LETTER TO MY FATHER FROM NICARAGUA 2000

i´ve arrived into expatriot land. as per the norm with most cities i´ve visited, there stumble about a few backpickers- dirty, smelly, lost. but here in san juan, half the americans are old, as in over 50- grey hair, grey beards, southern accents, stumbling along the beach in tourist t-shirts they can´t understand. not a one of these old folks speak spanish. i´ve never quite experienced an ex-pàtriot scene. most of these were men who traveled to costa rica, seeking their fortunes, found the country too expensive, too developed, too americanized (many costa rican restaurants have english menus), too crowded. and here, just across the border, they found the emptiness, the opportunity. a land of empty beaches, high inflation, massive trees. it´s everything that costa rica was supposed to be for them, what costa rica was 30 years ago.

so these old men arrive with stuffed wallets, bloated bank statements, ready to live out the american dream- to stake one´s claim on a hunk of land, to live close to the sea, the trees, and the wind, to achieve distance from their neighbor. there exists no place like this in america. nicaragua seems, as of yet, unspoiled, untouched, ripened and ready for any typical american with typical american dreams and a pension plan.

next door to my hotel sits "nicaragua properties." a sleeping dog guards the door. i´ve never seen him awaken. it´s inevitable that any american who comes here will want a piece of this pie for themselves, for it´s a pie so unsullied that the illusion strongly holds that this place will last forever. it won´t, of course. most of the guanacaste beaches of costa rica followed the same course back in the 70´s, as hippies moved down here with what little money they could scrape up and bought their little plots of land. and now, 20 years later, families on vacation package plans arrive in hordes to their beachfront plots, ready to snorkel, surf, and get overcharged. most families will gladly be overcharged in exchange for a set itinerary.

not that costa rica is an overly expensive country. it´s certainly cheaper than the united states. but one can say with utmost certainty that you´ll never find a local on your snorkelling tour.

i have so much more to tell about this latest trip. it´s re-awakened my love of travel, certainly. i haven´t yet told you about schuyler, the fast talking american real estate developer who met us on a bus, guided us through the border crossing and had his driver take us all over the country. laura and i spent a night in huehuete, a village which had never met gringos before. the children just walked up and stared. we slept oin hammocks outside the home of don segundo cruz, surrounded by his two dozen pigs, cattle, dogs, chickens. we slept in a concrete box in managua. and now san juan del sur. from here, we venture to the middle of lago de nicaragua, to sleep on isal de ometepe. i´ll write more as it filters from my brain.

my hotel room consists of an creaky iron bed, a large mosquito net, and a fading photograph on the wall of a smiling couple. The look happy.

Last evening, followed olive ridley turtles as they laid their eggs on a hidden beach. a teenaged guard stood with a machine gun under a sign that warned folks not to collect or eat the eggs.