Tourism is now the third-largest part of the local economy, behind fishing and the palm plantations, a municipal official explains — though it runs almost entirely on a single season, from December through the summer. The rest of the year, things go quiet.
Because Costa Ricans — Ticos, as they call themselves — rarely have the capital to invest at the scale tourism demands, most of the hotels and restaurants here are foreign-owned. Even so, he's quick to point out what tourism still gives back: real tax revenue, and real employment, for the local economy.
What worries him more is what's happening to the land itself. Tourism's growth has driven prices up sharply, and more and more local farmers are selling rather than holding on. It usually looks like a windfall at first — a large sum of money, all at once — but that money runs out, and then they're left with neither land nor work.
A newer, stranger pattern has emerged alongside it: pure speculation. Buyers purchase land not to build or farm it, but simply to resell it later at a higher price. In the meantime it sits untouched — in a region, he notes, where every hectare could genuinely be put to good use.
“Sometimes the land is bought, resold for more, and simply left empty — in an area where we could use every bit of it.”
There are things that give him hope. A number of local entrepreneurs are investing specifically in ecotourism, and there are still hotels here owned and run by Costa Ricans themselves.
His ask of visitors is straightforward: think about where the money goes. Choose hotels that operate with real care for the environment and the surrounding nature — and where possible, spend a night, or eat a meal, at a place actually owned by a Tico.