The Beach at Progreso, Yucatán

We have become accustomed to thinking of tropical beaches as some sort of paradise. When I first came to Southern California, I thought that way too. I used to go to the beach at Santa Monica which was within walking distance of the ocean. I would take a book with me and unroll my towel by Lifeguard Station #12. When it got too hot, I would run into the water and allow myself to be buffeted by the waves. I never learned to body surf, so sometimes I got tumbled around a bit.

Generally, I stayed for only an hour or two to avoid getting sunburned. As I was by myself, there was no one to spread suntan lotion on my back. After a few years, I would go to the beach only before the crowds showed up, around nine in the morning. Then I stopped going altogether.

Why? I really wasn’t that interested in frolicking in the water. Reading on the sand wasn’t that comfortable because it was usually too bright. I wound up falling asleep on my towel and waking up with a sunburn.

The upshot is that, although I visited a number of beach destinations in Mexico, such as Cozumel, Progreso, Mazatlán, Cabo San Lucas, and Puerto Vallarta, it wasn’t the beach that interested me. Frankly, I enjoyed the culture and cuisine more. I could get more reading done in my hotel room than on the beach, where there were vendors, sand flies, broken glass, and discarded plastic straws.

Maybe I’m a bit of a stick in the mud, but my last beach experience was typical. It was January 2000. Covid 19 was just beginning to be noticed. After visiting a number of Maya ruins (Izamál, Uxmal, Kabah, Labna, Sayil, Xlápak, Edzna, Ek Balam, and Dzibilchaltún), I decided to spend a few days in Progreso. Now Progreso is no Caribbean resort: It’s on the Gulf of Mexico and is the seaport for Mérida. The beachgoers were more likely to be locals escaping the heat inland.

The water is more green than blue, and the waves tend to be smallish. As I wandered along the beach, the vendors who set up places in the shade approached me and asked if I wanted a beach umbrella. I shook my head and said I desired sombre (shade) and not sol (sun). Instead, I found a bench in deep shade under the long pier pictured above, which extends 4 miles (6.5 km) out to sea. There, I sat back and read Paul Theroux’s Figures in a Landscape for a couple of hours until it was time for me to find some filete de huachinángo al mojo de ajo. That’s red snapper sautéed in a garlic sauce.