Overlooked Costa Rica: Expat Life on the Caribbean Coast

Playa Negra—an up-and-coming neighborhood on Costa Rica’s Caribbean coast—flanks a bay of black volcanic sand. A hundred yards to the east, the pastel-painted clapboard homes and businesses of Puerto Viejo de Talamanca break the skyline. To the west, only lazy palm trees and deep green forest are visible.

As each knee-high wave rolls onto the shore, the contrast between pure white seafoam and the glittering obsidian black of the beach is breathtaking—an optical tour de force that’s as impressive as a full moon in the night sky. When you swim below the surface and grab a handful of sand, the wet grains are so fine it’s as though you’ve squeezed a tube of paint into your palm.

It’s here, on a half-acre plot of land just half a mile from the beach, that North Carolina native Bruce Cromartie sees his future playing out. A retired consultant accountant who moved to Costa Rica "to reset to zero, forget everything, and enjoy life," he immediately saw the area’s potential for development when he first visited Puerto Viejo in 2019.

"I fell in love with it," he says, as we sit down for shredded lamb tacos and beers at La Chilanga restaurant by the beach. "You’ve got well-paved streets, good sidewalks, the friendliest people ever. And the beaches are beautiful."

For Bruce, there’s a historical and social aspect to Puerto Viejo and Playa Negra that’s precious to him. The region has a long history of Jamaican settlement, as workers who came to Costa Rica to build the Cartago-Puerto Limón railroad in the 1940s moved to the coast and brought their Jamaican heritage with them.

Bruce Cromartie with his team at Blue Morpho Hotel—the business he’s started in Playa Negra.

As a Black man, it’s comforting to Bruce to be in a part of Costa Rica that is not only beautiful, affordable, and growing in popularity, but where people of color are an integral part of the local society.

"I got stopped too many times in the US for ‘driving while Black,’" he chuckles. "The most inviting thing here is that you’re just a person.

"It was hilarious for me, coming to a culture where the color of your skin just doesn’t matter."

Here, the color of your skin just doesn’t matter.

An additional bonus for Bruce is that the Jamaican settlers brought their language—English—with them. It’s the primary language for many of the locals in the region.

"I can speak a little Spanish," he says, "but I’m not as good at understanding what’s being said to me. I can have a simple conversation, but not much more than that. Here, on the Caribbean side, people speak English much more than in the rest of Costa Rica."

About two years ago, Bruce sensed an opportunity and bought his half-acre lot for $80,000. Since then, he’s been project managing a development of nine vacation homes that he plans to rent out on Airbnb.

"Building a project like that over here was a little complicated," he admits with a smile. "It’s over deadline, but everything’s mainly finished now."

These vacation homes will give him a solid financial, and physical, base for his Caribbean retirement.

At the age of 67, Bruce qualifies for Costa Rica’s retirement visa. Applicants must have a pension of at least $1,000 per month, and a small percentage (around 10%) of declared income is deducted to pay for access to Costa Rica’s excellent CAJA healthcare system.

It’s a fraction of what he paid in the US.

"The medical system in the US is driven by insurance and pharmaceutical companies," he says. "My deductible back there was $3,000. I got an x-ray on my knee in the US that cost me $1,200 after I’d been on a waiting list for three weeks. In Costa Rica, the same thing took five minutes after arriving, and cost me $57. I mean—what?!

"My health has improved immensely since moving here," he continues. "I’ve lost 20 pounds, my diabetes is under control. A lot of it is a lack of stress—I’m happy here, more relaxed. But there’s also a lot less additives in the food. I feel good! I walk five miles on the beach every day. I didn’t do that in the US."

Even day-to-day practicalities boost Bruce’s health. "Everything is very close, you don’t need a car, and it’s mostly flat, so a bike is enough to get around. You can live here—as a single person—on $1,500 a month, easily. It’s not cheap in Costa Rica, but overall, things are more affordable than in the US."

And, he adds, living a less materialistic lifestyle brings more than just cost benefits.

"You can’t bring US expectations and be happy here," he says. "You just have to enjoy what you have and embrace the relaxed culture. That’s why ticos live longer than we do. I’m trying to slow down, and just enjoy life."

"Really? With a nine-unit development project on the go?" I ask him.

He laughs, and takes a sip of local Imperial beer.

"Well," he admits with a wry smile, "I’m getting there."