How Tulum Went from an Untouched Caribbean Gem to Paradise Lost

For decades, Tulum was a quiet settlement on the coast of the Mexican Caribbean. Originally known as Zama, meaning dawn in the ancient Maya language, the area served as an important port between the thirteenth and sixteenth centuries.

During the late 20th century, the modern town was little more than a small fishing village surrounded by mangroves, swamps, and dense jungle. 

During the 1960s and ‘70s, Tulum was hard to reach, with most visitors being adventurous young people seeking a pristine paradise. My father, Jorge Carlos Rosado Baeza, enjoys telling the story of how he and two of his brothers walked to Tulum from Puerto Juárez (today’s Cancún) in the early 1970s. 

When my father and uncles arrived in Tulum, they explored the ancient Maya Ruins and jungle, only to discover that the only option when it came to lodging was to stay with the keeper of the lighthouse, who let them stay with him in the lighthouse itself for a modest fee of 5 pesos (roughly 50 pesos today), which included plenty of fresh lobster. 

Needless to say, this was about as close to heaven on earth one could get to at the time.

As the ‘70s rolled into the late ‘80s, Tulum started to attract a specific type of traveler. Backpackers and European tourists arrived looking for an alternative to the heavy commercialization of nearby Cancún. In the 80s, accommodation in Tulum was limited to hammock rentals strung between palm trees, but by the 90s, visitors began to find inexpensive cabin lodging right on the coastline.

In the late ‘90s, when I first visited, the bohemian atmosphere had reached a fever pitch, with all-night parties on the beach. And frankly, most importantly from my teenage perspective, lots of young, beautiful Italian women. 

By the early 2000s, the atmosphere began to shift noticeably, and fast. The remote appeal morphed into a highly marketed aesthetic. Tulum positioned itself as a global resort town, directly rivaling other massive international tropical destinations. The trajectory closely mirrored the development of places like Bali in Indonesia, Phuket in Thailand, and Oahu in Hawaii. In all these locations, foreign capital transformed small communities into massive hubs for international travelers. However, Tulum grew much faster and more chaotically.

The 2008 Municipal Designation and Unchecked Growth

A pivotal administrative change occurred on March 13, 2008, when Tulum officially became an independent municipality, separating from the neighboring Solidaridad. This political shift was intended to give local authorities better control over the growing economy and infrastructure. Instead, it opened the door to a new layer of localized corruption and a severe lack of urban planning.

The newly formed local government approved permits rapidly, allowing developers to clear jungle and build massive resorts along the coastal strip. The town was marketed internationally as eco-chic, promising sustainable tourism. In reality, the growth was entirely unsustainable. The town quickly became a zone of tropical urban chaos, with frequent power outages and a severe lack of running water. The infrastructure simply could not support the sudden influx of massive hotels and the accompanying workforce. Profits concentrated among large developers, while social costs and basic service deficits were passed on to the local population. By the summer of 2026, the local real estate market became severely oversaturated. 

Vacation rentals alone accounted for half of the municipality’s available lodging supply, creating an oversupply crisis even as developers pushed forward with a hundred new projects amid a massive drop in demand.

Militarization, Extortion, and Police Abuse

As the volume of wealthy international tourists increased, so did the exploitation of visitors. Local businesses and service providers began inflating prices to absurd levels. By 2026, visitors reported being charged 180 Mexican pesos just for a single scoop of ice cream, and restaurants began demanding minimum consumption fees of up to 4000 pesos. Taxi syndicates became notorious for extreme overcharging, with drivers routinely demanding 1200 pesos for a short trip from the town center to the hotel zone.

A severe decline in public safety compounded this environment of economic extortion. The lucrative drug market created by party tourism attracted organized crime. Cartel violence spilled into public areas, destroying the reputation of the town as a safe getaway. Extortion rackets began targeting local business owners, demanding protection money to operate. Local authorities also failed to protect tourists and locals alike. 

Police abuse became a recurring issue, with law enforcement often participating in the extortion of visitors rather than providing security.

To counter the violence, the federal government initiated a heavy militarization of the tourist zones. Elements of the National Guard, the Army, and the Marines were deployed to patrol the beaches and streets. However, this militarization failed to resolve the underlying security crisis and instead created an intimidating atmosphere for visitors. By June 2026, local media reported that visits to the famous coastal archaeological zone plummeted by 72%, a drop directly attributed to the perception of insecurity.

Failed Megaprojects: Parque del Jaguar and the Airport

To organize the territory and attract more visitors, the federal government launched a series of massive infrastructure projects. These megaprojects only deepened the crisis. One of the most controversial initiatives was creating El Parque del Jaguar, an ecological and tourist park encompassing nearly three thousand hectares. The administration of this park was handed over to a company managed by the Ministry of National Defense. The military immediately imposed strict access controls and high entry fees on areas that were previously free and open to the public.

Residents protested heavily against the military administration during late 2025. Protesters blocked federal highways, arguing that the armed forces were effectively privatizing the beaches and the archaeological zone. In response to the backlash, the government modified the rules in summer 2026 to allow free entry for Mexican nationals, but foreign tourists still had to pay high fees just to access the coast. The park failed to deliver on its promises of sustainable tourism and instead alienated locals and confused international visitors.

The massive Felipe Carrillo Puerto International Airport faced a similar fate. The project was meant to secure the town’s future as a global hub. It opened with great expectations, bringing in over one million passengers in its first full year of operation. However, the project quickly failed. By the first half of 2026, the airport registered a severe drop in traffic. It served 471,500 passengers during that period, a 30% decrease from the same period the previous year.

The lack of connectivity, high travel costs to and from the terminal, and constant abuse by taxi drivers discouraged travelers. The crisis peaked when major airlines began pulling out. Aeromexico announced the temporary suspension of all flights to Tulum Airport starting September 30, 2026, citing market conditions and low demand. The terminal, originally designed to handle over five million passengers annually, operated far below capacity.

The Environmental Scourge of Sargassum

Beyond the administrative and criminal issues, Tulum faced a massive environmental crisis. The uncontrolled development damaged the local ecosystem, but the most visible problem came from the ocean. Massive quantities of sargassum began washing ashore. This macroalgae ruins the pristine white-sand beaches and turquoise waters tourists pay to see, and it produces a foul odor as it rots in the sun. The sargassum problem struck the local economy hard. For a destination whose international image relies on beach access, the constant arrival of seaweed directly affected the visitor experience.

By mid 2026, the volume of sargassum had doubled compared to the previous year. The local government and hotels tried to clean the beaches, but the volume was overwhelming. Compounding the issue, private hotels effectively monopolized the best beaches, leaving the few remaining public access areas filled with debris and seaweed. The situation became so critical that by July 2026, local hotel owners began evaluating the extreme measure of closing their properties entirely during the sargassum season. The uncontrolled real estate development also polluted the underground river systems and cenotes, as many new structures lacked proper sewage connections, further destroying the natural environment that made the town famous.

Paradise Lost

By late 2026, the consequences of unchecked growth and mismanagement became impossible to ignore. The hotel occupancy rate in the coastal strip fell drastically, and the oversupply of rental units left thousands of rooms empty. Commercial corridors and design shops that once catered to wealthy foreigners stood empty, their metal shutters closed and covered in dead leaves. Business owners reported a sharp drop in sales, forcing many establishments to operate at a loss, cut hours, or close permanently.

The government tried to salvage the situation by launching recovery plans, but the destination’s reality proved too difficult to overcome with marketing alone. Tulum evolved from a quiet fishing community into a warning about the dangers of rapid, poorly managed tourism. Ecological damage, high costs, infrastructure failure, militarization, and insecurity dismantled the appeal of a town that tried to grow too fast.