Mexico Land Swaps and Friends in High Places

Chapter 5: A hike in the jungle

Photo by Alev Takil on Unsplash

Just 35 years ago, some land deals in Mexico’s newest state, Quintana Roo, home to Cancun, were the equivalent of horse trading. I know this to be true because our first land purchase was involved in just such a deal.

Although we should’ve been prepared to expect the unexpected, the government’s seizure of our land by eminent domain startled us. Alejandro’s remarkable pivot in swapping his Playa del Carmen beachfront property—including our lot—for a worthwhile piece of similar land took equal parts ingenuity, luck and connectedness.

Though it looked good on paper, the size of the new property—200 hectares—was overwhelming. This unforeseen expansion demanded more collateral to finance a make-over on our untamed piece of wilderness. It was far more property than the Playa land which had access to power lines and water sources already in place. None of that existed at the new, over-sized location. More effort and manpower would be essential, just to get to the starting line.

The size of the new property was overwhelming

Yes, it had cenotes, three rivers—a rarity in the Yucatan—and jungles erupting with wild orchids and bromeliads. But it was also a demanding mistress requiring infinite cash. For starters, heavy equipment was needed to carve a virgin roadway to the beach through thick tangled jungle. Without a road, no construction could begin. The land was a blank slate. There was nothing there but mangroves and jungle. Us and the wilderness.

The shift began. Alejandro and his brother Jorge approached landowners on both sides of the site asking to buy their property. Because the new land had much more potential than the old due to its natural resources, it was vital, they said. With room on either side, this wild beautification project could expand. Alejandro compared the property to what Epcot Center had been, only decades earlier—mangroves, swamps, fresh water, wildlife. Nothing landfill and vision couldn’t change. The site had promise—now we just had to work with it.

We were in high spirits for our next trip to Mexico, March 1987. Alejandro promised us a look at the new land and it sounded like getting there would be a true life adventure. He told us to wear hiking boots and bring sunscreen and mosquito repellant. We met him at his house to drive to the land’s work site.

About 20 minutes south of Puerto Morelos, he pointed to a barely visible clearing alongside Highway 307. We pulled in. A new palapa stood to the right of the dirt drive where banana trees grew in a cluster. An old Maya man, Miguel, ventured toward us. He would point us to the campsite.

Though thicket had been trimmed around the palapa, those efforts stopped abruptly at a row of tangled trees no more than 100 feet away. We walked briskly to keep up with Alejandro wielding a machete, hacking away at virtual scrub jungle on what was barely wide enough to be called a path. About 10 minutes later, sweaty from the hike, we approached the camp which consisted of a lone rectangular-shaped palapa.

Alejandro wielded a machete, hacking at scrub jungle

Stirring an oversized pot propped on an open fire was a dark-haired Mexican woman. Trim, 40s, she looked like she’d be better suited behind a desk in an insurance firm. This was Alejandro’s sister-in-law, Rosa, Jorge’s wife.

Though the camp was tidy and well-kept, we saw only Rosa, Jorge and four Maya workers. Even on just arriving we could see the new property had promise, but the task of taming it would be overwhelming for four men. After small talk we continued on our way. At one point the clearing had been unsuccessful and we had to ford a tributary of one of the rivers, searching out river rocks as stepping stones.

Following Alejandro into the jungle seemed like our very own adventure land, I thought as I sloshed through ankle-deep sludge, soaking my new Zodiac hiking boots in the foulest water they’d ever encounter.

In minutes we saw the ocean and the long windswept beach

Once past the river we could hear the rushing sound of fresh water meeting the ocean downstream. It seemed to beckon and we picked up the pace. In five minutes we saw the ocean and the long windswept beach. To bedraggled city folks, it was the complete picture of paradise. Paul and I stood in awe. I was barely breathing as I took in the vista—wide beach, whitest sand imaginable, swaying palms. The jungle path’s heat and humidity vanished as had the mosquitos. We breathed ocean smells.

“Here you have it!” Alejandro announced with a smile. “This is where the three rivers meet.” He pointed. “My house will be there, overlooking the cenote.”

Beyond the rushing river was the cenote. Words failed me.

“Let’s walk to it.”

Getting to the cenote was no small feat. We forded the river again, drenching our shorts as we now held our boots overhead.

Encroaching green foliage surrounded the 50-foot wide pool of water displaying a backdrop of primeval forest. No other water I’d seen compared with its clarity. At first I thought I saw reflections of trees above the water level. Only after a closer look did I realize I was seeing mangrove tree trunks that stretched up from the bottom of the cenote to thirty feet above the water line. The water was clear as a green diamond, and I could see to its very depths.

After we stood in silence for several minutes, awed by our surroundings, Alejandro motioned us to the beach. “Yours will be the last lot on the property at the southern end. On one side you’ll be bordered by empty land which will give you privacy. Let’s walk the property line.”

That, of course, was what we came to do: see the new land and compare it to the original property we had once almost owned. I’m happy to say we weren’t disappointed. I think my mind went to dreamland as I pictured our new life, on the ocean, next to a cenote, in the Mexican Caribbean.

We didn’t know exactly when we would escape city life. Certainly not in the immediate future. We still needed a master plan and we liked Alejandro’s idea of renting out our piece of paradise as he did with his Puerto Morelos house when not there. He’d placed ads in travel sections of large newspapers, enticing travelers to his section of the Riviera Maya and was quite successful. Through his trial and error we’d learn how to advertise our own beach house some day. In watching Alejandro actualize his plans we were learning fast. We were eager students and thankful to have an attentive mentor with money on his mind. For money is what it would take to pull this off. Money and luck.

Photo by Roberto Nickson on Unsplash

Paul and the author on Mexican time