2009 - First Light at AMA Estancia

This story recounts the final push to prepare AMA Estancia for its first occupancy—a deadline marked by chaos, improvisation, and unexpected turns. What began as an architectural project quickly expanded into operations, hospitality, and stewardship, revealing the depth of commitment required to truly bring a place to life.

AMA Estancia under construction - December 12, 2009.

AMA Estancia under construction - December 12, 2009.

author

KRISTIN MORALES, LEED BD+C
FOUNDER / PRINCIPAL DESIGNER

IVAN MORALES
FOUNDER / PRINCIPAL DESIGNER

The first occupancy deadline at AMA Estancia was set for Christmas 2009: 18 months after the start of construction and twice as long as originally planned. The owners lived in Europe and were planning to arrive for the holidays, which added another layer of pressure to meet the construction deadline. In those 18 months, we had to assemble a small team that included cleaning staff, accounting, woodworkers, and a chef—because in a small town like this, there are no caterers or service companies to call. You have to do it all yourself. At the time, living in Pedasí felt like being stranded on an island—cut off from conveniences, reliant on limited local resources, and entirely dependent on our own ability to figure things out as we went.

Nearly all projects require a herculean push at the end to finish. With this one, we had faced so many challenges along the way that we felt confident that we were in OK shape, however we were delayed, over budget, overstretched and close to burnt out, but kept pushing forward and uphill. We were close to first completion, and the stress and excitement on site was palpable. The rainy season was coming to an end after a particularly brutal few months of downpours, mudslides, and missed deadlines, the walls were finally being finished, and it felt like we were on the brink of completing something huge—though in hindsight, trying to finish so much construction during that season was a mistake. The wall finishes were also a nightmare—painstakingly applied using a special formula known only to one extremely difficult Colombian artisan who refused to share the technique with the general contractor, keeping his secrets as closely guarded as a family heirloom. Ivan eventually became the godfather to the artisan’s son—an honorary title we suspected was partly the price of getting the walls finished.

Even after 18 months, there was no electricity or internet on the property. The generator—delayed by two months—arrived just 10 days before the owner's visit, and only one reliable electrician was available to get it connected. Then came the plumbing surprise: the house didn’t have proper hot water pipes, and those that existed weren’t even hooked up to the shower mixers. To make matters worse, the plumber had never worked with hot water nor taken a hot shower before and didn’t think it was necessary—even though we had built mockups of the connections to guide the installation.

Ivan (arms crossed) during the arrival of generator - December 5th 2009

We also hadn’t installed any grass around the buildings yet, so the ground was muddy and slick—making it difficult and even dangerous to get in and out. At the same time, we were also finishing the lake and wrapping up the reforestation effort, which meant managing another crew with its own timelines, materials, and logistical headaches.

The kitchen, meanwhile, wasn’t operational until the very last minute, with appliances delivered the night before the owner’s arrival. We had the first Sub-Zero fridge in the area, and the delivery crew—who had driven in from Panama City—looked absolutely terrified by the state of completion when they dropped it off, as if they'd stumbled onto a construction site mid-chaos rather than a nearly-finished residence. We didn’t have power yet, so there was no way to verify whether any of the appliances actually worked—we just signed the paperwork, smiled nervously, and assumed responsibility with crossed fingers. The concrete on the counters was still drying as the woodworker installed the cabinetry underneath, and the stove—too heavy to maneuver and too risky to install in the mud—was left outside under a tarp for a couple of weeks, like a forgotten guest at a stormy barbecue.

It was a full-blown circus, and while all of this was happening, we had to reassure the owners—who were halfway across the world—that everything was fine. The kitchen wasn’t just unfinished—it was a disaster. Out of sheer necessity, this was also the moment when the hospitality portion of our scope truly began—an expansion of roles that started informally but became essential to the experience we were creating.

Ivan and Kristin selfie at local Pedasi restaurant - all cakes shown behind tasted exactly the same

After 18 months of living in town, we knew firsthand that the range of food options was limited, and we needed to be able to offer the owners more variety and quality than what was locally available. After a year and a half in town, we had also maxed out how much fried food and instant ramen any human could reasonably eat—let alone serve to the owners, who understandably had no intention of living on fried snacks and instant noodles. Enter Andres Morataya—who had recently moved to town and was working at a local hotel, known for hosting weekly sushi nights that made him something of a local celebrity. He was instrumental to that effort. Genuinely perfect for the job, we befriended him and quickly added him to the team. He was young, eager for more responsibility—equal parts culinary promise and comic relief, with the kind of enthusiasm that made even the impossible seem doable. In addition to overseeing the kitchen, Andres helped coordinate the cleaning staff and bring calm to the chaos with humor and grace. He would go on to become our hospitality manager for several years—a role he first assumed in those chaotic days leading up to first occupancy—and he remains a close friend to this day. He later became a well-known chef in Panama, celebrated for his creative use of local ingredients and his innovative approach to cuisine.

First light at AMA Estancia - December 21 2009

We also had to assemble a cleaning crew, led by our longtime cleaning lady in Pedasí—Carmen—who originally came included with our first house rental. Her granddaughter, Zuleimy, continues working with us to this day. We showed the new team a storeroom full of equipment—only to realize they had never seen a vacuum cleaner, much less a rotary iron. It was Andres who dashed out of the kitchen to teach them, vacuuming with the precision of a maître d’ and the flair of a stage performer. Watching him demonstrate proper technique in his crisp chef’s whites—apron fluttering behind him like a cape—was the comedic high point of a very tense week.

Ivan (left) Andres (right) - First Meal at AMA Estancia December 21, 2009

The team also included Horacio José Peralta Pineda (who goes by ‘Kusy’)—a local surfer we hired after our forest engineer met him on the beach and struck up a conversation that probably started with tide conditions and ended in job offers. Kusy emerged as a surprising yet essential figure in our reforestation efforts. He took the mission to heart, transforming into an environmental specialist almost overnight. He became our surf instructor and local guide, seamlessly toggling between tree planting and teaching owners how to pop up on a board without breaking a hip. He continues managing the forest and running recreational programs, and somehow still makes time to remind us what tide we’re on. So many invaluable people on our team had stretched, learned, and grown to help us complete the design and provide an experience at the property unlike anything that preceded it in the area—more than a handful of whom are still collaborating with us today.

With three days to spare before the owners' arrival, we will never forget the moment we connected the generator and watched the house flood with light. All of us stood on gravel in silence, stunned and teary-eyed, our hard work finally glowing back at us. It was one of those rare moments where exhaustion, relief, and pride converge into something unforgettable.

After more than a year of trial and error and wrestling with the wildness of the land, we could finally step back and see the project not just as a construction site, but as a place. It was beautiful—imperfect, unfinished, but undeniably alive.

The owners arrived and were incredibly gracious, grateful to "camp" at the house and surprisingly unbothered by the cold showers. Their positivity fueled the team, lifting spirits and giving us the momentum we needed to keep going. That moment felt like a finish line, but in truth, it was only the start. It would take years to truly complete the house, but those first few nights with lights on and people inside marked a turning point we’ll never forget. The stove and fridge miraculously worked, and the first meal Andres prepared was spectacular—a much-needed reminder that despite the chaos, something was finally coming together. In hindsight, it was the first time we saw a building we had designed come to life—inhabited, lived in, and tested. Normally, that’s when the architect’s role winds down. But in this case, it marked the start of an entirely new phase of work—one that involved operations, hospitality, and stewardship of the place we had helped create. It’s the kind of work that demands hard work, humility, and tenacity—traits we came to value more than ever in the months and years that followed.