You Might Be A Gringo....
Today I'm going to touch on a few not as nice realities of moving to Costa Rica from the United States. There are oodles of blogs, message boards and books screaming 'Move to Costa Rica, it's fun! It's cheap, it's fabulous!'
There's not a lot that addresses the realities here.
First last me say I love, love, love it here. The way the laws are set up it's very hard to sue someone for any reason. We've already moved all our Costa Rican assets into a corporation instead of personally owning them outright. Makes it almost impossible for the Tim Baylys of this world to try and spank me legally for calling them out on toxic behavior. Yes, Bayly has threatened to sue me, I have the emails to prove it.
Other things to love. If you live simply like a Tico it's much cheaper here. Even with our copious complaints about the costs of electricity that cost is still way less than what we paid in the States.
Local food is cheaper. It's only more expensive if you march into the Auto Mercado and buy U.S. imported foods. Example: Someone on the expat list was bitching a few weeks ago that they paid $17 U.S. dollars for a 5 pound bag of potatoes, posting a photo. They'd bought potatoes imported from the good old US of A instead of going down to the local Frutas stand and buying Costa Rican grown potatoes for roughly 75 cents a pound.
If you attempt to live here like an entitled Gringo with the same standard of living as America or Canada it's going to cost you a lot more money! Why come here and try to live like Little America in your all-American subdivision where the builder has charged you way more than the place is worth and you have some louche Tico with a uniform and a gun pretending to guard you? Running the air conditional willy nilly cuts you off from the hoots of the monkeys and the wonderful spicy smell of the open air fires of local farmers burning brush. No Tico friends, you never learn which are the best restaurants, when the big sales happen or find out about the bullfights and festivals.
But, if you embrace the idea that you don't need a lot of possessions or constant shopping, that you're rather go to the beach or walk to the Frutas stand and have no expectations of this being anything like America plus aren't wedded to the idea of people being punctual or honest this is the place for you.
There will be some frustrations with the glacial pace most government agencies and repairmen work at, and the fact that there are those in this third world country that will shake you down if you let them, like Jim getting scammed by the pot-smoking house-crasher we hosted on Thanksgiving night. Realize it's not America or Canada and relax.
The last couple of weeks have been most revealing and reinforcing what we know about life here. A couple of weeks ago one of our friends came to visit, and the Tico weirdness started early at the Liberia airport when the airport guards started moving those of us waiting farther and farther from the gate so we could not interfere with the 'volunteer' porters pushily grabbing and running off with the luggage of the arrivals so they could score a big fat tip. We've learned that scam, pushing forward to rescue our friend.
We had to rescue her friend that came with her a few times from pushy vendors too. Explaining that you do not flash cash, or indicate in any way you have any money because they will overwhelm you. You have to be pretty firm when you issue a 'NO!'
Right now we're getting the business from the realtors, lawyers, home inspectors, bank agents and assorted government agencies in this house purchase. Everyone has their hand out, and there are government fees galore. Now, we did negotiate out of a lot of the fees. Someone just arriving here might not realize that many times locals will try to charge you the maximum they can until you protest you're being gypped.
You even have to watch people like our landlords. During the ten days my friends were here our electric started going haywire, more haywire than usual because I've been complaining to the landlord for months now that the electrical grid is screwy in the house. Burned out appliances, a middle of the night explosion by the landscaping lights and several burned out sockets. Partial electricity. I told the landlord back six weeks ago that the house was showing signs that the electrical switch between the meter and where the electricity enters the property was damaged. I went through this at our house ten years ago, so I knew what it was I was looking at. She blamed a number of things on our electrical problems, from her thinking we have too much technology plugged in to it being the crappy electricity here in Costa Rica. At one point the socket the refrigerator is plugged into went bad and the fridge kept getting warm then cold. It's still not fixed even if the landlord put an extension cord and plugged the fridge into the socket in the laundry room. No repairs, or slow and poorly done is our experience, and it turns out this is very, very common in rental property here.
The frustrating thing about the landlord is that on last Monday we heard that our contract was officially accepted and as soon as we had signed paperwork all the way around and had started the process to wire in that huge sum we told our landlord on Sunday afternoon that we were be leaving in two weeks to move into our own house. Sunday night at 9 pm our landlord's real estate agent had listed our house for rent. I laughed when I saw the photos because they don't show the decrepit state of the house, they are carefully staged with fancy furniture that is not in the house, and, for shits and giggles, the photos have been carefully photoshopped to gloss over the cracks from the earthquakes, etc. The next morning the landlord shows up to tell me that the house will be shown to a potential renter within the hour. I'm in bed with the flu and had to endure a day of strangers traipsing around while the house needs a good hard scrub. Hellish. Awkward. I was in my nightgown suffering the indignities of a provoked digestive system that thought 'Boot and rally' was a good idea.
There is no feeling more humiliating and icky than standing in the doorway of your bathroom when your stomach has decided to violently exit from below and above as a potential renter walks in for a tour. Yeah, SO much fun.
My understanding of the parade of potential renters is that someone did sign a lease and is moving in the day after we move out. Even if the dryer is dead, the electric fucked and the whole damn place needs a complete upgrade.
Another reality of moving here. Never expect to get your rental deposit back, never, ever. Apparently it's rare here, as most landlords consider it lagnappe, a little somethin'-somethin' extra for them. I doubt we'll get ours back even as we've damaged nothing and kept the place immaculate, except for this week. I cannot cook, do dishes and mop when I'm puking.
It's going to cost you a small fortune to do it right, and to get your residency. There are those that move here on a shoestring, not realizing that many times you'll be charged a 'Gringo tax' in your dealings. Everything you do requires a lawyer, which does not come any cheaper than in the states. Costa Rica wants to make sure you're not a criminal evading the law in another country before they will grant you residency and it can take several years. Another biggy with them is you proving that you have a minimum of $1,500 coming in from a legal source in the U.S. every single month. No poor immigrants need apply. We're going the investment route of residency, where you have to put up a large sum in real estate and bank investments to get that residency.
Ticos are unfailingly polite, and just want to say what you want to hear. We've experienced the problems that can occur when someone you're dealing with in a business capacity does not say 'no' to you, and then strings you along for days instead of just coming out with the answer that it cannot be done.
But for all the hassles I've outlined above what you get in return is so worth it. No Donald Trump and his stupid, venial cohorts. No military. The beach, the mountains, the wildlife, the fresh air. Peace, quiet and the most laid back atmosphere this side of Max Yasgur's hippy farm. There are hippies here, plenty of old hippies, and most everyone minds their own business here.
There's not a lot that addresses the realities here.
First last me say I love, love, love it here. The way the laws are set up it's very hard to sue someone for any reason. We've already moved all our Costa Rican assets into a corporation instead of personally owning them outright. Makes it almost impossible for the Tim Baylys of this world to try and spank me legally for calling them out on toxic behavior. Yes, Bayly has threatened to sue me, I have the emails to prove it.
Other things to love. If you live simply like a Tico it's much cheaper here. Even with our copious complaints about the costs of electricity that cost is still way less than what we paid in the States.
Local food is cheaper. It's only more expensive if you march into the Auto Mercado and buy U.S. imported foods. Example: Someone on the expat list was bitching a few weeks ago that they paid $17 U.S. dollars for a 5 pound bag of potatoes, posting a photo. They'd bought potatoes imported from the good old US of A instead of going down to the local Frutas stand and buying Costa Rican grown potatoes for roughly 75 cents a pound.
If you attempt to live here like an entitled Gringo with the same standard of living as America or Canada it's going to cost you a lot more money! Why come here and try to live like Little America in your all-American subdivision where the builder has charged you way more than the place is worth and you have some louche Tico with a uniform and a gun pretending to guard you? Running the air conditional willy nilly cuts you off from the hoots of the monkeys and the wonderful spicy smell of the open air fires of local farmers burning brush. No Tico friends, you never learn which are the best restaurants, when the big sales happen or find out about the bullfights and festivals.
But, if you embrace the idea that you don't need a lot of possessions or constant shopping, that you're rather go to the beach or walk to the Frutas stand and have no expectations of this being anything like America plus aren't wedded to the idea of people being punctual or honest this is the place for you.
There will be some frustrations with the glacial pace most government agencies and repairmen work at, and the fact that there are those in this third world country that will shake you down if you let them, like Jim getting scammed by the pot-smoking house-crasher we hosted on Thanksgiving night. Realize it's not America or Canada and relax.
The last couple of weeks have been most revealing and reinforcing what we know about life here. A couple of weeks ago one of our friends came to visit, and the Tico weirdness started early at the Liberia airport when the airport guards started moving those of us waiting farther and farther from the gate so we could not interfere with the 'volunteer' porters pushily grabbing and running off with the luggage of the arrivals so they could score a big fat tip. We've learned that scam, pushing forward to rescue our friend.
We had to rescue her friend that came with her a few times from pushy vendors too. Explaining that you do not flash cash, or indicate in any way you have any money because they will overwhelm you. You have to be pretty firm when you issue a 'NO!'
Right now we're getting the business from the realtors, lawyers, home inspectors, bank agents and assorted government agencies in this house purchase. Everyone has their hand out, and there are government fees galore. Now, we did negotiate out of a lot of the fees. Someone just arriving here might not realize that many times locals will try to charge you the maximum they can until you protest you're being gypped.
You even have to watch people like our landlords. During the ten days my friends were here our electric started going haywire, more haywire than usual because I've been complaining to the landlord for months now that the electrical grid is screwy in the house. Burned out appliances, a middle of the night explosion by the landscaping lights and several burned out sockets. Partial electricity. I told the landlord back six weeks ago that the house was showing signs that the electrical switch between the meter and where the electricity enters the property was damaged. I went through this at our house ten years ago, so I knew what it was I was looking at. She blamed a number of things on our electrical problems, from her thinking we have too much technology plugged in to it being the crappy electricity here in Costa Rica. At one point the socket the refrigerator is plugged into went bad and the fridge kept getting warm then cold. It's still not fixed even if the landlord put an extension cord and plugged the fridge into the socket in the laundry room. No repairs, or slow and poorly done is our experience, and it turns out this is very, very common in rental property here.
The frustrating thing about the landlord is that on last Monday we heard that our contract was officially accepted and as soon as we had signed paperwork all the way around and had started the process to wire in that huge sum we told our landlord on Sunday afternoon that we were be leaving in two weeks to move into our own house. Sunday night at 9 pm our landlord's real estate agent had listed our house for rent. I laughed when I saw the photos because they don't show the decrepit state of the house, they are carefully staged with fancy furniture that is not in the house, and, for shits and giggles, the photos have been carefully photoshopped to gloss over the cracks from the earthquakes, etc. The next morning the landlord shows up to tell me that the house will be shown to a potential renter within the hour. I'm in bed with the flu and had to endure a day of strangers traipsing around while the house needs a good hard scrub. Hellish. Awkward. I was in my nightgown suffering the indignities of a provoked digestive system that thought 'Boot and rally' was a good idea.
There is no feeling more humiliating and icky than standing in the doorway of your bathroom when your stomach has decided to violently exit from below and above as a potential renter walks in for a tour. Yeah, SO much fun.
My understanding of the parade of potential renters is that someone did sign a lease and is moving in the day after we move out. Even if the dryer is dead, the electric fucked and the whole damn place needs a complete upgrade.
Another reality of moving here. Never expect to get your rental deposit back, never, ever. Apparently it's rare here, as most landlords consider it lagnappe, a little somethin'-somethin' extra for them. I doubt we'll get ours back even as we've damaged nothing and kept the place immaculate, except for this week. I cannot cook, do dishes and mop when I'm puking.
It's going to cost you a small fortune to do it right, and to get your residency. There are those that move here on a shoestring, not realizing that many times you'll be charged a 'Gringo tax' in your dealings. Everything you do requires a lawyer, which does not come any cheaper than in the states. Costa Rica wants to make sure you're not a criminal evading the law in another country before they will grant you residency and it can take several years. Another biggy with them is you proving that you have a minimum of $1,500 coming in from a legal source in the U.S. every single month. No poor immigrants need apply. We're going the investment route of residency, where you have to put up a large sum in real estate and bank investments to get that residency.
Ticos are unfailingly polite, and just want to say what you want to hear. We've experienced the problems that can occur when someone you're dealing with in a business capacity does not say 'no' to you, and then strings you along for days instead of just coming out with the answer that it cannot be done.
But for all the hassles I've outlined above what you get in return is so worth it. No Donald Trump and his stupid, venial cohorts. No military. The beach, the mountains, the wildlife, the fresh air. Peace, quiet and the most laid back atmosphere this side of Max Yasgur's hippy farm. There are hippies here, plenty of old hippies, and most everyone minds their own business here.
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