By Deborah Van Hoewyk

If you haven’t been to Celestún, you should go – and if you want an object lesson in how tourism can change a small fishing village, go twice, a couple of decades apart. (Not that Bahías de Huatulco doesn’t represent how tourism changes a place!)

Celestún is the head town of the municipio (basically, a county) of Celestún, in Yucatán state; it’s about 105 km (65 miles) west of Merida on the Gulf of Mexico. The Mexican Tourism Secretariat identified Celestún as a place to develop “low environmental impact” tourism, focused on the flamingo nesting sites in local lagoons.

Celestún Then – 2001

When the idea of wintering in Mexico first took hold, a friend’s father who spent his winters in San Miguel suggested that we could get a cheap charter flight to Cancún and explore the Yucatán.

We were neophytes at traveling in Mexico, our Spanish pre-beginner. Our previous, and only, trip had been in 1979, to Veracruz – where burros were staked out in the grassy sand dunes that stretched south to Boca del Rio, and to Jalapa, to visit my ex-pat friend teaching English at the University of Veracruz – pigs roamed the streets. Twenty years later, the sand dunes, the burros, and the pigs, not to mention the boat-up restaurant with drunken singers at lunchtime, were no more.

Going to Cancún, Getting Out of Cancún

The cheap charter was doable, so off we went. At the time, it was possible to book just the flight and not an attached vacation at some glass-towered hotel on the beach. Not interested in Cancún itself, we left the airport in our rental car and headed for Mérida, the capital of the state of Yucatán.

On the road into the centro, hubby John kept saying, “When is this street going to get better?” We clearly didn’t know then that most urban Mexican streets are crowded, dusty, noisy, frenetic. Right in the middle of it all, I said “We’re here!!!” Hopping out of the car and over to a blank but beautiful hardwood door, I entered the quiet lobby of the Dolores Alba hotel. The Dolores Alba displayed its colonial heritage in a lovely arched and beamed dining room replete with chirping bird cages. No street noise. Parking was through a bigger hardwood door next door, but of course John had to circle through chaotic one-way streets to get there.

Then as now, Mérida, and Progreso, north down the road to the beach, had much to offer: colorful Mexican markets, colonial architecture, outlandish beach architecture – some other story. We were bent on Celestún to see the flamingoes – in late winter, it is the largest nesting site in the world, with 25,000 to 35,000 flamingoes. Back then, what little information there was appeared in the Lonely Planet guide, Yucatán. And Celestún was definitely a Lonely Planet experience.

A Visit to Celestún

Driving from Mérida straight west on route 281, we crossed the bridge over a long, skinny lagoon, Riá Celestún, to “downtown” Celestún, located on the beach. A year earlier, in 2000, Mexico had declared the area a “biosphere reserve”; in 2004, UNESCO would make it an international biosphere reserve and the Ramsar Convention, an international wetlands preservation organization, would recognize it as being of international importance. None of this ecological significance was yet evident to visitors.

On the advice of our LP guide, we found a a hotel a block off the beach. Lunch was available on the beach – all you had to do was follow the giant black SUVs from Mérida churning their way through the “streets,” paths bulldozed through the sand. We also checked out how to visit the flamingoes, which entailed going down to the beach in the morning; when a given boat had enough passengers to make it worth their while, the voyage would begin.

By dinner time, the SUVs – and the restaurants – were gone. We drove hither and yon looking for food, ending up in a general store, where we found tinned sardinas, saladitas, and cervesa. Back at the hotel, we discovered that the only source of light to set up the sardine/saltine repast was a naked lightbulb about 8 feet up the wall. It did have a hanging string to turn it on and off.

The next morning, we went early to the zócalo, thinking surely there would be a restaurant. Not so much. Someone in the central market did offer coffee, which turned out to be Nescafé de olla – thinking Nescafe would be quick, I soon learned that, no, the de olla part is brewing it in a pot with a bit of brown sugar and cinnamon, and takes way more time than pouring boiling water over coffee granules. The time, however, allowed us to espy a turquoise door over in the far corner of the zócalo.

To which we proceeded after having our coffee, which was just enough time for the turquoise door to open and reveal a restaurant with a breakfast menu. “Oh, look,” I said, “Poffertjes!” Hubby is Dutch, and poffertjes are Dutch, wonderful little puffy buckwheat pancakes. My poffertje announcement caught the attention of the restaurant owners, a young couple from Delft in the Netherlands. They had come to Celestún a year before, promptly decided this was for them, went home for six months, sold everything they owned, and came back to open the restaurant with the turquoise door.

The Main Attraction: Flamingoes!

Full of poffertjes, we went back to the beach. No one was there yet, so we sat on a driftwood log. Eventually five other people showed up, that was enough, so we helped push the boat down to the waves and got on. I don’t recall that we had to wear life jackets. Not even sure that I recall life jackets at all!

From the beach, the boat captain found a tunnel cut through the mangroves to reach the lagoon. As we headed to where the flamingoes were supposed to be, he pointed out a crocodile perched on what appeared to be a log floating in front of the mangroves. Everyone rose up, sharply tilting the boat towards the water, to take pictures of the crocodillo. We continued on, until a faint coral line appeared along the far side of the lagoon – closer and closer until the line turned into thousands of flamingoes, heads down in the water, feasting on brine shrimp, tiny creatures that give the flamingoes their coral-pink colored feathers. It was an unforgettable sight.

After many, many (no doubt identical) flamingo photos, we set off on our return. The crocodillo was still there, turning lazily in the wind. Somehow the “log” looked more like a very large tire. When we coasted through tunnels hacked through the mangroves to reach our last stop, a petrified forest, I had enough Spanish to ask whether the crocodillo was muerto, and yes indeed it was dead as a doornail. Sort of a home-grown tourist attraction, although I didn’t have enough Spanish to ask how they stuffed it.

On our way back to Cancún (via Chichen Itza), we first went along what’s now called North Beach to inspect a beach house my sister had seen for rent. It was right on the beach, and we filed it away for future reference.

Celestún Later – 2020

We never did rent the two-bedroom beachfront villa, but we did go back to Mérida (the Dolores Alba now has a large swimming pool where the dining room was, and is called “Doralba” – but still lovely and quiet), and again on to Celestún. Mérida is now a stop on the Tren Maya, the pet tourism-cum-poverty-alleviation project of Mexico’s previous president, Andrés Manuel López Obrador. Despite local objections to the Mayan Train’s negative ecological impacts, it has had a major impact on increasing tourism to the Yucatán peninsula – Mérida was the subject of a recent (Feb. 24, 2024) New York Times “36 Hours in …” travel article.

The time we spent in Mérida in 2020 was more akin to the “36 hours” idea than what we did in 2001. Art museums, historic houses, beautiful parks (with ice cream!), and paseo-ing on a boulevard to choose among the upscale restaurants.

After several days of this, we and my sister got in our rental car and went down that same road (Route 281) to Celestún, crossed that same bridge and located our hotel at the beach. This time we had reserved our two rooms in a hotel with a patio, where we were often the only people having wine and cheese (no sardines, no saltines) in the evening. We could walk along the main street and pick a restaurant, or walk on the beach and pick a palapa serving what we call “beach food.”

The Main Attraction: Ecotourism

This time, rather than take the boat tour to the big flocks of flamingoes, we went eco-touristing. The international recognition of the Riá Celestún biosphere and its wetlands (there’s an adjoining reserve of wetlands at the south end of the biosphere that extends into Campeche state, Los Petenes).

We searched out the Guardianes de los Manglares Dzinintún – the Guardians of the mangroves that ring the Dzinintún lagoon. It was a little hit and miss, but we found them. There were a couple of guys hanging out in hammocks; by now, our Spanish was good enough to say we wanted to go on the tour, and ask whether there would be flamingoes. Yes, that was good, come back tomorrow morning, and we would find flamingoes.

The next morning, after a little confusion about who we were and what we wanted, we hiked a bit to get to a “canoe,” more of a flat-bottomed boat than a canoe (they now offer kayaks for self-propelled adventures). The captain poled the boat through the mangroves, which was a great experience, and we did find small groups of flamingoes in the open areas.

We then went out into the lagoon. The boat captain was having some difficulty poling across the lagoon to get to the dock (return trip was a hike through the mangroves). The captain was struggling to pole the boat towards the dock, so John jumped out to pull, and ended up waist-deep in pale gray mud. The captain was probably appalled, but didn’t say a word! With that, my sister and I had no trouble getting out of the boat onto the dock.

On our hike back, mostly on a home-made boardwalk, every time we reached some clean water, the captain had John take off his pants and wash out the mud – it took three days of rinsing them with the hotel hose to finally get them clean.

Developing Ecotourism in Celestún

According to recent (late 2024, 2025) reviews on Tripadvisor, the Guardianes have come a long way. You reserve in advance with a WhatsApp call, and a tuk-tuk type mototaxi picks you up at your hotel. There are bilingual guides (ask in advance), plus the boat captain. The guide points out birds and wildlife, talks about the work of the reserve, and explains how the Guardianes work with other ecotourism organizations around the world. The tour sounds the same – the presentation has been “modernized.”
(www.guardianesdelosmanglaresdedzinintun.com/)

There is also an ecotourism company called Sheartails Expeditions (the Mexican sheartail (Doricha eliza) is a hummingbird native to Mexico) that started in 2002, after we were there; it was badly damaged by Hurricane Milton in October 2024, but is again offering some tours for birdwatchers; one specialty is a firefly float through the mangroves. (www.facebook.com/sheartailexpeditions)

Local Salt Production

We also took a tour, although you can apparently drive there yourself, of the colored, mostly pink, salt pans (charcas). The Maya settled the area around Celestún around 1800 BCE; they produced salt via evaporation and traded it throughout their empire and with other pre-Hispanic civilizations.

Our guide explained the Celestún salt industry; in the early 1900s, the town of Real de Salinas (Royal Salt Mines) was the production site for “dye wood” (Haematoxylum campechianum, or logwood) – a hardwood that can produce red, purple, and blue dye, and for salt. The town of Real de Salinas is now in ruins, although people ride bikes out to see the “ghost hacienda.”

The salt industry that remains in Celestún is small, no longer a major source of income or employment for many of the nearly 7,000 people who live there. There is a women’s cooperative society that produces and sells salts from the reserve (Sociedad cooperative salinas de la reserva); the coop wholesales and resales flor de sal, coarse salt, table salt, and sea salt, which you can buy locally. There is a more commercial product sold by a Cancun company called Gusto Buen Vivir (The Taste of Good Living) – Celestún Flor de Sal Gourmet, “Harvested, Collected, Dried, and Packaged by Hand.” You can buy it on Amazon for $30 USD for 26.5 ounces.

Ecotourism, Tourism, and Celestún

In January 2025, the governor of Yucatán issued a UNESCO-sponsored publication, Yucatán: Mosaicos de Experiencias. UNESCO’s goal is to strengthen the capacity of rural indigenous communities to design and manage their own “community-based tourism” (CBT) experiences; the tourism department of Yucatán state has a capacity-building program to help develop local CBT businesses as an alternative to the mass resort-style
model (really, is the beach in Cancún much different from the beach in Phuket?). CBT gives communities the chance to benefit from tourism experiences they design themselves; the outcome is equitable development that brings market benefits to marginalized local peoples. Both the Guardianes de los Manglares Dzinintún and Sheartails Expeditions are listed among the 14 CBT “social enterprises” in the Yucatán Mosaic catalogue.

And how well is CBT holding up in Celestún? When we first went to Celestún, there were nearly 6,000 people there, although the population rose to 10,000 in octopus fishing season, which begins August 1 (Mexico is one of the world’s largest exporters of octopus, and 98% of that octopus comes from the Yucatán). From 2000 to 2010, the population increased by less than 300 (± 5%), but from 2010 to 2020, it increased by almost 23%, to 8,389.

That population increase comes from migration in search of employment, a typical result of promoting a new tourism destination. Associate Professor of Anthropology Matilde Córdoba Azcárate has studied four tourism sites in the Yucatán, Celestún among them. Córdoba Azcárate looks carefully at how tourism exploits the places, people, and natural resources of any given location “in order to satisfy short-term consumer demands.” Like us, Córdoba Azcárate twice spent time in Celestún, first in the mid-1990s and then in 2002. In the 1990s, she found it was off the beaten path of tourism, but once Mexico defined the biosphere in 2000, and UNESCO recognized that, development started to accelerate. By 2002, the author found “all the trappings of modern tourism” – which limited access to the very natural resources Celestún was trying to merchandise, intensified social conflict, and increased crime and violence.

While development has increased the population, prosperity is not equally shared (please tip your hotel maid), there are not enough jobs to go around, there’s exceedingly limited health care. According to Córdoba Azcárate, increasing tourism has benefited only a few people, and failed to deliver the “promised sustainable and inclusive economic growth.” In our experience in 2020, 18 years after Córdoba Azcárate’s second visit, the situation may have improved – here’s hoping that the Yucatán’s CBT capacity building program for community-based tourism stays alive and well!

Córdoba Azcárate’s book is Stuck with Tourism: Space, Power and Labor in Contemporary Yucatán (Oakland, CA: University of California Press, 2020).