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One of the things I’ve become used to over the years is the incessant questions about my favorite Central American country.
I won’t identify it here, but it’s a wonderful place, full of wonderful people and breathtaking scenery. I am constantly being asked about the place.
It’s probably the property I bought, or the frequent trips I take, or the occasional cell phone conversation in my always-improving Spanish that someone overhears when I’m talking to a friend who lives down there. Whatever the reason, there seems to be a universal sense of curiosity about my favorite foreign country among those who haven’t visited.
Years ago, I could talk without ceasing about the place. There was no detail too unimportant to communicate to anyone who would listen about this then-recent discovery of mine – I was everyone’s personal tour guide and sounding board and I enjoyed the role.
But as time has gone by, I have found myself becoming more and more reluctant to divulge that I know anything at all about the place. Indeed, in this essay I am refusing to even mention it by name.
Why is that?
There are many reasons. Over the years, I have become more protective of my family’s privacy and safety, and have taken a number of steps to insure their security. It wouldn’t do for me to talk too much about exactly where we go or where we have property.
And I have – regrettably - become a NIMBY. Once I obtained property there, I found myself not wanting anyone else to do the same. Yankee investors in Central America are rapidly becoming a plague. Being one of them, I should know.
And then there is the time factor: I rarely have the time these days to sit around providing free travel advice about a land far away where I’d prefer they not visit anyway.
Finally, there are the hazards of airplane travel. Countless plane trips down there have taught me to avoid my fellow travelers when possible, but to always respond in the negative if I am asked “Have you ever been here before?” If I answer “yes,” I will spend the next several hours being hectored about what kind of food do they have and what’s the weather like and are the people friendly and do they speak English and is it like the last place where I took a vacation and how come you look so annoyed when I ask you 200 questions about this place that I should have researched before I bought a freakin’ plane ticket…
You see, I have become quite the curmudgeon in my old age.
But despite my complaints, I’m not really all that reticent to talk about the place. Hell, I’m writing about it now. But I’m doing it on my terms, and that’s how I prefer to do it. I still get excited about my favorite foreign country, and am constantly dreaming of the day when I can finally spend most of my time there. But I have learned that the novelty of paradise eventually wears off for those who are serious about it, and that no amount of talking or writing will truly enlighten another person about this place I one day hope to call home.
It’s like religion. No one can do it for you - you have to do it on your own.
So if we should meet, feel free to ask me all about it – but please don’t feel badly if I suggest that you check it out for yourself.
June 30, 2009 |
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CentroAmerico |
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