The culture here is shaped by Afro-Caribbean roots, indigenous Bribri communities, and a steady stream of surfers and travelers who came for a week and never left.
Stories
The Midwest gets dismissed as flyover country by people who never actually stopped, which works out well for everyone who has.
Europe’s most famous cities do their job well.
Somewhere in the high desert east of the Sierra Nevada, a narrow main street lined with Victorian-era facades and wooden boardwalks runs along the slope of Mount Davidson.
Somewhere along the Mississippi, about two hours north of St Louis, there’s a small city where brick storefronts hug the riverbank and a white lighthouse perches on a bluff above the water.
Somewhere along the Maine coast, there’s a harbor town that keeps popping up on every “best of” list—and it makes sense.
Somewhere in the remote desert, hundreds of rocks sit on a perfectly flat dry lakebed with long trails scratched into the mud behind them. Nobody pushes them.
Somewhere on the southeastern coast of the Peloponnese, a massive limestone rock rises from the sea.
Somewhere in the province of Cádiz, a whole town just melts into the rock. Streets dip beneath huge stone overhangs.
Somewhere on a small island, entire rows of houses are slowly vanishing under a thick coat of ivy. Rooftops just melt into the hillside.