Alternate Modes

Various minor obstacles are still preventing me from closing the deal on the purchase of a motorcycle. Lacking a vehicle of my own, I have needed to explore alternate modes of transport. Last week, during an evening at the local expat hangout, Big Wave Dave's, I shared a conversation with one of the town's many hotshot real estate agents. A few day later Mark called to offer me a tour of several beach front properties to the south of town in his Toyota 4x4 truck, assuming me to be a potential buyer. Admittedly, I did not disabuse him of this notion when I accepted his generous offer. A graduate in Latin American studies from Atlanta with fluent Spanish, Mark is twenty-six years old and has lived here for eighteen months, enjoying life's sweet spot of being in the right place at the right time. If he is not a millionaire by his thirtieth birthday, we will both be very surprised.

At a little waterfront bar I let Mark buy me drink and give a short tutorial on property development in the area. Should you be interested, houses facing onto the beach are already over $400,000 and climbing, although serviced fifteen hundred square metre lots on a hillside overlooking a spectacular stretch of sand can be had for as little as $55,000 and for about $100,000 more the developer will build you a nice, two bedroom white stucco hacienda with red tiled roof. At the moment, a rutted dirt road runs along the coast past these developments, reaching ten kilometres down from San Juan del Sur to the Costa Rican border. If it is paved within the next few years, as people here expect, prices are likely to jump.

The smart money is already moving on, I am told, buying cheap in the undeveloped coastal areas towards the northern border where serious building is still five to ten years away. Another interesting new wrinkle is the commercial development that is starting to appear in the town centre of San Juan del Sur. Some parties obviously believe that all the money and people flowing in will soon make new shops, services and restaurants a viable proposition.

Two things have caused the market to stall somewhat in the past year. The first is the Sandanistas' return to office. Americans feel a residual paranoia regarding Daniel Ortega left over from the Reagan era and still harbour suspicions that this country could become 'Cuba lite'. The reality is that many senior party officials are among the wealthiest businessmen in the country, with vested economic interests. It is hard to imagine them trying to revive the kind of hard line socialism that collapsed in the rest of the world almost two decades ago. The other issue is the real estate meltdown in the US that has property owners scrambling to unload assets here so they can pay down debts at home. Unencumbered by either ideological baggage or a depressed housing market, Canadians appear unconcerned and are still actively shopping.

The next day, I joined a half dozen others to rent horses and ride five kilometres south of town to a beach inaccessible by vehicle. I was the one who naively raised his hand when the vaquero asked if anyone knew how to ride and drew a feisty little chestnut mare, Tintero, full of energy and eager to run.

A tight hold on the reign held the horse back to a steady canter along the rutted dirt track, but I still made the beach a good twenty minutes ahead of the others. Once there, I eased my grip and we galloped along the firm sand near the waterline. Turning as we approached the rocky outcropping at the end of the beach, I urged Tintero on for another run, but as she got up to speed I suddenly found myself tumbling through the air as the world spun around me. Kicking loose from the stirrups as I fell, I struck the ground head first into a pile of loose stones. Rolling onto my back, I saw Tintero standing a few metres away, looking at me curiously. The impact had knocked the wind out of me and I struggled for a moment to fill my lungs. After the usual check to see that all systems were functioning and all of my blood supply was still on the inside, where it belongs, I slowly got to my feet and went to discover what had happened. The saddle was hanging off to one side and lifting the stirrup confirmed the obvious, the cinch had come loose. Normally, the cinch is held tight by a buckle, but this one was a simpler arrangement only secured by a half hitch in the leather strap around a D-ring. There was nothing I could do other than shake my head in wonder and rub the growing bump on top of it.

The beach was a beautiful and deserted half moon bay, with sets of five foot breakers rolling in. With Tintero tied to a fencepost, I swam out to catch the waves as they crested, body surfing into the shore. After a couple of hours my shoulders were starting to sunburn, the adrenaline was wearing off and sunset was closing in. Besides that, a boatload of surfers had shown up and one came within inches of decapitating me with his board. It was time to go. The ride back aboard Tintero was uneventful, although I anticipate an ache in my thighs tomorrow.