This poignant anecdote was shared by my hair stylist, who continued to chat as she trimmed my layers. “You learn a lot about yourself when you visit Tulum,” she noted nonchalantly, punctuating her sentence with a deft flick of the wrist in order to clear her scissors and then measured — and remeasured— a new layer of hair neatly on the back of my head. The simple sentiments stuck with me, because I immediately understood.
Unlike the major tourist destinations in Mexico, Tulum is not for the faint of heart. We’ve all come to learn what to expect from neighboring Cancun and Playa Del Carmen — cue visions of sombreros and sugar skulls and colorful woven table runners — but I found that most people I spoke to in the country’s wellness and yoga capital had arrived with various ‘holistic’ expectations (largely influenced by the Tulum’s recent surge in Instagram popularity), but eventually left with an understanding of a far different reality. Tulum, as it turns out, doesn’t resonate with everyone; but those who love it, well, they really love it.
Tulum, as a civilization, has been around for centuries and the roots here run deep. Archaic Mayan ruins still stand sentinel, overlooking cliffs on a pristine sugar-sand beach; the only Mayan city to ever have been built on the coast. It enjoyed life as a profitable trading port for many years but, after the fall of the Mayans, things became quiet for Tulum — that was, until about 20 years ago, when people vacationing from Europe and the neighboring United States began to trickle in and very quickly realized the paradise that hid right beneath the town’s off-the-grid, jungle-esque exterior. At the time, Tulum was nothing more than an essential hippie commune where one could rent a tent on the beach for mere pennies, then go and spearfish yourself some lunch all within the same hour. Hotel reservations were unheard of — you simply arrived into town by hitching a ride on the town’s one major thoroughfare and saw which seaside shanties had a vacancy for that night. Protip: most of them did.
Things have changed since then. Vacancy signs now have a very stern “no” addendum nailed right before them and the beach is full of chairs and odd rope-hanging mattress swings, not tents and grill-irons placed over sandy coals. Everything’s been commodified for consumption, at least a little bit. You can receive mass-produced spa treatments that feature mayan clay and take boat tours through the large wilderness area of Sian Ka’an. You can sip a jalepeno martini while taking instagram photos on thousand year old stone structures, or just take one of several thousand 300-peso yoga classes overlooking the clear aquamarine waters (probably taught by a bearded hippie from Colorado or tanned model from LA). The Mayan culture is still strong, influencing everything from the region’s distinct take on Yucatan cuisine all the way to sacred Mayan rituals which effectively cleanse and renew for psyche and soul — for a fee. It’s all a wonderful spectacle, but one that still feels very real.
I’m still not sure if people make a trip to Tulum for the wellness aspect, or if they first arrive in Tulum and then are simply absorbed by it. I suppose it depends on the traveller, but one thing is certain: wellness is first and foremost in everyone’s mind, as well as plastered on signs and advertisements around the town, but it roots deeper here than you’d originally think. You’ve got your everyday yoga class hosted within feet of the lapping, azul waters, but you’ll also likely encounter wellness experiences you’ve never heard of, such as multi-vibrational sound healing (basically the quantum physics theory in practice) and the temezcal sweat lodge (several hours of herbs, sweat, chanting and renewal). Furthermore, you’ll feel almost obligated to take part in it because when will you ever have the chance again? Think waterside massages and mayan clay body wraps, raw juice cleanses and full moon chanting circles; whatever calls you, just lean into it and you’re sure to find a small slice of the Tulum community that agrees. Remember, if it’s for your health, can it truly be that bad — or that hedonistic? Whatever, might as well just go for it.
— and when you’re done with your sunrise meditation and tai chi, even then Tulum continues to give generously. It’s a town set in a true paradise, the Mayan Riviera, and beautiful things happens against this backdrop of parrots and vines and pristine beach and freshwater swimming holes. From those cliff-dwelling Mayan ruins to dive bars swallowed by thick jungle, to stay indoors in Tulum is to miss out on the lands true magic. The area boasts more cenotes than anywhere in the world, as well as an underwater cave system that divers delightfully explore again, and again, and then one more time. To jump in a cenote is to purify oneself, and these areas are still delightful well-kept and respected. The more prominent cenotes, like Dos Ojos or Casa Cenote, tend to be crowded during the busy winter months, but if you are inclined to adventure, then there are no shortage of undiscovered crystalline paradises just a hike and a machete-whacking away. Jaguars live here, the Mayan gods continue to thrive here, plants act as medicine here, and the ancient Mayan people still inhabit this land today in the deft hands and feet of the hardworking and tireless locals.
It is a magic land; a holy land, and not a single person who steps foot in Tulum can deny that certain, powerful energies converge here.
If you visited Tulum today, at this moment, you might be greeted with a sight wholly unexpected: brown sargasso seaweed, large swathes of it upon the beach, stinking and rotting in the sun. It is removed nightly by the hardworking Mayan people, but by the morning’s first light, it usually washes back. Only recently, environmental issues have begun to plague this area of Quintana Roo as its infrastructure struggles to handle the growth of their tourism sector. It was always Tulum’s biggest industry, but now it’s exploded in a way that is unsustainable. Diesel generators chug and burn all day and night to fuel air conditioners. The sewers systems, what exists of them, pump sewage directly into the aquifers. The buzz of chainsaws can be heard constantly as the raze the rainforest to build yet another jungle casita. Mother Nature is dying, and you can feel it.
The higher you climb, the farther you have to fall.
It’s a sad reality for the people who end up in Tulum, because they are not looking to be found. It’s a place of escapism (and a little bit of hedonism), with a party scene is like no other (if that’s what you’re into). I’ve overheard people sincerely thanking bartenders for giving them the best night of their lives while at a moonlit rave and, while dancing upon a bar in the rain or jumping into a cenote after partaking in one too many mezcal, I’ve heard people exclaim sentiments of disbelief. “Is this all real?” they ask sincerely, their eyes searching yours for permission to answer the call of — well, whatever was calling to them at that moment. Whatever it is, the answer is yes. Yes, this paradise of woven ropes and coconut husks is real. The land of smoothie bowls and energy healing; not only is it real, but here, even the most wild of things are considered fair game. So, what happened?
People are what happened. It’s only natural for travelers to be attracted to the world’s most beautiful and remote of places, but at what cost? Tulum, nestled in the middle of the jungle, simply cannot accommodate the rising number of who come to experience this mystic and holy land. Our desire to find ourselves while losing ourselves is an exploration that a single nook of the Mayan Riviera can sustain. It won’t be real for long, not if things don’t change. Nothing can stay magic forever.
