For all of those reasons visiting Nicaragua made sense to me. Certainly I did my homework before booking the flight for a three-day weekend to personally explore the possibilities of what could be my first ever home purchase or summer vacation site. I needed to see this new development called Rancho Santana first hand and reassure myself that my money was not needlessly flung on a far-fetched whim located some 2,000 miles to the south and west of my residence in New York. What I came away with was the personal satisfaction that the investment risk was minimal, and in addition, to see another side of life I did not expect, which allowed me to explore my own life and learn to appreciate what I have and worry less about what I do not.
A long shot investment? Maybe. Ultimately, I saw an opportunity in Nicaragua where the not so mighty dollar still wields enough purchasing power for long-term profit. At the very worst, I could own my own home, insured against earthquakes, hurricane damage and mudslides, practically on the Pacific, that serves as a comfortable vacation getaway… and at best, a potential rental income producer in my absence with a value that grows 50-100% or more in the next several years.
Managua, the capitol city of Nicaragua, is six hours away by plane from New York, and another hundred light years from anything I had expected to see of a major city outside of maybe a place like Ghana. The airport reminded me of my grandparents’ musty basement. Upon arriving, this would arouse the initial questions of judgment my mind hindered me with time and again throughout my stay there. The weather was extremely hot and humid and the abundance of insects were apparently not of the shy variety. So there I was waiting on line at customs, stone cold sober, silly with self-doubt and two hours younger visiting Central America for the first time in my life wondering where I was headed and what could I hope to accomplish from it.
I had never traveled solo before to a foreign country and knew very little of the Spanish language, yet what I did learn all those years ago living in L.A. was quickly dispelled by my having just finishing four semesters of French, and the certain Latin-based similarities that go with it. I was excited and nervous at the same time… and my overnight stay lie just across the street at the Best Western Las Mercedes, reminiscent of an oversized miniature golf course with log cabin style accommodations.
The local real estate agent who I had conversed with previously, and the gentleman partly responsible for my committing to this journey, picked me up the next morning, and it only took a few minutes to realize why he opted not to drive the night before. We were two and a half hours away from our destination bordering the Pacific Ocean in a little town called Tola, but nothing could have prepared me for what lie ahead. “Where is the big city,” I inquired, as we headed down this long, thin stretch of road that was nothing short of dilapidated at every angle. I felt like a billiard ball bouncing from one cushion to the next as my well adjusted chauffer navigated through bumps, potholes, mud slicks, and various assorted pedal pushers and pedestrians who knew nothing of the dangers of a Toyota Four-Runner bearing down on the open road. If it weren’t for the patches of green pasture that occasionally popped up, I could have closed my eyes and knew no different from traversing the jagged edge of the moon itself. My ensuing headache wouldn’t allow it, however, nor could I suppress the suspense of what I thought I would find… bustling city streets with the cosmopolitan feel of the capitol district. There would be none of that on this path.
For what seemed like hours we cruised down endless roadways surrounded by squalor on either side, passing dusty, rural towns that were an eye blink long and absolutely depressing to someone who thought they knew poverty yet never came this close. The driver was a terrific tour guide. A well-spoken expatriate who adopted Nicaragua as his home and place of business many years before, he was quick to point out the resiliency of the populace; how they’d survived many a natural disaster, revolutionary uprisings and an extreme class distinction weighted heavily on the poor. I gazed on either side at young mothers and children, maybe complete families, existing in the doorways of their one story, one-room homes; I say “existing” because I honestly have no idea what they did; where were the businesses? What did they do for work? Was there even any to be had? I saw old men with pushcarts peddling ice cream products and drinks I’d never even heard of; bony stray dogs near death on legs aimlessly groped for a scrap somewhere along the way. As dismayed as I became with what I saw for how these people lived, I learned that their new government was focused on reversing the fortunes of this troubled country. I certainly hoped so.
Off the beaten path were attractive yet small towns with actual consumer-driven businesses, like restaurants, bars and gift shops. I saw a small sea town some twelve blocks off the main road with pleasant gathering places; in the distance there were magnificent volcanoes, some still active, which provided the base for nutrient-rich soil for growing plentiful crops, and when we got out to snag pictures overlooking Central America’s second biggest lake (Lake Nicaragua), I momentarily interacted with a few locals, including a little kid trying to pawn off handmade jewelry I might find for a buck at the local flea market in NY. It didn’t matter, I bought it anyway… cost me ten bucks for two… and directions to the rest room.
Our trip toward Tola was eventful in that the agent knew the most scenic routes to take the further we moved from Managua and the outstretched fingers for towns that extended southward. Long stretches of country accompanied our journey through the jungle toward the shore. On either side the proximity of poverty was replaced by endless tropical landscape that an hour before was imperceptible. It was a breeding ground for natural resource with an endless landmass lent to a wealth of agriculture. Save for the occasional industrial uprising, it was absolute beauty in its purest form, from symmetrical volcanic mounds to lush foliage. It was not difficult to see the potential for growth in this country, both agriculturally and economically. Once the governmental infrastructure and Central American unionizing takes full effect, a thriving exportation and the realization of a tourism industry could insure not only the “discovery” of Nicaragua, but for its many inhabitants, the necessary jobs and potential for much needed improvements in their immediate surroundings.
Rancho Santana was still a relatively new development that occupied 1,700 acres in and around the Pacific shoreline of Tola, Nicaragua, not far from the town of Rivas—a spec of dirt-sized marking on the map yet one of the area’s largest. We had to put the four wheel drive to the test to get there from the main road as we turned and entered some twelve miles of dirt paths and slippery puddles caused from the current rainy season. Bo and Luke Duke themselves might’ve thought twice about driving this path had their on-camera exploits not demanded it. We went up, down, left and right, dodging farm animals and fellow four-wheelers, before turning in a majestic-looking entryway that led a mile stretch of flat road directly toward a low lying beach front that was otherwise impenetrable five minutes and a mountainous region earlier. It was like going from night to day in a matter of seconds—Hazzard County to Hilton Head, and a potential home buying opportunity only minutes by foot from the beach. We had finally arrived to the still semi-private owners- and renters-only beachfront community piercing through rolling hills with cliffside views. Rancho Santana was an oasis in the middle of nowhere that demanded discovery… and luckily for me, I was still among the earliest surveyors.
Upon arriving at the guest clubhouse, making my greetings and later unpacking my bags, I was ready to be sold on the benefits of becoming a homeowner there. Of course the culture shock was still fresh in my mind from the drive out, but another surprise was in store upon entering my guest room. Still smarting from the appalling living conditions I witnessed since leaving Managua, I was none too quick to process the fact that we had moved into a tropical jungle-like setting and all of the life forms that go with it. Such involves the appearance of pinky-sized four-legged gremlins that chirp and hide behind wall-mounted air conditioning units when weary travelers arrive to unpack their bags and downshift their thought-process for a moment. I was in no mood for sharing space with wall-crawling creeps and flying pests, but I will admit, though it took awhile, these lizard-like creatures known, as Geckos, were somewhat bearable… even cute. Though neither of the two I spotted on my wall had any real intention of establishing dialogue or selling auto insurance, I satisfied myself to try to catch one for an up close examination. No chance. They’re too fast and flexible and have little interest in human interaction.
The clubhouse stood in a central location at RS where I would meet the property manager with whom I had corresponded a number of times previously, and an all-Nicaraguan house staff greeted me and made me feel welcome. The layout of the clubhouse was spacious and well decorated with beautiful art and furnishings of the tropics. This was certainly no Marriott, but it more than served the purpose for the private community it was meant to center. It was a beautifully crafted building with an outdoor patio, pool and strategically planted palms preceding the rocky beach. The weather was rainy, hot and humid, which I later learned was consistent with their “winter” season following May.
We privately toured the upcoming new beach homes known as “casitas” as well as the surrounding areas where other people had already purchased plots of land or built palatial houses overlooking the Pacific. I had my doubts about the location at first, and the fact that most of the area was still relatively deserted, but they would soon subside along with the culture shock I felt as I pondered the future for this slowly developing beachfront paradise. I needed a little time to soak it all in and gain firsthand knowledge from those who’ve been there, done that, still live there, and have invested hundreds of thousands more than I was even hinting at.
This was definitely not Cancun, but was never projected to be. The future plans, as outlined by management and provided by the developers, showed a number of other lots being plotted and sold, and a number of new amenities planned for the future, including a golf course, bar and medical center. The hurdle for me was to step away from the “there and then” impulse and reaffirm my initial intentions of buying for the long term investment potential. Rancho Santana was not somewhere I wanted to live today, but my projected goals for property ownership remained unchanged: an appreciable annual return on investment, potential for rental income and at the least, a charming villa-like two-bedroom home for holiday trips and off-peak getaways in a serene location where people were friendly, family oriented and pleasant.
I came away with a good feeling from my short, but informative trip to Nicaragua. Yes, I was sold on the potential of Rancho Santana, but felt ashamed that I could feel pity for the many poor people on the one hand, while on the other, worry about my own self-gain as an actual foreigner in their country. However, there is the necessity and government’s encouragement for foreign investment for the betterment of Nicaraguan economy, and this helps me rationalize what I would be getting involved with. To what extent this holds true is something I aim to explore further on future visits.
Though my interaction with the locals was limited, I learned from the RS staff members and expatriates that Nicaraguans are proud and family oriented. Do people mind being poor? Do they even realize what they’re missing comparative to the big name capitalist countries? Probably not. They seemed to be at peace with their simple lives and put more emphasis on familial, if old fashioned, values than any American-born like myself could conceive of.
I was pleased with my Nicaraguan experience and satisfied with my decision to buy. I will plan to return in another year to close on my new casita. There is plenty more to explore throughout the entire country. For this trip, I barely scratched the surface. So why Nicaragua? Because the people are welcoming of Americans and seem to remain as unspoiled as the landscape they inhabit. That’s a refreshing change from the bustle of the big city’s daily grind. It’s a nice place to invest, whether such includes free time or extra funds, and even nicer to visit. It will be very interesting to watch the developments unfold in this yet to be discovered country.
