Hecho en Zipolite — What Happens When Paradise Is No Longer Ours
By Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita
There was a time I joked about making T-shirts that said “Hecho en Zipolite.”
Made in Zipolite — because that’s where my child was conceived, on a beach where time slowed, moonlight danced on waves, and life felt full of infinite possibility.
And I wasn’t alone. I’ve met other moms — and parents — who say the same. Zipolite has always been a kind of portal. It calls people in. It holds them. It transforms them.
But now, that sacred place is changing — fast. And not in a good way.
🌊 I Saw What Was Coming
For five winters, I returned to Mexico — not just to warm up, but to reconnect with the land and the people that had shaped part of me. Each time I went back, I saw more changes. Prices climbing. Locals pushed back. Foreign buyers circling.
And I told people — with love, not judgment:
“If they sell the beachfront, you’ll all end up living in the back and working in hotels. Your lives won’t be the same.”
One friend said to me, “Tina, people don’t want to hear that — they get mad.”
But I couldn’t stay quiet. Because I’d seen it before — in Bucerias, where I spent the early months of my pregnancy.
🧃 Carrying New Life, Carrying Awareness
I was pregnant — and I was thriving.
I had one of the best pregnancies imaginable: healthy, strong, joyful.
I juiced. I ate pistachios and fresh fruit. I walked daily.
I had access to the Internet, and that was everything — a lifeline of knowledge at a time when pregnancy info was exploding online.
And I was lucky — I had a trusted doctor in Mexico, someone I had known for years and had even stayed with before. I felt safe.
But it was also hard and lonely. I left Zipolite — and the father of my child — hoping they would follow. But it was 2001. The world had just experienced 9/11, and we were all poor, shaken, unsure of what came next.
I knew I had to go home to Canada.
But what I carried with me wasn’t just a child — it was a vision of what was coming.
🏖️ The Story of Bucerias
Back in Bucerias, I saw it up close:
- Million-dollar homes stretched along the beach.
- Locals lived across the highway — far from the sand, far from the view.
- I rented a small, empty room for $80/month. No shower, just a bucket. No luxuries — just a cot and a fridge.
And while I was safe and healthy, it was still humbling.
Because it showed me the divide that was growing.
One side walked barefoot with coconuts.
The other side flew in with suitcases, building walls to keep the barefoot ones out.
🔥 What Gentrification Really Looks Like
It’s not just a buzzword.
It means:
- Local families priced out of their own communities.
- Sacred beaches turned into private playgrounds.
- Culture turned into performance for tourists.
- People becoming workers in places their ancestors once walked freely.
And it’s happening now — in Zipolite, too.
✨ We Can Still Choose Respect
I’m not writing this to judge. I know many of us fell in love with Zipolite because it was free, raw, safe, spiritual.
But if we’re not careful — if we keep buying, building, and “developing” without thought — we’ll kill the very thing we came for.
We need to ask:
- Who owns the land now?
- Who’s left out?
- Who benefits?
- Who gets pushed back?
🌱 A Message From the Beach, the Belly, and the Heart
I carried my child with joy — in the heat, with the rhythm of the ocean.
I was alone but not lost. I was aware.
And what I saw back then is happening now.
We can’t sell off paradise and expect it to stay paradise.
We can’t ignore the people who belong to the land and expect harmony.
And we can’t claim to love a place while helping erase it.
This is a love letter and a warning.
Zipolite is not for sale.
Its spirit was made in love — like my child.
Let’s treat it that way.
© 2025 Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita
Blog: adventurezinmexico.blogspot.com
Instagram: @zipolita
Twitter/X: @zipolita
Art Page: @ZipolitaArtworks
