TURNING THE TIDE FOR PIECE OF PARADISE
Development threatens Mexico’s exquisite ‘lake of seven colours’
Looking down from the hilltop through the palm fronds, the sight took my breath away: at least seven hues of blue, stretching out to a green-fringed horizon.
This was Laguna de Bacalar — known as the “lake of seven colours,” and it was everything I’d been told, and then some.
Set like a sparkling strip of blue ribbon amid the coastal jungle and mangrove of Mexico’s Yucatán Peninsula near the border with Belize, this body of water is like nowhere else on Earth. Its shallow, crystalline waters overlie a soft, white limestone soil, giving rise to a subtle array of shades, from aquamarine to turquoise to deep azure. Under the surface is something even more rare: reef-like formations of an organism linked to the origins of life.
Bacalar Lagoon is one of a tiny handful of places where stromatolites — layered collections of cyanobacteria dating back billions of years — are still being formed. The alkalinity of these waters, the same factor that gives rise to the legendary seven colours, is what allows the bacteria to survive. And it’s that very quality that is at stake as tourism begins to boom in an area lacking adequate infrastructure.
Developers from the north have set their sights on Bacalar as the new Cancun. On this little lake, I learned, such a development would spell ecological disaster.
After attending a sustainability conference in Bacalar, I returned to see for myself how the lagoon was holding up to the pressures of tourism — eco or otherwise.
Bacalar has been contested ground since the Spanish conquistadors wrested it from the Mayas in the 1530s. Later years saw the Spaniards fighting off marauding English pirates mining the red gold of the palo de tinte tree for expensive clothing dyes. Another conflict erupted in the mid-1800s, when Mayas fighting to free themselves from slavelike conditions took over Bacalar and made it a stronghold of the 50-year Caste Wars.
But conflict was the furthest thing from my mind on my first morning in Bacalar. I had arrived the night before at Casa Lamat, an intimate eco-retreat named for the Mayan symbol for Venus. A collection of palm-thatched bungalows set on a terraced hillside, the resort is connected by a winding path to a dock with hammocks — perfect for a sunrise meditation.
I headed for historic Bacalar to wander in the charming plaza, see the historic fort that had shielded the town from generations of pirates and follow up on some leads.
I had consulted with Agua Clara Bacalar, a local committee working for protection of the lake, to see which activities and businesses were truly eco-friendly.
We enjoyed breakfast at El Manati, a vegetarian-friendly restaurant, garden, gallery and live music venue, where the soaring melodies of Estacion Fenix were wafting through the air.
At Cayuco Maya, an ecologically sensitive resort, we surrendered ourselves to the water and the gentle hands of Denisse Tatemura, a Janzu water therapist whose treatment is described as a “rebirthing.” And at the Galeon Pirata (Pirate’s Galleon) we watched a preview of a new documentary about the lake by Polish filmmaker Kamila Chomicz.
Later, I visited with Sandro Ciccarelli, a native of Florence who settled here years ago, who was preparing for the opening of Finisterre Bacalar, his slow-food, old-country Italian restaurant. Ciccarelli has watched as Bacalar has gone from a sleepy backwater to a bustling tourism hotspot.
He has joined forces with Agua Clara to head off the irreparable damage that looms if developmental limits are not put into place quickly. Group members are working with the municipal government and spreading the word among local tourism operators and landowners: Ecologically sensitive tourism options are available — and can be lucrative. But time is short, said Sandro, and they are up against very tough odds.
“People know they’re killing the goose that laid the golden egg — but they can’t help themselves,” he said. “There’s too much cash involved. But if things don’t stop, Bacalar will be just another green Mexican lake.”
Casa Lamat was lovely, but friends had told us if we wanted to experience the peak of eco-finesse in Bacalar, we had to visit Akal Ki Holistic Center. About 16 kilometres south, we wound through the jungle, past the organic garden and the palm-thatched yoga centre, ending up at a reception desk in a garden overlooking the lagoon.
There before us, surrounded by the sparkling blue waters, beckoned a reclining Buddha.
Bacalar Lagoon was off the radar when Arturo Arroyo, a fast-paced businessman from Mexico City, discovered it two decades ago. Here, he built Akal Ki, Mayan for “lake of sweet water” and “fountain of vital energy,” and found himself transformed by these waters.
Akal Ki has evolved into a garden of peace, offering a delightful feast not only for the eyes, but for the body and soul as well, with yoga classes, exquisite vegetarianfriendly cuisine and a sound healing session with crystal bowls.
My final day, Marco Jerico, the founder of Agua Clara, invited me on a sailboat outing.
Jerico shared the story of how he came to found the Agua Clara group. A native of Cancun with a background in business, he came down on tour in 2011.
When he saw the brilliant colours of the lake, he recalls, “something resonated inside of me.”
His parents had honeymooned here, he said, and he was born nine months later — “so I suspect I originated here.”
In 2015, he was offered a job and decided to make the move. He began feeling the presence of the lagoon, he said — and then he discovered others who felt the same way.
“We recognize the lagoon as a living being, something unique and special — and we feel love, affection and respect,” he said.