Kurt Van Dyke, a 66-year-old California surfing legend who had called Costa Rica home for decades, was found dead under his bed Saturday — a sheet over his head, a knife beside him.

Two armed men had stormed the home he shared with his girlfriend in Puerto Viejo de Talamanca, forced the couple into a room at gunpoint, and carried out a robbery that ended with Van Dyke's life.

His girlfriend, a 31-year-old woman identified only as Arroyo, had her hands and feet zip-tied, The Post reported. The intruders assaulted her, stripped the home of valuables, took Van Dyke's 2013 Hyundai Elantra, and disappeared.

Costa Rica's Judicial Investigation Department confirmed that Arroyo was not seriously injured. No arrests have been announced. No suspects have been named.

A Life Built on Salt Water and Hard Work

Van Dyke arrived in Costa Rica in the early 1980s, drawn by the legendary Salsa Brava break — one of the most powerful waves in Central America. He stayed. He built a hotel in Puerto Viejo and spent decades running it.

He became a fixture in a small Caribbean town that traded on its reputation for peace and laid-back charm.

Surfing ran in his blood. His father, Gene Van Dyke, was a Northern California pioneer of the sport. His mother, Betty, helped blaze a trail for women surfers in the 1950s and '60s.

Kurt carried that legacy to a foreign shore and made a life out of it — the kind of life Americans used to romanticize. A man builds something with his hands in a beautiful place. Earns the trust of the locals. Grows old doing what he loves.

That story ended under a bedsheet with a knife next to his body.

The 'Peaceful Caribbean' Illusion

Roger Sams, president of Costa Rica's Southern Caribbean Chamber of Tourism and Commerce, spoke to Costa Rican newspaper La Nación about the killing: "I am deeply saddened."

"We've had a long period of calm and tranquility. … This shocks and saddens us because the Caribbean has been so peaceful."

The sentiment is understandable. It's also the kind of thing local tourism officials always say after a violent crime punctures the travel-brochure narrative.

The Caribbean coast has been "so peaceful" — until two men with guns walked into an American's home and killed him.

This is the tension that expatriate communities across Central America increasingly confront. Americans and Europeans relocate for the weather, the cost of living, the slower pace. They open small businesses. They settle in.

And they exist in communities where law enforcement infrastructure bears no resemblance to what they left behind. When something goes wrong — really wrong — the response is a statement from the Judicial Investigation Department and silence from the suspects.

What Americans Abroad Should Understand

There is a persistent fantasy in certain corners of American culture — popular among remote workers, retirees, and lifestyle bloggers — that leaving the United States means leaving its problems behind.

Costa Rica, in particular, has been marketed as a paradise: stable government, no standing army, eco-tourism, "pura vida."

None of that protected Kurt Van Dyke.

The hard truth is that American citizens abroad operate without the security apparatus they take for granted at home. Local police forces in rural Central American towns are often understaffed, underequipped, and overmatched.

Property crimes escalate to violent crimes when perpetrators calculate — correctly — that consequences are unlikely. Two armed men robbed and killed a man in his own home, took his car, and as of now face no known consequences.

This isn't an argument against travel or expatriate life. It's an argument against naivety.

Americans who build lives abroad deserve honest assessments of the risks they face — not glossy marketing copy from tourism boards.

A Family Legacy, Violently Interrupted

The Van Dyke family helped shape California's surfing culture. Gene Van Dyke pioneered the sport in Northern California when the coastline above San Francisco was still considered too cold, too rough, too dangerous for wave riders. Betty pushed into a male-dominated world decades before anyone thought to call it empowerment. They just did it.

Kurt took that same spirit — self-reliant, adventurous, uninterested in permission — and carried it to Costa Rica more than forty years ago. He built a business. He surfed world-class waves. He became part of a community.

Two men with guns decided none of that mattered.

The investigation continues. No suspects. No arrests. No answers for a family that lost a man who lived exactly the way he wanted until the world he trusted refused to protect him.