Blue Zones: Longevity Through Love

How can one measure a country’s success? Most would turn to GDP or other economic-based quantitative markers, often omitting happiness, life satisfaction, and health. We would argue that the wealthiest countries are not necessarily the best according to these lifestyle-based metrics.

In 2004, National Geographic Explorer and journalist Dan Buettner investigated the areas of the world with the highest longevity, unintentionally answering these questions. Buettner and his team found communities not only where people lived the longest but also where they enjoyed a high quality of life into old age. He came up with five such regions he termed “Blue Zones:” Sardinia, Italy; Okinawa, Japan; Nicoya, Costa Rica; Icaria, Greece; and Loma Linda, California. Buettner, his team, and a variety of other researchers have proposed a multitude of causes for this phenomenon, but we wanted to see for ourselves how, specifically, a sense of community has contributed to Nicoya’s Blue Zone designation. By immersing ourselves in Nicoyan culture and conducting interviews with people around the Peninsula, we set out from March 14th to 24th of 2024 to answer the following questions:

1. How do individuals experience this high quality of life? 

2. To what degree is community a factor? 

3. How do the nature of these communities differ from those back home?

4. Which, if any, aspects of these Blue Zones can we bring back to Colorado College and our home communities?

Our plane entering Liberia, Costa Rica echoes with English: American parents hoist their children over their shoulders as they file down the aisle, the gate and customs agents automatically speak the language, and advertisements on every wall promote zipline adventures and wildlife tours. Our shuttle driver speaks it too, rattling off a rehearsed presentation providing a flowery introduction to the country from its colonial history to modern-day environmental strides. Driving into Sámara, billboards are plastered with graffiti reading “pueblo de gentrificación'' and “stop the gentrification.” When asked, our guide tells us that wealthy expats from all over the world—predominantly the US, Canada, Germany, and France—are buying beach properties around the country and building massive houses to work remotely or to rent out as Airbnb’s. These foreigners in conjunction with an influx of tourists are driving up prices of food and housing, pushing locals out of spaces they’ve lived in for generations. Thus, Pueblo de Gentrification. A sign welcomes us to the town in English: the words “Welcome to Sámara Beach: Beginner Surfer’s Paradise'' float above the picture of a white woman surfing. 

This introduction gave us the feeling Sámara wouldn’t quite be the Blue Zone paradise Buettner’s books had advertised. The next morning, our interviewing frenzy commenced. Over the course of 8 days, we interviewed a total of 28 Ticos from seven towns in the peninsula, with mixed results and a few common threads. Most notably, everyone we interacted with had a connection to a centenarian. Whether it was a Sámaran surf instructor with a 120-year-old uncle, a school girl in Nicoya with a 100-year-old grandfather, or a security guard in Coco with a grandmother who had lived to 116, they all knew someone. These centenarians were not confined to retirement homes like many older people in the States. Instead, we heard stories of how they walked to town to greet friends each morning, worked in the fields daily, or rode horses from sunset to sundown. 

Buettner lists a series of factors that cause this Blue Zone phenomenon: family, healthy diet, mindlessly incorporating exercise into the day, and maintaining a strong religious connection. Some of these factors we did see—overwhelmingly, everyone we talked to mentioned strong communal bonds and described themselves as happy. But we also noticed a few things that strayed from Buettner’s findings.

One interviewee, an English student at a local university and a surf instructor in Punta Islita, had seen the Netflix documentary on the topic. Laughingly, he dismissed the findings as presumptuous and noted that the “trifecta” Buettner touted as being the Peninsula’s signature foods of squash, rice, and beans was wildly inaccurate. He admitted that he had never heard of squash before seeing the show and had to look up what it was. 

We also ruled out governmental action as the root of Nicoya’s longevity. Despite being impressed by many of the country’s structural elements, we found that people were unenthusiastic. Every doctor we spoke to said that Costa Rica’s preemptive healthcare system, often having long wait times and under-trained physicians, was not the reason for the nation’s longevity. Interviewees also overwhelmingly noted that they did not trust their country’s government. It was widely agreed upon that the government often prioritized building new infrastructure for tourists and expats over maintaining local communities and greenspace—there seemed to be aspects of hypocrisy in Costa Rica’s sustainability commitments. 

People in Nicoya clearly still live long into their hundreds, but today’s centenarians did not grow up in the same world we witnessed. For one thing, religion, a key aspect of Buettner’s Blue Zone theory, seems to be in decline. The older folks we spoke with, including a priest, noted begrudgingly that the younger generations seem less passionate about their faith. The younger population contentedly spoke of their lack of spirituality, admitting that they grew up attending weekly or sometimes nightly mass with their extended family but have slowly transitioned to attending only for major holidays. We see this decline in the United States as well, but it was interesting to find this in Costa Rica’s Blue Zone, considering the emphasis Buettner placed on faith as a core cause of longevity. Yet, it was clear that religion—and Catholicism in particular—were heavily built into the nation’s culture. We heard from a few taxi drivers that every town was characterized by and built around a soccer field, a Catholic church, and a school. Children would run around in school uniforms with Bible verses embroidered on the back and the public bus we took from Samara to Nicoya had the quote “Dios guia el camino”—”God guide the walk” plastered on the ceiling. Interviewees would speak proudly about the history of their towns, never omitting a discussion of the church. 

Another changing aspect of these towns was transportation. A fifty-year-old man who owned a surf shop on Sámara Beach showed us a sepia-toned photo of the town in the 80’s that was unrecognizable. Plush palm trees lined a dirt road, small houses were sparse amongst lush vegetation, and the beach was empty and pristine. Conversely, the town we encountered was a bustle of activity with merchants selling souvenirs on sidewalks, non-traditional restaurants catering to tourists, and water sport stands lining the beaches. He noted that, growing up, there wasn’t a car to be seen. He and his mother would leave their house at 8am and walk to the neighboring town for groceries, not returning until 4pm. Now, his young cousin begs him for a ride from downtown to his neighborhood despite it being a less-than-one-kilometer walk. This transition was apparent to us as well: towns that we read about as being walking hubs were instead home to endless traffic. Motorcycles and cars dominated every road, making them feel dangerous for pedestrians.

Diet, too, was changing. A vendor at a small market in Sámara sold us a plate of traditional Nicoyan Cuisine: a rice dish generously topped with potatoes, plantains, chorizo, and all manner of vegetables served over homemade tortillas. A kind woman named Alana who looked to be a few years older than ourselves stood behind a booth with all the women in her extended family: her mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, sisters, aunt, and a few nieces and nephews. She explained, over the buzz of her family’s chatting, that setting up the booth had been her grandmother’s plan. The grandmother, who did not speak much Spanish, having grown up speaking the peninsula’s indigenous dialect, had noticed that their community members had stopped making their family recipes in favor of imported cuisines or faster options from the grocery store. 

An older shop owner in Hojancha echoed Alana’s sentiments: he noted that cooking had, when he was growing up, been a form of love. Particularly if one was expecting company,  the day would be spent over the fire cooking. He beautifully expressed that the transition towards faster food options—whether takeout from one of the many restaurants popping up around town or dinner with premade, grocery store tortillas and minute rice—causes people to be less intentional with their diet and their connections with others. This diversion from traditional food culture has had resounding impacts. Sámara was littered with cuisine that strayed from customary Costa Rican meals; driving through urban centers like Nicoya, large colorful signs for McDonald’s and KFC towered above the otherwise level skyline. Grocery stores were filled with prepared food and easy-to-make meals, with hardly any produce to be seen. What was once a food culture steeped in tradition and love has been morphed by the influences of expats and trade. 

Many of these changing aspects can be attributed to globalization. Without exception, every interview we held mentioned foreigners in some capacity. And yet these discussions—whether due to honesty, “pura vida'' kindness, or the awkwardness of speaking to two clearly foreign white girls—were generally positive. They noted that all foreigners contributed to the Costa Rican economy in some way and often brought with them innovation. A trio of farmers in Estrada shared that farming and construction had taken off in the area due to the recent influx of industrialization that followed incoming foreigners. When pressed, however, interviewees noted that the presence of expatriates and tourists drove up the cost of living. One man in Playa del Coco, a fisherman, professional skimboarder, and surf instructor, noted that he could no longer afford to live next to the beach in Coco proper, despite his livelihood depending on water access. And yet he, too, was quick to follow this statement with a cheerful note about how tourism has allowed him to meet so many people and funded much of his traveling for skimboarding competitions. While foreigners have changed the culture and traditional way of life, locals have greeted this change more or less with positivity, being gracious enough to entertain the questions of two tourists. 

Despite the seemingly grim changes to the Nicoya Peninsula, we are hopeful that the Blue Zones are still alive, just a variation of what they once were. Everyone we met looked far younger than they were, leading us to perhaps naively suspect that they would live long lives. Despite the influx of cars and motorcycles, we saw many people walking along the road. Clearly, some areas still have thriving walking cultures. People also said that they were generally happy, with the exception of one shop owner in Hojancha. One man in particular, a farmer in Estrada, said, “as long as I have my beer, family and work, I am happy.” 

We think that the most prominent causal factor of Blue Zone culture is community. Many of our interviewees, clearly familiar with most of their neighbors, waved and chatted briefly with passersby as we talked. Everyone we spoke with affirmed that they had a strong network of family and friends whom they trusted and relied upon. The elderly population–who, in the US, are overwhelmingly affiliated with loneliness–seemed to mostly live their lives as they had for the past hundred years, still socializing with friends and family on a daily basis. 

In many cases, this connection to community has played a huge role in longevity. One man we met in Hojancha told us that when a family member falls ill or injured, the rest will create a care plan to ensure that someone is always around to help and support. Another man, a taxi driver, proposed that one of the reasons that the nation’s preemptive healthcare system works so well is that people are motivated to stay healthy so they can spend more time with their families. He, among others, said that although they may live far from home, they still make an effort to see family frequently, and have found new, closer communal ties. This is a stark shift from US culture: many are left in the care of medical workers or at facilities far from their families. 

People also repeatedly mentioned that, for them, family and community always take precedence over work. Even the doctors we interviewed noted that they prioritize their family, with one doctor theorizing that the reason she was less stressed than her American counterparts was the amount of time she got with her children. This was another pattern: people repeatedly told us that they felt little to no stress in their daily lives, emphasizing the pura vida—literally, “pure life”—mindset.

 Many people also referred to Sundays as family holidays. Each week, the whole family would go to the matriarch's house for quality time and familial connection. We saw this phenomenon when, on Sunday in Puerto Carrillo, we saw swathes of Tico families lining the beach. From the elderly to young children, generations sat beneath the shade of the palms, enjoying each other’s company. 

In the coming decades, it will be interesting to see whether Nicoyans of our generation continue to live into the triple digits. It will be fascinating to see the shift in their lives and cultures. Will they still put intention into seeing family? Will they continue to navigate the world on their feet? Will they pass down traditional recipes? Will they continue to live the pura vida lifestyle?  If they do, we think we can confidently assert that community is the primary cause behind their longevity. If not, Buettner’s other theories may prevail and this tropical Blue Zone will fade into normality.

The transition from the warm Costa Rican beaches to the snowy roads of Colorado was stark. Now that we're back, we want to be intentional in remembering the knowledge we accrued during our time in the Blue Zones. When we started this project, one of our research questions asked how we could implement Blue Zone culture into our lives at CC. Our reflection has made us realize, however, that CC already checks many of these boxes: we’re an incredibly social campus, people generally exercise out of enjoyment for movement rather than a sense of obligation, and it’s pretty easy to find healthy, sustaining meals on campus. That said, CC’s culture of always being busy often means that we only see people in our classes or activities. We want to learn from the people we interviewed and be more intentional about not letting our schedules dictate who we spend time with. Whether that be calling our parents more frequently or texting a friend we haven’t seen in a while, we will work to do a better job of prioritizing our families and community.

Beyond our conclusions about our research questions, we found ourselves learning and growing personally as well. The skills we gained in writing grant proposals, planning trips, adapting to unforeseen circumstances, and respectfully communicating with strangers are all transferable. We were proud of ourselves for the work we put into our project and for stepping outside our comfort zones.

The most productive part of our trip, however, was the language immersion. Beyond the 28 formal interviews we conducted, we spoke in Spanish with everyone we met: bus drivers, service workers, Airbnb hosts, and more. There were, of course, moments when we didn’t have the exact language we wanted. But by embracing the discomfort of not knowing and by having to search for alternate phrasing, we felt that our Spanish abilities noticeably improved.

We also saw the importance of a balanced life. In Nicoya, work and life coexist in tandem. Our goal while we were there was not only to learn about the Blue Zone lifestyle, but to take part in it. We made sure to exercise, relax, work and spend time together each day. From sunrise to sunset, we took part in a culture that maintains both the productivity of work and the wellbeing of its citizens. We hope to bring this balance back to our lives at CC.

We cannot thank the Keller family and the Venture Grant committee enough for this opportunity. Without them, this trip would never have been possible. We enjoyed our time in Costa Rica immensely. We would also like to thank Lisa Schwartz for all of her advice to help us refine our focus for this project. Finally, thank you to our advisor, Guanyi Yang, who supported us throughout this process.