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Outside Magazine, October 2006
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Destinations
The Pleasure's All Mayan (cont.)

yucatan peninsula
Left: Hotel Deseo, in Playa del Carmen; Right: A boatman at Fairmont's Mayakoba (João Canziani)

BEFORE THE COMING of the gringos, before there were tequila shooters and Señor Frog's, before there were Girls Gone Wild and MTV's Spring Break and the all-inclusive-package deal, the eastern coast of the Yucatán Peninsula was tangled and growly and wild. Jaguars, pumas, and tapirs roamed over unbroken tropical forest and mangrove swamplands. Maya villages and chicle plantations cropped up here and there, but human contact was so rare that when the American geographer Clinton Edwards rambled through the territory (now the state) of Quintana Roo in the fifties, he proclaimed it "Mexico's empty quarter."

Then, like Walt Disney scouting for acreage in Anaheim, Mexican officials surveyed the Yucatán in search of the perfect site for the country's first master-planned resort, and in 1970 they chose an eight-mile-long barrier island near the peninsula's northeastern tip. Kan Kun, as it was originally known—"Pot of Snakes" in Mayan—succeeded beyond its planners' wildest dreams. Every year, upwards of seven million tourists flock to the city's Zona Hotelera, which may be the most densely packed piece of rack-rate real estate south of the Las Vegas Strip. The Mexicans who rake the beaches and run the restaurants and manage the city's $2-billion-plus tourist economy call the place Gringolandia.

Even as Cancún prospered, the coast to the south remained a frontier. Until recently it was still possible to drive down Highway 307 to sleepy towns like Playa del Carmen and Tulum and experience Mexico in all of its rough-edged, empty-beached, warm-bottle-of-Negra-Modelo glory. But in an effort to push Cancún's prosperity beyond the Zona, in the eighties the state tourism agency invited development from Cancún to Tulum, later branding the 80-mile stretch the "Riviera Maya."

yucatan peninsula
Left: Sian Ka'an Biosphere Reserve; Right: A room at Tulum's Casa Magna (João Canziani)

As I barrel down the highway from Cancún, it's clear that vast tracts of mangrove wetlands have been bulldozed to make way for all-inclusive resorts. In the past decade, Playa del Carmen has exploded, real estate prices have skyrocketed, and hotel rooms have increased from 3,500 to 30,000. In five years there will be 50,000. "Until recently, most of the money stayed in Cancún," says Felipe Alvarado, assistant manager of KaiLuum Cito, a small, idyllic ecotourism resort some 200 miles from Cancún, near Majahual. "The government is trying to move that money south."

The money is moving so fast, in fact, that some small-scale resorts have been pushed out of business. KaiLuum Cito is owned by Clayton Ball, an American whose family pioneered ecotourism in the Yucatán in 1976 with the original KaiLuum, an elegant tent camp on the beach 43 miles from Cancún that was forced to close last year. "We were leasing our land from an adjacent resort, and they got offered $14 million for the property," Ball tells me. "They held out for a while, but finally the price went so high they sold it." Anticipating that development will continue moving southward, Ball not only opened KaiLuum Cito; he also bought property even farther down the coast and is prepping it for KaiLuum's next incarnation.

There have been other troubles, too. By paving the mangroves, the big hotels destroyed natural hurricane buffers and habitat for a vast range of wildlife, from anteaters and iguanas to migratory songbirds. Business owners complained that the all-inclusive resorts attracted visitors who, having paid for their food and drinks up front, were too cheap to sample the locally owned bars and restaurants. Boomtowns like Playa del Carmen were growing so fast, sewage systems and treatment plants couldn't keep up, and the groundwater was becoming polluted. Gringolandia, it seemed, was sprawling out of control.

And then, surprisingly, state and local officials rose up against the Cancúnization of the Riviera Maya. Fearful of losing the natural "green gold" landscape that attracts more adventurous travelers, the state of Quintana Roo in 1994 passed strict zoning laws that limit the height of hotels and require tough new environmental protocols. Perhaps even more startling, the state has actually enforced them. Four years ago, when Fairmont Hotels proposed a new megaresort called Mayakoba, north of Playa del Carmen, state officials asked the corporation to rework its original design to meet with the new environmental standards; Fairmont readily complied.

"Instead of one hotel next to another, we want the resorts to be surrounded by jungle," says Dario Flota, executive director of the Riviera Maya Tourism Board. "We've got to keep the ecological conditions strong, because that's what makes the Riviera Maya attractive."




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