The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

Costa Rica is a Hot Spot. The Word is out: cheap real estate, great climate, stable government, low taxes, tropical paradise. Half the surfers, the Nuevo hippies, adventurous snowbirders, disaffected Republicans who fled the Obama era, gold hunters and real estate hucksters, eco-tourists, bird watchers and yuppies in search of the Next New Place — they’re all here or coming soon.

After all, we’re here too. I have to say, I’m really glad we aren’t going to the main tourist sites — we’re hauling around Costa Rica Larry’s backroads, bayou bars and backwash villages. Se Vende signs are everywhere. For Sale. They’ll carve this country up from beach to mountain vista, Americanize it, sanitize it and monetize it. The first ones here, bottom of the pyramid scheme. Later … not so lucky, amigo. Time to move on to the Next Big Thing.

Call me cynical and step on my rose colored glasses. Yah shure, the grass is greener here, perfect greens on the 18 hole golf courses I see behind the concrete fences of the gated communities. Fairways lined with palms. Palms lined with money. In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. Here, the middle class gringo is rich.

The poor? I guess the jobs working for the gringo offer some greenery too. We bought America with beads and trinkets, then … well, it’s the story of the world, I guess. Ask nice, see if that works, if not … Ask the Hawaiians. Ask the Seminoles. The Cherokee. The Mandan.

Maybe you shouldn’t want to live in a place that’s paradise. They’ll pave it and put in a parking lot next to the casino/resort. The South End was undiscovered when I came, maybe the first wave of immigration. Now the wealthy have found the bluffs with views and the beaches. At first the natives built their homes — now they mow their lawns. We bought the house next door and rent it to the tourists. Who think they’ve discovered paradise. We’re paving the way….

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