Day 42 – Tulum

Back when I was a kid, we used to take Geography classes. Radical new wave teaching, I know, but bear with me. Occasionally, the teacher used to touch briefly on something called “The Greenhouse Effect”. This was cutting edge stuff. He talked about “renewable energy”, “acid rain” and polystyrene cups that didn't contain CFCs. Outside of school though, you only only heard this kind of stuff from dirty, white men with dreads and bra-less women with piercings.

Nowadays, green issues are not just big news, they are also big business. And leisure is no exception to that rule.

We made the decision to leave Playa on Sunday night. It'd been fun, but I'd had my fill of 60 peso Margharitas, cruise ships and souvenir stand owners trying to sell me weed. So we jumped on a bus and headed for Tulum.

Tulum holds the distinction of being the only place in Mexico where you can visit Mayan ruins on the beach. Type 'Tulum' into Google Images. You'll find images of a pale, grey limestone pyramid, framed by palm trees and the turquiose waters of the Carribean Sea. It's picturesque.

Tulum is also famous for cenotes. Cenotes are deep, freshwater holes in the ground. You see, the Yucatan peninsula is basically swiss cheese. When the limestone rose from the sea million years ago, vast networks of underground rivers were created by the retreating waters. As a result, the entire region is dotted with over 5,000 freshwater pools, themselves gateways to sunken caverns that flow for miles and miles. Which you can go diving in. Which we did.

I cannot speak highly enough about it. In all honesty, the prospect of cave diving was something I wasn't sure how to feel about. I'm always one for big fish, and you don't get much life in a cave system. The Pocket Rocket wasn't too sure about it all either, Even less so when we arrived at the dive site in a vehicle best described as the outline of a truck. You see, the entrance to our dive site was basically a hole in the ground only slightly wider than ourselves.

However, as soon as we climbed down the ladder, all doubts evaporated. It became clear why the Mayas considered these 'magical' cenotes to be the lifeblood of their empire. To step into a cenote cave is to drop into a world a good 4-5 degrees cooler than the stifling humidity of the surface. Clear, clear water casts ever shifting light patterns on the stalacmites that drop down from the ceiling. It's a serene place.

We did two dives that day, descending down into a network of sunken caverns and passageways piled on top of each other and filled with all kinds of weird and wonderful shapes and structures. Sometimes we would shine out torches into the gloom, watching the way the shadows would play out against the rock walls. Occasionally, we shut out the lights and hung motionless in the gloom, watching weak shards of distant daylight filter in from above.

Occasionally, we shone our torches into the darkness of bottomless tunnels. One particularly ominous one began with a warning sign embossed with the figure of the Grim Reaper. This particular tunnel had claimed the life of 300 divers. Even pottering around well-explored cenotes like Dos Ojos, it was easy to lose track of where you were, where you'd come from. It's a enticingly deadly world, and a fragile one that I hope will last the test of time and tourism.

Which brings me back nicely to my first point. Where Cancun and Playa are shrines to excess and consumption, Tulum advertises itself as the cutting edge of eco-tourism. However, this is where I tend to get a little cynical.

Which comes first? Deciding to be an eco-resort and making wholesale changes to the way you run your operation; or realising you have a hotel with no electricity or fresh running water, so calling yourself and eco-resort and charging top dollar for the “rustic experience”.

There is something undeniably romantic about the idea of being in a wooden cabana by the shore of the Carribean Sea. All you have is the bright night sky and candlelight for company.

The reality is it's romantic for about ten minutes. After that, spending twenty minutes trying to find your toothbrush in the half-light, trying to sleep in the oppressive humidity and getting eaten alive by mozzies make it hard to see this expensive primitivism as nothing more than a bit of a crock. Oh yeah, and there was an old, naked guy on the clothing-optional beach who insisted on walking around every ten minutes so we could all see his wrinkly, brown bits. Why are 90% of nudists fat, old guys?

Tulum is a lovely place. Gorgeous beach, great ruins and superb diving. In reality though, it's just as touristy as Playa. Luxury backpacking for grown-ups, minus the luxury and the backpackers.