundtrack: the sibilant rush of a waterfall, the buzz of cicadas, the woop of an owl. We slip into one of the warm pools and the day’s ride loosens slowly from tired muscles.

Off the tourist trail — where hot springs can command hefty entrance fees — Termales del Bosque is the kind of place locals might choose to keep to themselves. “Our guests are like family,” Andrés insists, leaning back against the rock and applying a mud mask. “Everything we love about the land, we want to share.” The grandeur of Arenal may draw travellers to this corner of Costa Rica, but it’s quieter moments like this that I’ll carry forward — spotting scarlet macaws from my breakfast table, the thrill of cantering for the first time and watching fireflies dance from a volcanic spring.