THE MEXICO LAND DEAL—BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

 

A Dock in Quintana Roo

Back in San Francisco we returned to life as we knew it: work, stress and traffic. In our spare time we lived and dreamed Mexico. This Mexico dream Paul and I were creating went back to my flower child roots and gave me hope that I still had a bohemian streak in my now routinely ordinary life. 

Alejandro arrived mid-summer and we had papers drawn up as fully as possible without actual parcel numbers and the legalese required in a land buy. We depleted our savings and wrote Alejandro a check. Now we were one step closer to owning a beachfront lot in the Mexican Caribbean. To finance construction we planned to sell our California house but would wait until paperwork was finalized before taking that ultimate decisive action.

Every chance we had we ran back to Mexico. On one trip we sat down with Alejandro and drew up house plans. Not long afterwards Alejandro was back in the States. It was 1986. He’d finished construction on his Puerto Morelos home, built a cottage in back, and hired a Maya worker as caretaker. He’d placed an ad in travel sections of U.S. newspapers and rented his house out to tourists. Apparently business was brisk. We were impressed . . . again.

And what was happening with the title for the property? That’s why he was back in the U.S. To prepare the property for future sales he’d need infrastructure, electricity and roads, so he was looking for more investors. Paul and I decided to wait to take our next trip south until there was something we could sign, like the fideicomiso. 

By October I hadn't heard from Alejandro and we'd hoped to take a vacation at Christmas if the title cleared. Even though we avoided calling, not wanting to become nuisances, it had been long enough. His secretary put me through. 

"Hello Jeanine. As a matter of fact I'd planned to call you. I have news about the land. Some important news." 

As that sentence dangled before me, he continued. "Things have changed a bit and I've been waiting for confirmation. Now I have it. It was looking a little bleak for a few months and I didn't want to worry you and Paul. But here it is.

"It seems the State of Quintana Roo has decided to pre-empt my purchase of the land near Playa del Carmen. The state needs that land to build a new car ferry to Cozumel. They plan to move it from Puerto Morelos to Playa." 

A thousand thoughts raced through my mind. Pre-empted? Car ferry? "But Alejandro," I stammered. "What about our lot?" 

"That's why I haven't called for some time. I've been in negotiations with the governor's office for several months trying to sort this out. They're seizing the land by eminent domain and had planned on giving me fair market value for the property. Of course, their view of what the property is worth and my view differ widely. Since I purchased the property two and a half years ago, tourism has soared in Cancun and you've seen how Playa has grown. They'd planned to give me $50,000 US for the land and I know it's worth much more than that." 

By this time Paul was nearby and had sensed my anguish. He probably also saw I was hyper-ventilating. 

"What's happened?" he demanded. "What's going on?" 

I lowered the phone's mouthpiece and spoke over it. "They've seized the land by eminent domain and want to give Alejandro $50,000." 

"What?" Paul yelled. "Who seized it?" 

"But hold on, hold on," continued Alejandro. "I have more news, better news. My brother has a friend in the governor's office and he's convinced them that instead of simply giving me market value, they should actually find another piece of land—beachfront—and trade my land for this new property. It's taken a while to find something still available and a worthwhile swap. But we found land nearby. The parcel is much larger and it has potential, with a fresh water stream feeding into the ocean, and cenotes." 

Cenotes are freshwater pools common in the Yucatán as the Peninsula has only a few rare rivers above ground.

“Where it it?” I murmured, feeling like I’d just been hit by a Mack truck.

“It’s four kilometers north of Playa. The land is close to Capitán Lafitte. Are you familiar with that property?”

Of course I was familiar with Lafitte’s. It was a small, picturesque hotel with palapas on the beach and a restaurant. Quite the romantic setting, laidback and off the beaten track.

Well, that didn’t sound so bad. Lafitte’s beaches were something to behold. Maybe Alejandro had dodged the bullet by having friends in high places. Maybe we would still own land in Mexico after all.

But this part of our adventure let me know one thing for certain . . . when buying land in a foreign country, fasten your seat belt because anything can happen. We were heading for a very bumpy ride.

A Beach in the Yucatan

If you enjoyed this post, check out  Where the Sky is Born: Living in the Land of the Maya, on Amazon. My website is www.jeaninekitchel.com. Books one and two in my Mexico cartel trilogy, Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, and Tulum Takedown, are also on Amazon. And my journalistic overview of the Maya 2012 calendar phenomenon, Maya 2012 Revealed: Demystifying the Prophecy, is on Amazon.

DIFFERENT STROKES FOR DIFFERENT FOLKS—NEW ERA, NEW EXPATS

 

A Tulum Beach

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. 

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.

"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 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.

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 acquistion. Although not much was developed, the size of the lots and the 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 an heir.

"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 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 you can have your fideicomiso prepared."

This seemed an appropriate way to move forward. Alejandro would be in San Francisco 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 the 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 a the end of the world. We were on our way.

The author with Alejandro on the land. Photo Paul Zappella

If you enjoyed this post, check out  Where the Sky is Born: Living in the Land of the Maya, on Amazon. My website is www.jeaninekitchel.com. Books one and two in my Mexico cartel trilogy, Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, and Tulum Takedown, are also on Amazon. And my journalistic overview of the Maya 2012 calendar phenomenon, Maya 2012 Revealed: Demystifying the Prophecy, is on Amazon.