The surf rumbles all day and all night.
Where water meets land, long white capped waves roll over, roll under, and roll onto the land like conquerors.
There are high and low tides and thin legged birds kick bubbles left by the waves like Colombian soccer players. In early morning there is a row of seaweed deposited on the white beaches and men with shovels, rakes, wheelbarrows, move the seaweed, cover it up with dirt or bury it so still sleeping tourists have the white beaches promised by tourist brochures when they wake up for their breakfast of fresh fruit and fresh squeezed orange juice.
The sand here is Caribbean, white and fine grained. It sticks between toes, clings to you like a cranky child.When dry it is soft to walk on, When wet, you can run on it and make sand castles to your imagination’s limits.
When pirates ran these coasts there was nothing left but vestiges of an old Mayan civilization.
Natives lived in the jungle, fished the sea,worshiped old Gods left them by ancients. Stone walls and stone faces have been overcome by vegetation and old, precise, mathematical equations are forgotten. Tulum is now a place of loose wires and knotted plumbing, wind generators and rusted fishing hooks.
Before you move here, you would want to stay a month in August.
The rain, humidity, and heat will make you understand why you have the place to yourself.