Finding Memo on the Costa Maya

I walked off my cruise ship docked on the Yucatan peninsula without a definite plan, something I don't normally do or recommend to others. With a snorkel and mask, an underwater camera, a DSLR with a 400mm zoom lens, and a towel all jammed in my backpack, I knew I wanted to discover the wildlife along this strip of coastline marketed as the Costa Maya. But I was torn by options on accomplishing that goal: an organized excursion sold by Princess Cruises, hiring a local guide pier-side, or just winging it independently.

Mahahual's cruise port was my exact location, a raucous complex of shops, cantinas, and tourist traps near a formerly sleepy fishing village on the southern end of Mexico's portion of the Yucatan. Swimming with dolphins in a pool and visiting an aviary are actually two options on-site for animal-lovers. However I question the quality of life the creatures have in captivity; with the birds especially, I worry that they're part of the global illegal trade in exotic wildlife.

Beyond the partyscape and animal circuses, I equivocated: stay on land or go to sea. Inland are miles of forests covering the flat landscape. One popular tour is to the Chacchoben archaeological site an hour's drive away. An ancient Mayan city is slowly being excavated from centuries of encroaching jungle. While I wasn't an avid birder when I visited the pyramids many years ago, there are opportunities to see a number of specimens in the canopy of trees. Woodpeckers, parrots, anis, trogons, tanagers, and jays might be waiting.

Meanwhile coral reefs extend along the Costa Maya coastline. Twenty-five miles offshore lies Banco Chinchorro, a protected coral atoll with some of the best diving and snorkeling in the region. But the boat ride out takes more than an hour-and-a-half and any tours that day had left in the morning, long before my ship's noontime arrival in Mahahual.

I decided to split the baby, so to speak, and stick to the shore to see what birds I might see near the coast and what fish I could find snorkeling off of the beaches. A $4 shared taxi ride took me five minutes later to the seaside resort of Mahahual. (A coastal path takes about a thirty minute walk.)

A malecón separated hotels, restaurants, and dive shops on one side from beachside palapas covering vacationers packed like sardines on the other. Music blared from multiple cantinas. Pushy vendors hawked beach chair rentals, massages, Cuban cigars, hair braiding, jewelry, and, lucky for me, snorkel excursions.

As interested in exploring the off-shore reefs as I was, the accompanying din of activity was not the wild Costa Maya I was seeking. I left and walked a couple of minutes south where the crowds dispersed, the music was chill, wetsuit-wearing divers waited patiently for their boat captains, and the squawks of great-tailed grackles the only annoyance. I was getting a taste of the undiscovered gem that some guides use when describing Mahahual.

I picked a chair under a palapa that only cost what I ordered from the hotel's restaurant across the malecón, even if it was only a $1 bottle of water. The beach was sandy and the sea still; small waves breaking over a reef were visible several hundred yards away. Kayakers paddled by, sun worshippers lazed in water-dipped hammocks, and excursion boats loaded divers and their tanks. The water was quite shallow; the outer reef was not only swimmable but was probably walkable. A great egret took advantage of this easy hunting ground.

"It's not worth snorkeling there," a young man on the beach told me as he pointed to the reef. "People fish there so the reef is not in good shape."

Minutes later for $25, I joined the guy, Memo from La Tempestad Tours, and two siblings from Mexico City on a small boat headed to a healthier corner of the reef a mile or so offshore. In the warm Caribbean Sea we swam in a tight group while Memo pointed out marine life: a type of boxfish called a cowfish, sea fans, damselfish, a spiny lobster's shed exoskeleton, a princess parrotfish, numerous surgeonfish, snappers, many varieties of coral, and another type of boxfish, the smooth trunkfish.

Where rocky coral outcrops ended on the sandy seafloor, seagrass grew in wide patches. Memo explained that turtles sometimes ate the plants. While no tortugas were present, a yellow stingray made a dazzling appearance. While the creature was quite small, not even three feet snout to tail, its spotted and blotched markings were an exotic subject for photos.

Close to the end of our swim I found an Atlantic blue tang with a yellow tail, distinguishing it as a youngster. "That's Nemo," Memo told me as he enjoyed the pun. Well, more accurately it's Dory, a regal blue tang, I thought, squashing the fun.

Back on dry land, I relished a quiet moment under my palapa, sipping a margarita, and watching the beach traffic of kayakers, dive boats, and frigatebirds. Collared dogs begged me to throw a deflated soccer ball while I kept an eye on any blooming bushes or trees in hopes of spotting a hummingbird.

Something flitted in some leaves behind me, the creature turning out to be a yellow-throated warbler. It was an exciting first find as the bird is only common in the southeastern United States, Mexico, and Central America, far from my home in Arizona.

Mahahual and the wider Costa Maya seemed like a pretty chill place, to use the modern expression for a relaxed and easy-going locale. Even with packed cruise ship piers in view, I could see why the area is popular with backpackers in search of the next Baja or Bali. At the very worst, beyond Señor Frog's and Diamonds International, the travelers will find Memo.