Finca Rosa Blanca: A Fairytale on a Coffee Hillside

Nature’s Gateway to Costa Rica in San Jose

In the world of unusual, imaginative boutique hotels, Finca Rosa Blanca belongs in a category of its own—a place where creativity, hospitality, and wild nature blend so completely that you feel as if you’ve stepped into a dream.

This was my fourth visit to Costa Rica but my first time traveling with a wheelchair. Like most travelers, I landed in San José, the bustling capital anchored by the country’s largest international airport. Many itineraries suggest spending the first night in one of the city’s big resort hotels, close to museums and urban attractions. And if that’s your style, by all means, enjoy it.

But if you’re a pure nature lover—someone who looks for birdsong more than boutiques, for artistry more than amenities – like me – I cannot recommend Finca Rosa Blanca enough. Just 25 minutes from the airport, perched among coffee fields and jungle, it is the perfect bridge between arrival and adventure.

It isn’t fully accessible, and it is challenging for wheelchair users. But the hospitality, warmth, thoughtfulness, and sheer human creativity of the place overcome the rough edges. For anyone with low mobility – or for travelers like me, who use a wheelchair but can navigate some terrain with support – it is a magical and deeply welcoming place to begin a journey.

A Hillside of Gardens, Coffee, Art, and Family Legacy

The lodge sits on a small plantation that feels like a cross between a lush botanical garden and an enchanted coffee estate. It is the longstanding vision of a family who still lives on the grounds, and their influence is everywhere – artfully winding paths, whimsical architecture, colorful frescoes, handmade metalwork, and flourishes of local culture at every turn.

Even getting to the lodge feels like entering a secret world. We left the airport and wound through small barrios – neighborhoods where streets have no names and fruit trees hang over the fences. Our driver guided us through this patchwork of quiet life until we reached a narrow lane and a wrought-iron gate straight out of a storybook.

Inside the gate, the fairytale unfolds.

The houses are a playful blend of Art Deco curves and Gaudí-like imagination. Murals bloom across walls. Balconies curve like vines. Stairways twist like the roots of ancient trees. The property is built into volcanic hillsides, and the paths – made of lava rock – are uneven and bumpy. But with my Freewheel, and with the patient, cheerful help of the staff, I was able to explore most of the lodge and gardens.

And it was worth every bump!

Around each corner, something new revealed itself: a banyan tree wrapped in vines; bamboo forests swaying in filtered sunlight; cascades of wild bougainvillea; the occasional waterfall; and suites shaped like something from Alice in Wonderland – with turrets, curving archways, unexpected windows, and hand-painted details everywhere you look.

The Ranchito Suite: Accessibility Wrapped in Beauty

The Ranchito Suite is the property’s designated accessible room, and while the path to reach it involved a fairly steep, uneven hill, once inside I felt a kind of exhale I rarely experience while traveling.
A handcrafted ramp blends seamlessly into the landscape – no sterile metal, no clinical feel, just beautiful design serving a purpose.

The room itself feels like a glass pavilion suspended in the treetops. Sunlight pours in from every direction. For wheelchair users, the layout is extraordinary:

• Wide, effortless turning radius
• A bed set at the perfect height
• A spacious bathroom with grab bars, a shower chair, and thoughtfully placed supports

But the real marvel is how beautiful it all is. The toilet and dressing area sit against a backdrop of hand-painted animals and foliage. The shower is tiled in vibrant, nature-inspired artwork. It is the rare accessible room that feels not just functional, but magical.

A Restaurant With a View – and a Community of Helpers

The restaurant is accessible by ramp, and once there, the view opens over rolling highlands and toward the distant sweep of San José.

On one of our walks through the property, the nightmare scenario happened: a piece of my FreeWheel came off—a tiny screw, invisible but essential. Wheelchair travelers know this fear intimately: your equipment is your mobility, your independence, your safety.

My husband went to reception, hoping to borrow a screwdriver. When 45 minutes passed, I began to worry. Then he returned – FreeWheel fully repaired, working better than before.
The staff hadn’t simply lent a tool.They had taken the wheel to their on-site workshop and fabricated an entirely new piece.

This small, profound act is the essence of true inclusivity – not a checklist or a compliance form, but problem-solving with compassion and ingenuity.
At home, I would have had to call five different agencies, sign a stack of paperwork, and hope someone could help me “sometime next week.” Here, a team simply saw a need and rose to meet it.

A Place Like No Other

I have stayed in many extraordinary places, but none quite like Finca Rosa Blanca. Its uniqueness lies not only in its Gaudí-meets-rainforest architecture or its lush gardens or its sweeping vistas – but in its heart. It is a place where nature and art blend seamlessly, and where hospitality extends beyond service into generosity. A place where being a wheelchair user isn’t an afterthought; it is an invitation for the staff to show what true inclusion looks like.

Finca Rosa Blanca is not perfect. The terrain is challenging. Some paths require teamwork and patience. But what you gain—in beauty, in welcome, in humanity—more than compensates.

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