In Izamal, the Convento de San Antonio's Fading Glory

In the heart of Yucatán’s “Yellow City,” the Convento de San Antonio de Padua stands as both a testament to colonial grandeur and a monument to neglect.

Built between 1549 and 1561 atop the ruins of the Maya temple Ppap Hol Chac, this Franciscan convent boasts an atrium second in size only to the Vatican, yet today it tells a story of deterioration that threatens to overshadow its remarkable history.

The convent’s origins trace back to the Spanish conquest, when Fray Diego de Landa ordered its construction using stones from the destroyed Maya pyramid. Under the direction of Fray Juan de Merida, the major portion of construction was accomplished in only 6 months through the efforts of some 6,000 Maya laborers. This architectural marvel was conceived as more than just a religious center—it was designed as what scholars call “a theater of memory” where various elements of its architecture could be used as mnemonic cues to reciting the catechism.

Why the Convento de San Antonio is iconic

For nearly five centuries, the Convento de San Antonio has served multiple roles beyond its spiritual mission. One of the most iconic locations in Yucatán, the atrium has been transformed into a stage for concerts, music video filming, movies, and documentaries. Its dramatic archways and imposing presence have made it a favorite backdrop for cultural productions, cementing its place as a symbol of regional identity alongside Izamal’s distinctive yellow and white color scheme that inspired the entire town’s palette.

However, despite its imposing presence and cultural significance, visitors today encounter a troubling scene. Passersby lament the building’s deterioration, which has become impossible to ignore. Juan Urtecho Vargas emphasized that “it’s not possible to let a historic building collapse,” warning that such neglect would damage the municipality’s image and highlighting the urgent need for authorities to intervene.

The evidence of decay is everywhere. Nicolás Gómez Tapia points out that while the place remains beautiful, it is overshadowed by scaffolding, planks, a moldy ceiling, and greenish walls. The deterioration has reached such a point that taking an attractive postcard photo has become nearly impossible—the building now resembles something abandoned rather than a treasured historical site.

Particularly concerning is the loss of frescoes on the walls, which must be rescued before they disappear entirely. During recent tours, the walls at the entrance to the cloister and church show poor condition, with dampness affecting the side walls. The pervasive smell of pigeon droppings permeates the metal scaffolding, logs, wooden planks, walls, and floors.

Recent reports highlight ongoing issues with water leaks during the rainy season that damage the façade on the east side of the Franciscan atrium. The National Institute of Anthropology and History (INAH) has acknowledged the problem, with 200,000 Mexican pesos allocated for restoration and general maintenance in recent years, but the funding appears insufficient for the scale of work needed.

Historic visit

The irony is palpable: this convent, site of Pope John Paul II’s historic 1993 visit, symbolically reconciled the Catholic Church with the indigenous Maya community, now struggles for basic preservation. Recent archaeological discoveries of underground passages connecting to the temple have added to its historical importance, yet the visible deterioration continues.

As one of the most important Marian centers in Yucatán and a key component of Izamal’s status as Mexico’s first Pueblo Magico, or Magic Town, the convent deserves better stewardship. Its role as a filming location and cultural venue makes its preservation not just a matter of historical responsibility, but economic necessity for a community that depends increasingly on tourism.

The question remains whether authorities will act decisively before this architectural treasure becomes yet another casualty of bureaucratic neglect, its frescoes lost forever, and its iconic atrium reduced to a cautionary tale of cultural mismanagement.