Out in Tulum, where the jungle still breathes and the ruins whisper, something quieter has started to vanish. Not with a bang, but with a glow. The kind that floods the streets long after midnight. The kind that climbs up into the night sky and drowns the stars.
Miroslava Pineda Landa has been watching this slow erasure for years. A sky-watcher and a self-described “time traveler,” she has spent half a decade mapping constellations from the shores of the Riviera Maya. But lately, what she sees, or doesn’t see, has troubled her.
“There are fewer stars every night,” she said bluntly. “It’s the lights. We’re losing the night because we’ve lit it up too carelessly.”
A proposal born under the stars
Earlier this month, Pineda Landa brought her concern to city officials. Standing before the Dirección General de Desarrollo Territorial Urbano Sustentable Municipal de Tulum, she presented a proposal that could put the town on a very different trajectory. One that looks up, not out.
The project calls for formal regulation of artificial lighting within the urban zone of Tulum. Not to ban light altogether, but to tame it, focus it, and shape it. The framework draws from a successful ordinance in Baja California, adapted in collaboration with the Mexican branch of the global Dark Sky organization. The idea is simple, use the light you need, and nothing more.
At its core, the proposed ordinance lays out specific rules around the type, intensity, and direction of artificial luminaires. Lights should point down, not out. Their glow should be warm, not harsh. Their presence, intentional, not accidental.
But the idea isn’t just technical. It’s philosophical.
Echoes of the past in every constellation
To Pineda Landa, preserving the night sky is about more than stargazing. It’s about honoring the deep astronomical legacy woven into the land beneath her feet.
“The Mayans were master astronomers,” she reminded local leaders. “They aligned their temples to Venus, to the sun, to constellations that marked the seasons. Their wisdom is written in the sky.”
By letting the stars fade behind the fog of modern lighting, she argues, we’re not just losing a view. We’re severing a line that connects the present with a knowledge system thousands of years old.
“It’s not just light pollution,” she said. “It’s cultural erosion.”
Tourism beyond the beach
There’s another angle to all of this, one that resonates deeply in a town so tightly entwined with global tourism. Tulum has become synonymous with beaches, cenotes, and jungle retreats. But what if its darkness could be marketed just as powerfully as its sunlight?
Astro-tourism as an economic engine
“A starry sky is a natural resource,” Pineda Landa said. “Tulum isn’t just sand and sea, it’s also sky. And tourists come here for that too, even if they don’t realize it yet.”
The potential for astro-tourism in the region is enormous. From guided stargazing walks to astronomy festivals and educational programs, dark skies could become an unexpected economic engine rooted in sustainability and serenity, not overdevelopment. As travelers seek more meaningful, low-impact experiences, the stars could offer something Tulum can no longer find in its crowded beaches, stillness.
A flicker of hope at City Hall
City officials, to their credit, listened. The proposal was met with an unusual sense of urgency. Several members of the local planning commission acknowledged that Tulum’s night sky is both a vulnerable resource and a symbolic one, part of what makes the region culturally distinct.
There were no votes taken and no regulations passed that day. But there was movement. And perhaps more importantly, there was attention. It’s the kind of early momentum that, if sustained, could set a precedent not just for Tulum but for other towns across the Yucatán Peninsula.
A responsibility written in light
In closing her appeal, Pineda Landa turned to the deeper reason behind it all. It wasn’t about nostalgia. It wasn’t even really about tourism.
“This sky,” she said, looking up, “was here long before any of us. It’s not ours to erase. But it is ours to protect.”
That sentiment, quiet, defiant, grounded in reverence, might be exactly what’s needed in a region moving at breakneck speed toward modernity. Amid all the noise of development, someone still needs to speak for the silence above.
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