Tulum Beach, a place of pristine natural beauty: this idyllic, turtle-laying sanctuary sits before the Sian Ka’an Biosphere. Once a haven for those who wanted to get off grid, reconnect with the self, and live simply. With no access to the full amenities of its touristic counterparts on the Mayan Riviera, Tulum was a gem. Fast forward to January 2019… it might be hell. Drugs, music, and Instagram. Now Tulum is a mecca for the techno-seeking, pseudo hippie, private equity type — desperate to be at the right party; armed with a bevy of social media influencers and models alike. I think this is vaguely the same group you will find chasing the Robot Heart bus at Burning Man, holding up signs saying “finally, normal people” (don’t worry I was one of them) or at Scorpios in Mykonos, perhaps even at an Ayahuasca retreat in Peru.

You can’t miss it when you come here. The men are clad with their harem pants, kimonos, crystal necklaces (maybe even a healing crystal that also doubles as a cocaine/ketamine shovel), and a top that I can only say resembles some sort of wearable old dishtowel, nay, a rug. It’s a uniform really, along with the optional man bun and/or turban. Don’t forget the doc martins. I assume most of the year these guys are wearing monogrammed shirts and double monk strap shoes.

The ladies are undeniably beautiful. It’s equally hard to miss. You’ll find them doing an impromptu yet professional photoshoot on the beach — do they always travel with photographers? Often they are topless or wearing some sort of Star Wars bikini ensemble with heavy boots (totally beach appropriate). With an array of face art and even the odd Bindi — it says “I do Kundalini yoga and I am always on the guest list.” Sparkle Ponies with henna.

There isn’t anything wrong with dressing up for parties. There definitely isn’t any harm in taking on a persona at a festival — in fact, it’s great. I guess why it’s so horrible in Tulum is the hypocrisy of the entire thing. It’s a charade, a money-making exercise at the expense of the place and people who live and work here.

There are stunning eco-hotels, impeccably designed and aesthetically place-appropriate. With stunning furniture, art, textiles — these hotels supposedly have the same ethos as the nature retreat they inhabit. Once perhaps they were enforcers, now they are enablers. You can hear the ‘deep beats’ of shamanic house (that surely plays on loop) blasting from their beach front with ropes up all around. I think these parties are fire ceremonies paying respect to the Moon or Pluto? Nothing says we are an eco-retreat with spiritual values like a mean door girl armed with a clip board (adorned in coral) and a rave on the beach, (£600 entry — friends & family price). I dread to know the impact of these all-night raves on the animals that live in and around the ocean and jungle.

When you walk through the town there are plenty of stores selling the ‘Tuluminati’* uniform (if you need more kimonos and rugs to wear), there is even a store called Tuluminati. Fuck me. There is a drip bar, to help you recuperate after a heavy night of mezcal, cocaine and vibes (served with a side of Peruvian flute house).

After spending almost 2 hours driving down a 2-kilometre stretch (suburbans bumper to bumper) my enthusiasm for life began to wane. We arrive for dinner at a tree house complex designed by Peggy Guggenheim’s grandson/nephew/relative/person. The place is amazing. If not pretentious. Dinner was served in a thick fog of copal incense with music so loud I literally thought the place was going to collapse (I’m not kidding, it was shaking, must be all those vibes). When I asked for the music to be turned down, I was immediately filled with self-doubt about how one should enjoy dinner. I got lost twice looking for the exit. Note, this place is not accessible for those in a wheelchair, with vertigo, heels, or any sight impairment. I am not sure how high people navigate this behemoth safely. Apparently, they do. At £12,000 a night you too can live on the edge.

Desperate times approached when the private villa next to our hotel decided to throw a party (in front of this house is a sign from the authorities reminding people that Tulum is a sanctuary for turtles laying eggs and loud noises and lights are strictly forbidden on the beach). From our sweet beach bungalow, you could hear every cackle, crack and pop through the night. The whitewalkers, sorry, the Tuluminati were in full form. Not even a pair of earplugs and noise cancelling headphones could protect us. We desperately asked the security to call the police, he tried, he too was hopeless as the police wouldn’t come — they had been paid off. We proceeded to break into another hotel room in a state of sleepless despair. The general manager wasn’t even mad, he was sympathetic. These payouts are getting too big for anyone to say no to. The morning after I walked by the house to find the party still going, albeit quieter and smaller, there was just one guy playing a horizontal harp, his Bindi slightly off kilter.

BPM was cancelled, and now the party-throwers and goers have descended on Tulum and it’s a tragedy.

Anyway, come to Tulum, its heaving, about to implode on itself. The septic tanks here can’t possibly hold the amount of shit people are full of. But don’t worry someone is playing somewhere tonight and all will be right.

The big plus is the people who live and work here are amazing, hospitable, patient and kind — although if you ask anyone here, they are truly sad about what has happened to this once sweet paradise. Pro tip, Tulum is still amazing, come anytime just not from Dec 28th to Jan 18th; there are also great yoga/meditation activities going on year round.

P.s. Restaurants here accept cash and crypto only, bribes can be paid in cash

*An ironic, self-imposed title — #tuluminati… also dont forget: #grateful #blessed #gratitude #industwetrust #savetheturtles #butnostrawsokay