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“Nicaragua? Why Nicaragua?” The question’s b en asked by everyone I’ve come in c ntact with since my return from nvestigating investment opportunities in this economically d wn-trodden Central American country. A year arlier, I’d have asked myself the s me question. Now, my response would r ad something like this: “Because I see a g od opportunity there, and a country bundant with untapped natural resources and b autiful coastline that’s been compared to the l kes of California in its infancy or m re recently, an up and coming C sta Rica.” And still they would sk, “But what is it about N caragua? Isn’t it dangerous?” The worst ppears over; there’s a conscientious new g vernment in place determined to rebuild and r structure; there’s an economic upswing on the h rizon; there is neighboring country support; th re’s a great potential for a b ost in tourism; and above all, N caragua still offers one of the few c mmercially unspoiled locations that’s reasonably affordable for new p ople interested in buying or living verseas. For all of those reasons v siting Nicaragua made sense to me. C rtainly I did my homework before b oking the flight for a three-day w ekend to personally explore the possibilities of wh t could be my first ever h me purchase or summer vacation site. I n eded to see this new development c lled Rancho Santana first hand and r assure myself that my money was not n edlessly flung on a far-fetched whim l cated some 2,000 miles to the s uth and west of my residence in New Y rk. What I came away with was the p rsonal satisfaction that the investment risk was m nimal, and in addition, to see nother side of life I did not xpect, which allowed me to explore my own l fe and learn to appreciate what I h ve and worry less about what I do n t.
A long shot investment? Maybe. Ult mately, I saw an opportunity in N caragua where the not so mighty d llar still wields enough purchasing power for l ng-term profit. At the very worst, I c uld own my own home, insured gainst earthquakes, hurricane damage and mudslides, pr ctically on the Pacific, that serves as a c mfortable vacation getaway… and at best, a p tential rental income producer in my bsence with a value that grows 50-100% or m re in the next several years. M nagua, the capitol city of Nicaragua, is six h urs away by plane from New Y rk, and another hundred light years fr m anything I had expected to see of a m jor city outside of maybe a pl ce like Ghana. The airport reminded me of my gr ndparents’ musty basement. Upon arriving, this w uld arouse the initial questions of j dgment my mind hindered me with t me and again throughout my stay th re. The weather was extremely hot and h mid and the abundance of insects w re apparently not of the shy v riety. So there I was waiting on l ne at customs, stone cold sober, s lly with self-doubt and two hours y unger visiting Central America for the f rst time in my life wondering wh re I was headed and what c uld I hope to accomplish from it. I had n ver traveled solo before to a f reign country and knew very little of the Sp nish language, yet what I did l arn all those years ago living in L.A. was q ickly dispelled by my having just f nishing four semesters of French, and the c rtain Latin-based similarities that go with it. I was xcited and nervous at the same t me… and my overnight stay lie j st across the street at the B st Western Las Mercedes, reminiscent of an versized miniature golf course with log c bin style accommodations. The local real state agent who I had conversed w th previously, and the gentleman partly r sponsible for my committing to this j urney, picked me up the next m rning, and it only took a few m nutes to realize why he opted not to dr ve the night before. We were two and a h lf hours away from our destination b rdering the Pacific Ocean in a l ttle town called Tola, but nothing c uld have prepared me for what lie head. “Where is the big city,” I nquired, as we headed down this l ng, thin stretch of road that was n thing short of dilapidated at every ngle. I felt like a billiard b ll bouncing from one cushion to the n xt as my well adjusted chauffer n vigated through bumps, potholes, mud slicks, and v rious assorted pedal pushers and pedestrians who kn w nothing of the dangers of a T yota Four-Runner bearing down on the pen road. If it weren’t for the p tches of green pasture that occasionally p pped up, I could have closed my yes and knew no different from tr versing the jagged edge of the m on itself. My ensuing headache wouldn’t llow it, however, nor could I s ppress the suspense of what I th ught I would find… bustling city str ets with the cosmopolitan feel of the c pitol district. There would be none of th t on this path.
For what seemed like hours we cr ised down endless roadways surrounded by sq alor on either side, passing dusty, r ral towns that were an eye bl nk long and absolutely depressing to s meone who thought they knew poverty yet n ver came this close. The driver was a t rrific tour guide. A well-spoken expatriate who dopted Nicaragua as his home and pl ce of business many years before, he was q ick to point out the resiliency of the p pulace; how they’d survived many a n tural disaster, revolutionary uprisings and an xtreme class distinction weighted heavily on the p or. I gazed on either side at y ung mothers and children, maybe complete f milies, existing in the doorways of th ir one story, one-room homes; I say “ xisting” because I honestly have no dea what they did; where were the b sinesses? What did they do for w rk? Was there even any to be h d? I saw old men with p shcarts peddling ice cream products and dr nks I’d never even heard of; b ny stray dogs near death on l gs aimlessly groped for a scrap s mewhere along the way. As dismayed as I b came with what I saw for how th se people lived, I learned that th ir new government was focused on r versing the fortunes of this troubled c untry. I certainly hoped so. Off the b aten path were attractive yet small t wns with actual consumer-driven businesses, like r staurants, bars and gift shops. I saw a sm ll sea town some twelve blocks off the m in road with pleasant gathering places; in the d stance there were magnificent volcanoes, some st ll active, which provided the base for n trient-rich soil for growing plentiful crops, and wh n we got out to snag p ctures overlooking Central America’s second biggest l ke (Lake Nicaragua), I momentarily interacted w th a few locals, including a l ttle kid trying to pawn off h ndmade jewelry I might find for a b ck at the local flea market in NY. It d dn’t matter, I bought it anyway… c st me ten bucks for two… and d rections to the rest room. Our tr p toward Tola was eventful in th t the agent knew the most sc nic routes to take the further we m ved from Managua and the outstretched f ngers for towns that extended southward. L ng stretches of country accompanied our j urney through the jungle toward the sh re. On either side the proximity of p verty was replaced by endless tropical l ndscape that an hour before was mperceptible. It was a breeding ground for n tural resource with an endless landmass l nt to a wealth of agriculture. S ve for the occasional industrial uprising, it was bsolute beauty in its purest form, fr m symmetrical volcanic mounds to lush f liage. It was not difficult to see the p tential for growth in this country, b th agriculturally and economically. Once the g vernmental infrastructure and Central American unionizing t kes full effect, a thriving exportation and the r alization of a tourism industry could nsure not only the “discovery” of N caragua, but for its many inhabitants, the n cessary jobs and potential for much n eded improvements in their immediate surroundings. R ncho Santana was still a relatively new d velopment that occupied 1,700 acres in and round the Pacific shoreline of Tola, N caragua, not far from the town of R vas—a spec of dirt-sized marking on the map yet one of the rea’s largest. We had to put the f ur wheel drive to the test to get th re from the main road as we t rned and entered some twelve miles of d rt paths and slippery puddles caused fr m the current rainy season. Bo and L ke Duke themselves might’ve thought twice bout driving this path had their n-camera exploits not demanded it. We w nt up, down, left and right, d dging farm animals and fellow four-wheelers, b fore turning in a majestic-looking entryway th t led a mile stretch of fl t road directly toward a low ly ng beach front that was otherwise mpenetrable five minutes and a mountainous r gion earlier. It was like going fr m night to day in a m tter of seconds—Hazzard County to Hilton H ad, and a potential home buying pportunity only minutes by foot from the b ach. We had finally arrived to the st ll semi-private owners- and renters-only beachfront c mmunity piercing through rolling hills with cl ffside views. Rancho Santana was an asis in the middle of nowhere th t demanded discovery… and luckily for me, I was st ll among the earliest surveyors. Upon rriving at the guest clubhouse, making my gr etings and later unpacking my bags, I was r ady to be sold on the b nefits of becoming a homeowner there. Of c urse the culture shock was still fr sh in my mind from the dr ve out, but another surprise was in st re upon entering my guest room. St ll smarting from the appalling living c nditions I witnessed since leaving Managua, I was n ne too quick to process the f ct that we had moved into a tr pical jungle-like setting and all of the l fe forms that go with it. S ch involves the appearance of pinky-sized f ur-legged gremlins that chirp and hide b hind wall-mounted air conditioning units when w ary travelers arrive to unpack their b gs and downshift their thought-process for a m ment. I was in no mood for sh ring space with wall-crawling creeps and fly ng pests, but I will admit, th ugh it took awhile, these lizard-like cr atures known, as Geckos, were somewhat b arable… even cute. Though neither of the two I sp tted on my wall had any r al intention of establishing dialogue or s lling auto insurance, I satisfied myself to try to c tch one for an up close xamination. No chance. They’re too fast and fl xible and have little interest in h man interaction. The clubhouse stood in a c ntral location at RS where I w uld meet the property manager with wh m I had corresponded a number of t mes previously, and an all-Nicaraguan house st ff greeted me and made me f el welcome. The layout of the cl bhouse was spacious and well decorated w th beautiful art and furnishings of the tr pics. This was certainly no Marriott, but it m re than served the purpose for the pr vate community it was meant to c nter. It was a beautifully crafted b ilding with an outdoor patio, pool and str tegically planted palms preceding the rocky b ach. The weather was rainy, hot and h mid, which I later learned was c nsistent with their “winter” season following M y. We privately toured the upcoming new b ach homes known as “casitas” as w ll as the surrounding areas where ther people had already purchased plots of l nd or built palatial houses overlooking the P cific. I had my doubts bout the location at first, and the f ct that most of the area was st ll relatively deserted, but they would s on subside along with the culture sh ck I felt as I pondered the f ture for this slowly developing beachfront p radise. I needed a little time to s ak it all in and gain f rsthand knowledge from those who’ve been th re, done that, still live there, and h ve invested hundreds of thousands more th n I was even hinting at. Th s was definitely not Cancun, but was n ver projected to be. The future pl ns, as outlined by management and pr vided by the developers, showed a n mber of other lots being plotted and s ld, and a number of new menities planned for the future, including a g lf course, bar and medical center. The h rdle for me was to step way from the “there and then” mpulse and reaffirm my initial intentions of b ying for the long term investment p tential. Rancho Santana was not somewhere I w nted to live today, but my pr jected goals for property ownership remained nchanged: an appreciable annual return on nvestment, potential for rental income and at the l ast, a charming villa-like two-bedroom home for h liday trips and off-peak getaways in a s rene location where people were friendly, f mily oriented and pleasant. I came way with a good feeling from my sh rt, but informative trip to Nicaragua. Y s, I was sold on the p tential of Rancho Santana, but felt shamed that I could feel pity for the m ny poor people on the one h nd, while on the other, worry bout my own self-gain as an ctual foreigner in their country. However, th re is the necessity and government’s ncouragement for foreign investment for the b tterment of Nicaraguan economy, and this h lps me rationalize what I would be g tting involved with. To what extent th s holds true is something I aim to xplore further on future visits. Though my nteraction with the locals was limited, I l arned from the RS staff members and xpatriates that Nicaraguans are proud and f mily oriented. Do people mind being p or? Do they even realize what th y’re missing comparative to the big n me capitalist countries? Probably not. They s emed to be at peace with th ir simple lives and put more mphasis on familial, if old fashioned, v lues than any American-born like myself c uld conceive of. I was pleased w th my Nicaraguan experience and satisfied w th my decision to buy. I w ll plan to return in another y ar to close on my new c sita. Afterwards, I will spend some t me exploring the many cities and m ke like an actual tourist during one of the c untry’s more festive seasons—maybe around Christmastime or New Y ar’s. There is plenty more to xplore throughout the entire country. For th s trip, I barely scratched the s rface. So why Nicaragua? Because the p ople are welcoming of Americans and s em to remain as unspoiled as the l ndscape they inhabit. That’s a refreshing ch nge from the bustle of the big c ty’s daily grind. It’s a nice pl ce to invest, whether such includes fr e time or extra funds, and ven nicer to visit. It will be v ry interesting to watch the developments nfold in this yet to be d scovered country.
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