A Glimpse of Puerto Morelos

A quiet fishing town sleeps twenty minutes south of Cancun. The name is Puerto Morelos. Seemingly uninfluenced by the neighboring vacation-Mecca; the two are night and day, on and off. The locals prefer it that way. I like to think that they wake every morning with an uneasy pang in their stomachs; that maybe today will be the day that they open their shutters to a twenty-story resort in their backyards. But that is not the case. 30 kilometers is 3000 from Cancun.

Because mangroves and coral reefs are surrendering to the history books, Puerto Morelos becomes a secluded village, and you the anthropologist. It’s cushioned by national park land and water that serve as more of a fortress from the scathing affects of surrounding tourism. To walk from opposite poles of the town is a 15 minute stroll that exposes the antiquated living of the township and carries you back to a simpler time.

The plaza, the tranquil heart of the community, is enclosed by vestiges of a charming lifestyle. A Catholic church on one side, a grocer at another, a stream of cafes lining the third, and an opening on the fourth that feeds out to a marina.

Although not terribly exclusive to the area, the ocean still serves as an vital artery feeding Puerto Morelos. Sunken below the water’s surface, 300 feet from shore, the Mesoamerican reef—in all of its pinks and lapis and bioluminescence, branching in various directions—survives; home to 500 species of fish and on display for anyone with a snorkel or a scuba tank.

The cenotes are another brilliant source of underwater exploration. These underground canals circulate most of the Yucatan Peninsula and echo an array of blues unfamiliar to anywhere else in nature.

In the Puerto Morelos’ evenings, the window panes of its plaza’s restaurants broadcast a warm yellow light. Benches are lent to young couples and families eating ice cream cones. And the hypnotic shuffling of ocean waves carries through the air. It is almost a tragedy, then, that hotels and gift shops are casually creeping into the coastal region of the town; little reminders that tourism can not be restrained.

Like a volcano, fuming, the town of Puerto Morelos will only remain dormant for so long. She’s been deemed an ecological sanctuary and bridled by strict building codes. This, however, has never sheltered virginal land in the past; bits of reality will continue to seep in and destroy this dream land. And although not yet an amusement park or a mass of clubs, the influence is there, looming.