It’s not the turquoise sea that’s driving people away from Tulum. It’s the price of a footprint in the sand.
In a town once hailed as the barefoot jewel of the Riviera Maya, a growing number of tourists are walking straight past its gates, heading instead to Bacalar’s calm lagoon, Playa del Carmen’s raucous boardwalk, Cancún’s polished resorts, or Isla Mujeres’ sunlit shores. Tulum, battered by environmental decay and restrictive access, is bleeding visitors. And now, someone’s finally sounding the alarm. His name is Jorge Portilla Mánica.
In a rare moment of unity during the town’s twentieth council session, Portilla pushed forward a bold proposal: Free beach access in Tulum’s Jaguar Park, free access to the beaches. Not behind velvet ropes. Not under the watchful eyes of security guards or tour operators. But open, truly open, for everyone. For the weary traveler. For the local kid with salt in their hair. For the family chasing the breeze.
Free Access at Parque El Jaguar: More Than a Gesture
Make no mistake, this isn’t just about ideology or public good. It’s triage.
Tourism, the lifeblood of Tulum’s economy, is in a tailspin. Hotel occupancy, according to recent surveys shared by Portilla, hovers around a paltry 40%. Businesses are shuttering earlier than usual. Local families, many of whom depend on the informal tourism economy, are struggling to stay afloat.
And the sargassum? That stinking, sludgy seaweed? It’s become an annual scourge. “A natural disaster,” Portilla called it, one that doesn’t just cloud the shoreline, it clouds livelihoods. The regidor Eugenio Barbachano Segura, in a rare scientific interjection, warned that sargassum levels will keep increasing every year unless root causes are addressed. Climate models agree.
But behind these numbers and biological forecasts, there’s a simple truth: tourists aren’t coming because they’re being priced, and fenced, out. “Today, they go to Bacalar, Playa del Carmen, Cancún, and Isla Mujeres because here, you have to pay,” Portilla said bluntly. And that, he argued, needs to change, starting with Parque El Jaguar.
A Festival, A Reckoning, A Last Shot?
The council didn’t just nod politely and move on. In a surprisingly cooperative gesture, Mayor Diego Castañón Trejo gave his full blessing to organizing working groups. Meetings are being set up not just with Quintana Roo’s Governor Mara Lezama Espinosa, but with federal agency heads, legislators, and even incoming President Claudia Sheinbaum. The crisis, after all, isn’t merely local.
One immediate strategy? A summer festival, music, dance, culture, Caribbean energy all converging under the Tulum sun. The kind of event that says, “We’re still here. And we’re worth the trip.” Council members backed it. There wasn’t much debate. No one needed convincing that Tulum needs a spark.
But Portilla wasn’t done. He reminded the room that none of this, no event, no access policy, no meeting in Mexico City, will mean a thing if they don’t truly listen to the people. Not just the business owners and hoteliers, but the families, the workers, the ones whose futures are tied to the tides. “What matters in this emergency,” he said, “is that the voices of the citizens are heard.”
It’s rare to see a politician call for unity without posturing. Rarer still to see an entire council inch toward consensus. But the cracks in Tulum’s paradise are growing too wide to ignore. And maybe, just maybe, opening the beaches at Parque El Jaguar isn’t just about access. Maybe it’s the first step toward healing a wounded town.
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