As imports become cheaper than local products, the future of Costa Rica’s communities depends on the choices we make.
A strong currency is supposed to signal strength. Stability. Progress.
But here—where rainforest meets ocean, where livelihoods are tied to the rhythm of the land—it tells a different story.
Over the past three years, the Costa Rican Colón has surged from 700 to 450 per US dollar. On paper, it’s an economic win. On the ground, it’s something else entirely.
Because when a currency strengthens this fast, it quietly rewrites the rules of survival.
For the farmer tending his land at first light.
For the fisher reading the tides before dawn.
For the cheesemaker in the cloud forest perfecting a craft passed down through generations.
It makes their work harder to sustain—and easier to replace.
When the Math Stops Making Sense
At Arenas Del Mar, we ran the numbers: We analyzed 24 essential ingredients in our kitchen.
What we found was stark: nearly two-thirds are now cheaper to import than to source locally.
Not marginally cheaper. Significantly.
A New York strip from abroad costs 32% less than one raised on Costa Rican soil.
Imported ribs undercut local producers by 63%.
Even coconut yogurt—simple, elemental—is 62% cheaper traveling thousands of miles.
The spreadsheet tells a clear story: switch suppliers, protect margins, move on. That’s the conventional path. But we’ve never followed the conventional path.
The Cost of Choosing Differently
We don’t just build hotels. We rebuild ecosystems.
And that means making decisions that don’t always make financial sense—but make human sense.
A frozen salmon filet, shipped across oceans, is easy. Predictable. Profitable.
But it carries no story. No connection. No life beyond the plate.
So we choose differently.
We work with the fishers who launch their boats into the Pacific just beyond our shores. We buy what the ocean gives that day. No guarantees. No shortcuts.
Because if we stop buying, they stop sailing.
The same is true in the highlands of Monteverde, where families like Bernal’s have transformed milk into something enduring—craft, pride, identity. Imported cheese may be cheaper. But it doesn’t carry the weight of that story. It doesn’t sustain a community.
What We’re Really Protecting
This isn’t just about food costs.
It’s about the invisible threads that hold a place together.
When local producers are replaced by imports, something deeper begins to unravel. Land is abandoned. Knowledge disappears. Communities fracture.
The ecosystem suffers—but so do the people who have always protected it.
At Cayuga, regeneration isn’t a concept. It’s a responsibility.
Every decision we make—what we serve, who we buy from, how we operate—either strengthens that system or weakens it.
There is no neutral.
Your Role in This Story
When you sit down for a meal at one of our hotels, you’re not just choosing what to eat.
You’re choosing which system to support.
The steak on your plate. The fish caught that morning. The cheese shaped by hand in the mountains—these are not just ingredients.
They are livelihoods. They are ecosystems. They are acts of resistance.
And together, they become something more: a living expression of Luxury Rewilded—where every experience restores, rather than extracts.
We will continue to pay the local premium.
We will continue to choose people over margins.
We will continue to invest in what cannot be imported: community, culture, and connection.
Because a Costa Rica without its farmers, its fishers, its makers—
is not a Costa Rica worth experiencing.
For more information, contact us at [email protected].
