So here’s the thing. If you’re reading this, you’re probably at least 62 percent curious about getting naked in public, and possibly 100 percent weirded out by the idea of doing it in a place where monkeys could be watching. Welcome to my world, sugarplum. I’m Kristin. I’m 38, chronically single (but not tragically, I swear), a little too fond of wine in a can, and fully committed to living life with my nipples out and my judgment tucked away in a drawer next to my old bras.

This isn’t just any travel guide. This is The Costa Rica Nudist Traveler’s Guide, and I wrote it while sweaty, mosquito-bitten, and occasionally half-drunk on a beach towel. This is not the kind of book you’ll find in the airport Hudson News next to Sudoku puzzle books and memoirs by ex-CNN anchors. No, darling. This is the one you secretly download onto your Kindle and hide behind a fake cover that says something innocent like “Business Management in Latin America.”

Now before you clutch your pearls or your boxer briefs, let me say this—I was not born nude. I mean, yes, technically I was, thank you Mom, but I wasn’t born nudist. That happened sometime after a failed marriage, a minor mental breakdown, and a particularly freeing skinny dip in Oregon that turned into a full-on sunburnt awakening. Life changed. My tan lines disappeared. So did some of my inhibitions and most of my matching underwear.

Cut to Costa Rica. Land of sloths, volcanoes, and rum punch so strong it makes your teeth tingle. I came here looking for adventure and ended up finding a whole dang community of free-spirited, wild-hearted, delightfully naked weirdos just like me. And now I’m passing the coconut-scented torch to you.

If you're looking for five-star resorts with dress codes and turn-down service, honey, this ain't it. But if you're into hot springs where everyone’s junk is out, trails where your only companions are toucans and your inner shame melting away, and beaches where butts outnumber bikinis ten to one—welcome home.

I’ll be your guide, your cautionary tale, and your naked Sherpa. Along the way, you’ll get real tips about where to go, how to not get arrested, how to sit on things properly when everything is, you know, exposed, and how to deal when your best friend decides to loudly compare her butt to yours in front of three handsome German tourists. (Hi Tanya. Still mad.)

Costa Rica is wild. It's free. It’s humid in places you didn’t know could be humid. And it might just be the perfect place to drop your towel and your emotional baggage at the same damn time.

Let’s get naked. Let’s get real. And let’s get to Chapter One before I change my mind and go live in a tent with a howler monkey named Kevin.