By Deborah Gray

Sitting in a French bakery drinking iced latte and savouring an almond croissant as good as any that I have eaten in France, I am a happy tourist. It’s 2019 and the world has not yet heard of Coronavirus.

Round-faced Mexican women drift from table to table with the languid fluidity perfected by those born in warm places. They are pleased to work here on the Costa del Maya, in a country where a Chiapas girl-child can still be exchanged for a pig and a crate of beer.

Beyond the bakery, palm-lined streets drip with wealth and scented frangipani flowers.

Through the trees I watch a large-throated crane rearing its yellow head over the crown of a kapok tree - and I am not talking ornithology. Beneath it, two builders in yellow hard hats hang by straps securing metal girders in position. Someone (probably not local) is making serious money from this plot of prime real estate.

The popularity of this coastal strip is pushing development further along the coast. Once sleepy villages, like Playa del Carmen, where thirty years ago you could sleep in hammocks by the beach, have developed into Florida-style resorts. 

Mexican President, López Obrador, reported that tourism contributed US $22 billion to the economy in 2018, making it Mexico’s third biggest foreign-exchange earner. It is claimed that every Mexican household benefits by 4.4%.

The jungle is being eaten up in a new extinction event led by the fierce jaws of mechanical Caterpillars, which indiscriminately scrape away flora and fauna. Development has spread inland to accommodate the supermarkets, dentists, and phone shops required by the expanding population that lives on the back of tourism.

Land south of Playa Del Carmen has been divided into lots for development. There is to be a new cruise port, with a railway and a station. The train will signal the end of isolation for poorly connected coastal towns. Remote beaches and lagoons are being bought for development in anticipation.

Each new building needs water, electricity and sewerage, putting more pressure on the unique and fragile water system. The Yucatan Peninsula consists of one vast limestone pavement. Under its surface lies an intricate system of underground waterways, much of which remain unmapped. There are no surface rivers.

Asteroid impact 66 million years ago fractured the limestone creating freshwater pools called cenotes, which are fed by the aquifer. This one water source has to cater for the needs of the entire population of the Yucatan Peninsula. Unsurprisingly, the water table is showing signs of stress.

Simultaneously, the water is being poisoned by polluted backfill. Tulum markets itself as an ecotourism destination; however, the waste from ‘sustainable’ hotels is dumped, along with all the town’s other garbage, on a steaming open tip in the jungle. Chlorine from the resort has been identified many miles into the wilderness, transported by underground streams.

The first to suffer from the pollution will be the subsistence farmers. For thousands of years, they have eked out a meagre living by irrigating their crops with cenote water. Despite being a unique ecosystem, the Yucatan aquifer is not protected, although World Heritage Status is pending for the area around the asteroid strike.

When visiting, I go to a ‘secret’ cenote. I scramble down a narrow path to a cliff face, at the foot of which is a water-filled cave that glistens like an aquamarine gemstone in a downtown jewellers. On close inspection, the pool is filled with life: catfish, mojarras and guppies. Coils of sisal hang down from the cliff edges and, as I swim, mot-mot birds fly back and forth to their nests uttering the cry that gives them their name. Relatives of the kingfisher, their blue-and-orange plumage flashes like tourmaline pendants in the strips of sunlight that penetrate the dense foliage.

It’s the travel writer’s job to paint picture of the world they visit and if my words are effective they will lure in more visitors. My fee, the Mexican government’s take, what is the difference? 

Cenote swims are offered to cruise ship passengers and day trippers, eager to try it for themselves. On my last visit, the path to the ‘secret’ cenote had been cleared. Tourists on 4x4 buggy rides roar along the rough tracks, stirring up dust, leaving behind fumes, cookie wrappers and plastic bottles. They visit the ‘secret’ cenote to cool off as the finale of their jungle adventure.

It’s easy to see why the Mexican Government would sacrifice this relatively small piece of land. It generates the hard currency required to lift people from the grip of poverty. Maybe education and filtered down wealth will save the poor girls of Chiapas from being traded and build decent housing and hospitals. Of course, corruption and avarice play their part too, but that’s another story.

Post pandemic I have to reflect on where my moral compass leads me. The reduction in tourist numbers has given the ecosystems in tourist areas a break. Even a single year has seen some species begin to recover and the easing of air and water pollution has been measured across the globe. Conversely, the lack of tourists has created increased opportunities for the poaching of wildlife, particularly on the African reserves. 

The absence of visitors has been devastating for those who rely on tourism for their livelihood, most of whom have no job security. Without the return of visitors, they cannot feed their families or pay for medicines. Do I not owe it to them to return and eat their tortillas and ride in their taxis?

Kathleen Jamie in her book Among Muslims refers to ‘the poisoned chalice of tourism. That which destroys what it seeks’. And I am responsible not only for my own contribution as a tourist, but for enticing others to do likewise. This the dilemma faced by the travel writer - one who craves the sun, the birdsong and breakfast at the French Café in Playa del Carmen.

Deborah Gray is a travel and food writer with a curiosity about the world and how it works. When travelling, she finds her place in the world, learning new things, experiencing different cultures and meeting people.