Why I’m finally done with those massive all-inclusive resorts in Liberia
I spent $4,200 to drink lukewarm Imperial in a plastic cup while staring at a fence that kept me away from the actual country of Costa Rica. That’s the reality of the all inclusive resort liberia costa rica experience that nobody puts in the glossy brochures. I’m not a travel agent. I work in supply chain logistics and I write this blog because if I don’t vent about these things, I’ll probably explode. I’ve spent exactly 14 nights in Guanacaste over the last three years, and I’ve reached a breaking point.
The time I almost cried over a soggy taco
It was November 2022. I was at the Riu Guanacaste—a place I now actively tell my friends to avoid at all costs. I’d been there for four days. I was hungry, the kind of hungry that makes you lose your moral compass. I stood in the buffet line for 22 minutes (I timed it on my Casio) just to get to the “Mexican Night” station. When I finally got my taco, the shell was so damp it had the structural integrity of a wet paper towel. I sat there, looking at this sad, gray meat, and I realized I was in one of the most biologically diverse, culinarily rich countries on earth, and I was eating something that would be rejected by a middle-school cafeteria.
I tried to leave. I really did. I rented this tiny Suzuki Jimny—manual transmission, because I’m a masochist—and tried to find a “secret beach” I saw on some forum. I ended up in a literal ditch near Matapalo. I spent three hours sweating through my shirt, waiting for a guy named Tico to pull me out with a tractor. He charged me $50. It was the best $50 I spent the whole trip because at least it was a real interaction with a real person, not a staff member forced to wear a tropical print shirt and smile while I complained about the lack of clean towels.
The buffet at the Riu looks like a crime scene where the only victim is a tray of overcooked tilapia.
The math doesn’t actually math
People say they do the all-inclusive thing to save money. They’re lying to themselves. What I mean is—actually, let me put it differently. You aren’t saving money; you’re pre-paying for a mediocre experience so you don’t have to feel the sting of the bill later. I tracked every single thing I consumed for three days at a resort near the Papagayo Peninsula.
- Average cost per night: $450
- Actual value of food consumed (if bought at a local soda): $35
- Value of the “premium” liquor (which was actually just plastic-bottle vodka): $12
- The cost of my dignity while wearing a neon yellow wristband: Priceless
I’m probably just a snob. I know people will disagree with me, and they’ll say, “But the convenience!” Convenience is just another word for being too lazy to drive a stick shift and find a local spot that serves real gallo pinto. I used to think all-inclusives were a smart play for families. I was completely wrong. They’re just pens for tourists.
The Papagayo exception (I might be wrong about this)
Now, I have to be fair, even though it pains me. If you go to the Secrets Papagayo or the Westin Reserva Conchal, the experience is… better. Not great, but better. The Westin has this beach, Playa Conchal, where the sand is actually crushed shells. It’s beautiful. But even there, you’re trapped in this weird bubble. The resort’s pool music is like a drill bit made of Pitbull remixes. It’s constant. You can’t escape the 3:00 PM aqua-aerobics guy screaming into a distorted microphone.
I will say this: the commute from the Liberia airport (LIR) is the only good part. You land, you’re through customs in 20 minutes because the airport is basically a large shed, and you’re at a bar in 45 minutes. That’s the hook. That’s how they get you. You’re tired from the flight, you don’t want to think, and suddenly a guy in a golf cart is whisking you away to a place where you never have to pull out your wallet. It’s a trap for the exhausted mind.
A brief rant about the humidity
Can we talk about the Guanacaste humidity for a second? I know it’s the tropics. I get it. But there is a specific type of dampness in Liberia that makes your hair look like a used Q-tip the second you step off the plane. At the resorts, they try to fight it with these massive industrial AC units that make the hallways feel like a morgue. So you’re either oscillating between being a human swamp or a frozen steak. There is no middle ground. Anyway, back to the resorts.
The part where I sound like a jerk
I refuse to recommend the Riu Palace even though everyone seems to love it on TripAdvisor. I hate it. I hate it because the architecture looks like a haunted wedding cake or a Soviet hospital that won the lottery. It’s this massive, white, imposing structure that has absolutely zero business being on a Costa Rican beach. It’s an eyesore. I don’t care if the rooms are big. It’s ugly. There, I said it. An editor would tell me to be more “balanced,” but I’m not an editor. I’m a guy who had to look at that building for seven days straight.
The service at these places—actually, no, let me rephrase that. The staff is usually incredible. They are hard-working, kind people. It’s the management that’s the problem. They understaff the bars so you’re stuck in a queue behind a guy named Gary from Ohio who wants to know if the “margarita mix is organic.”
Gary, it’s coming out of a plastic jug. It’s not organic.
Is it worth it?
If you just want to shut your brain off and don’t care that the “local culture” you’re experiencing is a choreographed dance to ‘Despacito’ by the pool, then sure. Go for it. Spend the money. But if you actually want to see Costa Rica, stay in a small hotel in Las Catalinas or even a weird Airbnb in Coco. Buy your own beer at the Super Compro. It’ll be colder, cheaper, and you won’t have to wear a plastic bracelet that gives you a tan line of shame.
I don’t know. Maybe I’m just getting older and grumpier. Maybe I’ve lost the ability to enjoy things that are designed to be easy. I find myself wondering if we travel to actually see the world, or if we just travel to prove to ourselves that we can afford to be bored in a different zip code.
Don’t stay at the Riu. Just don’t.
I spent $4,200 to drink lukewarm Imperial in a plastic cup while staring at a fence that kept me away from the actual country of Costa Rica. That’s the reality of the all inclusive resort liberia costa rica experience that nobody puts in the glossy brochures. I’m not a travel agent. I work in supply…
