the Mark Pike

Lost River Modern.

I spent Spring Break in a treehouse.

To be specific, I stayed at Lost River Modern— a prefab cabin in the wilderness of West Virginia— and it was spectacular. The cabin provides soaring views of a scenic skyline with glass walls opening up to an incredible mountain vista. Whether throwing logs into the wood-burning stove, grilling out on the open deck, or just playing board games, it was an incredibly relaxing and rejuvenating break from school.

It’s not too far away from it all, but not too close— like, Walden Pond with WiFi. But, c’mon, put down the computer and go for a hike in the State Park at the end of the driveway.

The vacation was also an excellent opportunity to indulge my affinity for interesting architecture. Ever since I attended the 2005 Solar Decathlon and saw dozens of futuristic homes built on the National Mall in mere days, I have been hooked on learning more about prefab designs. There is just something very appealing to me about being able to pick a spot, plant a WELCOME mat, and create a low-impact and energy efficient home.

Shortly after attending the 2007 Solar Decathlon, I stumbled across a site where a man was tracking his family’s progress building a prefab weekend getaway. I followed along for a while and was thrilled to see their place featured in Dwell Magazine this Winter. A few weeks later I got the itch to book Lost River Modern for Spring Break and see it for myself.

If you’re looking for a convenient escape and you live somewhat close to West Virginia, I highly recommend making a reservation at Lost River Modern.

Or build your own.

I’m back from Costa Rica.

As the saying goes, “a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step— and is usually followed with a last-minute struggle to locate long-term economy parking and the International gate of the airport.” Or, um, something like that.

The flight to Costa Rica was quick enough and just the right price. For under $300, we were eating a typical Costa Rican plate of chicken, rice, and beans by lunchtime.

Our first stop was La Fortuna, a resort town nestled at the base of the Arenal Volcano. On the way there, our driver pulled over the car to point out a young sloth in a tree. It’s been in the same tree for over 2 months. Moss had begun to grow over its fur, serving both as camouflage and a testament to the true laziness of this creature; a goal that I aspired to on the vacation (the laziness, not the poor hygiene).

Arenal Volcano is dotted with hotels, most of them originally built with stunning vista of hot lava when it flowed down the North side of the crater. Now, the flow has changed sides and the resorts and taxis have capitalized by offering tours of the best views. We gladly paid the price of admission for a stunning view of the volcano along a private nature trail called “silencio”, which was a misnomer because throughout the entire hike we were treated to a chorus of rainforest sounds.

After the hike we cooled off at the resort’s pool (and poolside bar), and casually tried to understand the exchange rate before deciding that long division was no way to spend a vacation. This is also an excellent opportunity to propose our working hypothesis for our trip— we were stuck in a LOST-inspired time loop. We had no idea what time it was for the entirety of our vacation. Basically, a perfect relaxing vacation does not necessitate a watch or an itinerary.

Accordingly, we showed up an hour early for our “cab” ride to Playa Sámara. I now realize this is the general equivalent of going up to a taxi stand in Washington, DC and saying “59th and Lex, New York City, please! And step on it!” The first part of the drive traced the shore of the manmade Lake Arenal as our driver used the yellow lanes denoting the median as mere suggestions. Once we reached the Nicoya Peninsula in the late afternoon, a downpour began, as is expected in the “green season” (the tourist-friendly way to describe the “rainy season). We finally arrived at our lodge at the top of a hill in Playa Sámara, eager to see the view that the sunrise would illuminate.

With howler monkeys acting as our natural alarm clock, we opened the curtains to see the gorgeous and idyllic Sámara cove. Cliffs frame the coastline as crystal clear water merges into lush green scenery. It looked like a screensaver.

Over the course of the next few days we did absolutely nothing and it was everything we wanted. Nobody else was staying at our lodge for the majority of our trip, and we felt like the friendly French-Canadian owners were our personal cooks and concierges.

Our daily routine consisted of waking up and slowly strolling over to the thatched roof dining area by the lodge’s pool. A delicious typical Costa Rican breakfast would be ready for us instantly— eggs, rice and beans, fresh papaya, watermelon, pineapple, toast, and amazing coffee. We’d sneak a peek at our email via the WiFi connection (the grid is everywhere), and then pack our beach bags for the day. Just a short hike down a dirt road, and we were relaxing in the sun and catching waves (yes, I totally surfed). The beachside cafés served amazing meals and cheap beer if we needed to get in the shade for a few minutes. It was the perfect place.

As the trip came to an end, we had to find the airport in Playa Samara. It was a dirt road on a farm. There were no signs. A plane landed and somebody showed up and took our tickets and weighed our luggage, and the next thing we knew we were in the clouds above the Costa Rican rainforest. A short time later we were in San Jose with a day to kill. There’s not much going on in San Jose, so we toured a coffee plantation outside of the city and checked out a local nature park.

With our bags full of coffee and our camera’s memory cards full of, um, memories, it was time to catch our flights back home and back to reality. I’ll always have my screensavers.