Different Strokes for Different Folks—New Era, New Expats

Chapter 3: Whatever floats your boat

Tulum Pyramids. Photo by Anna Sullivan on Unsplash

When I dreamed of living in Mexico, I envisioned a white sand beach, a sleepy pueblo, and a long walk to town. Utilities so vital today—phone service, TV/cable, internet—were not issues. (Specifically so with internet which wasn’t around yet). Maybe I was dropping out all over again, taking a breath of fresh air after living in a hectic 9 to 5 world filled with work, stress and traffic.

When I met the rare expat, many had similar dreams: Buy land, build a house and have a Margaritaville moment. Maybe forever. Today’s expats though far from home are doing the hustle but on Mexican time. Digital nomads search out cities offering world class museums and galleries, extraordinary food choices, vibrant music scenes, all set in an Architectural Digest’s dreamland of impressive colonial era buildings and drop-your-jaw-modern housing styles.

The nomads have embraced Mexico in a big way, from CDMX to Oaxaca City, Tulum, and places in between, providing that place has high-speed wifi, cheap rents and a robust night life. Nomads aren’t the only bump in expat stats: retirees, always a given in Mexico, are more prevalent than ever as they escape high price living and cold weather up north.

Digital nomads have embraced Mexico in a big way

After the cross-Yucatán shuffle searching for our spot, we’d met Alejandro while waiting for a bus on the remote Coba road. He’d given us a ride and invited us to visit him at his beach house in progress. We obliged and stepped into destiny—Puerto Morelos. His directions said to walk north a kilometer from town—his house would be the first we encountered. We rounded the last curve in the road and spotted it. The Mediterranean style house was a stunner with curved walls, arched windows and bright purple bougainvillea growing up the sides. We walked to the front door, knocked and there was Alejandro. As he ushered us through a beautifully carved mahogany door, we could see straight through to the Caribbean, a shimmering turquoise blue. It felt like we were coming home.

As he ushered us in, it felt like we were coming home

“Your trip, it’s been good?” he asked as he grabbed my duffel bag and waved us into a colonial style kitchen with views of the water. Paul grabbed my hand and squeezed it as we shared a glance in disbelief at this set-up.

“Of course you’ll stay for a few days, collect your thoughts, relax,” he assured us, as though he were the grand tour guide of our lives. In the back of my mind I kept thinking, maybe he is.

In Playa a sense of purpose now filled the air

He told us about property he had for sale, beachfront land in Playa del Carmen. The last time we’d been to Playa it boasted little more than a low-key dock and a handful of restaurants. But now a sense of purpose filled the air—there was money to be made. A fashionable two-story hotel sat near the ferry dock complete with plaza. And Playacar, an upscale housing development with a smattering of spacious homes, had materialized.

Playacar shared the northern boundary of Alejandro’s land acquisition. Although not much was developed, the size of the lots and looks of the homes told the story. Alejandro had big plans for his killer piece of real estate, too. Were we interested in buying a beachfront lot? You betcha, after hearing his rock bottom offer. Now how to pay for it. Master Card?

Things moved quickly as he explained the mystery of buying land as a foreigner. Though we’d heard of the fideicomiso, or real estate trust, he gave us a refresher course. When land was within 50 kilometers of the ocean or Mexico’s borders, foreigners were required to have a Mexican partner in land transactions. Usually the partner was a Mexican bank that held a 50-year renewable trust. The fee simple title was placed in the name of the bank selected as trustee, giving the buyer full ownership rights to buy, sell, lease the land, or pass on to heirs.

“I’m still in the final stages of clearing title for my land,” he continued. “Until that’s finalized I can’t subdivide the property but it should happen within a year.”

We settled into the solitude of Puerto Morelos beaches

We looked at each other, aware of the other’s thoughts. A whole year to wait. Alejandro must have read our minds for then he said, “Of course we can write up a formal contract staking out the lot you plan to buy. We’ll notarize it and once the title is cleared, you’ll be ready to build. We’ll transfer funds at the time we draw up the contract and then you can have your fideicomiso prepared.”

This seemed an appropriate way to move forward. Alejandro would be in San Franciso in a couple months and we could then draw up a contract for the property. We shook hands on the deal, pleased with our good luck.

Since we still had vacation days left, we rented a bungalow near Alejandro’s and settled into the solitude of Puerto Morelos beaches. At night we walked into town along the dark jungle road guided only by the rays of the moon. We soon got used to the streets, the people, the tempo of life. We knew when the bank was open; what day the vegetable vendor set up his stand; what time to find the sporadic baker selling bread. We were getting accustomed to polite nods or the occasional “Buenos tardes” from people we didn’t know. We were fitting in.

We marveled over the aimless dogs, sleeping in the streets in the sweltering sun. They weren’t vicious nor did they bark. Even if a car came close to hitting them, they barely moved. To us this epitomized a sleepy pueblo on the Mexican Caribbean coast—life was so secure dogs could sleep in the street uninhibited and unconcerned.

We’d found our place at the end of the world. We were on our way.

Alejandro and the author at the land. Photo Paul Zappella