Americans targeted in Mexico City as locals protest against tourism, soaring rents
Residents in Mexico City protested against mass tourism over the weekend, with hundreds of people taking to the streets, The Associated Press (AP) reported.
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Protesters marched in neighborhoods that are popular with tourists, as well as near the US Embassy and inside metro stations in a stand against gentrification of the popular destination.
What began as a peaceful march then took a turn when a small group of people in masks began smashing storefronts, looting and harassing foreigners, AP reported.
Popular areas such as Condesa and Roma were affected.
Graffiti written on shattered glass from rocks read, 'Get out of Mexico,' AP reported.
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6 Activists fill the streets protesting tourists in Mexico City, Mexico, on July 4, 2025.
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6 People take pictures of signs telling tourist to go home.
Josue Perez/ZUMA / SplashNews.com
Other signs held by protesters read, among other messages, 'Gringos, stop stealing our home,' and 'Pay taxes, learn Spanish, respect my culture.'
Protesters are demanding stricter housing laws and legislation to regulate tourism levels.
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Many Americans took advantage of cheaper rent prices in Mexico during the coronavirus, escaping lockdowns in 2020 as 'digital nomads.'
6 Signs are posted to a wall of a Mexico Park a day after protesters marched against gentrification.
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6 A protester holds up a sign calling on 'Airbnb to leave' the area.
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The number of Americans living in Mexico jumped 70% from 2019 to 2022.
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It has continued to grow to a total of 1.6 million, according to the US State Department.
Local college student Michelle Castro told AP she has watched the transformation of her 'working-class' community.
'There are a lot of foreigners, namely Americans, coming to live here. Many say it's xenophobia, but it's not,' said Castro.
6 A demonstrator shoots fire into the air during a protest against gentrification of Mexico City on July 4, 2025.
Marco Gonzalez/Eyepix Group/Shutterstock
6 The number of Americans living in Mexico jumped 70% from 2019 to 2022.
REUTERS
She added, 'It's just that so many foreigners come here [and] rents are skyrocketing because of Airbnb. Rents are so high that some people can't even pay anymore.'
Last month, people in Barcelona and on the Spanish island of Mallorca sprayed tourists with water guns in an attempt to 'cool down' tourism, Fox News Digital previously reported.
Other cities have held their own tourism protests, with locals gathering in Venice, Italy, and Lisbon, Portugal.
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Other international vacation destinations have implemented taxes in an effort to curb tourism, Fox News Digital previously reported.
Greek officials, for example, are planning to impose a $22 tax on visitors cruising to Santorini or Mykonos.
The Associated Press contributed to this report.
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Yahoo
25 minutes ago
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Many of New York's best camping sites in mid-Hudson Valley, according to Hipcamp
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Yahoo
4 hours ago
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California was comfortable, this American woman says, but ‘everyone is much happier' since the family moved to Spain
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Transformative move Crowley and her husband had long planned to live abroad once they had children, but they were waiting for the right time. 'I think for both of us, it's sort of just been foundational to who we are,' she said. 'To sort of live in different cultures and communities. And it felt sort of antithetical to who we are to just reside in one location.' Crowley is originally from Colorado. Before moving to Spain, the family lived for a decade in Montecito, California, a coastal enclave in Santa Barbara County where Oprah Winfrey and the Duke and Duchess of Sussex own homes. 'It was a wonderful place to raise a family,' Crowley said. 'But honestly, maybe a little too wonderful. It's very manicured. It's very limited.' She wanted her children's perspectives to be 'in a way that staying in such a sheltered environment would not allow for.' But leaving the close-knit community was difficult, especially as she and her husband, an environmental lawyer, she both had demanding jobs. 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National Geographic
5 hours ago
- National Geographic
Cancun's new train is a tourist's dream—and an underground nightmare
Mexico's $30 billion Tren Maya railway was built to unite the country and honor ancient Maya sites. Now that it's up and running, the true cost of progress is finally becoming clear. The water in this cenote, part of a honeycomb-like cave network located just south of Playa del Carmen, should be crystal clear. Instead, biologist Roberto Rojo wades through murky runoff caused by steel pillars bursting through the roof, which have contaminated the aquifer. Photograph by Robbie Shone Roberto Rojo was inside the cave when the roof cracked open and a massive drill churned thundering through. Stalactites tumbling, Rojo ducked for cover, holding out his phone, the biologist and outspoken cave explorer capturing the moment that a spectacular limestone chamber in the Yucatan Peninsula of southeastern Mexico was destroyed. A rusty steel pillar, about four feet in diameter and 80 feet tall, was later jammed into the hole by the industrial drill rig on the surface above. The hollow pillar was pumped full of cement, some of which spilled into the crystalline water partially filling the cenote, as a sinkhole or cave system with an underground reservoir is known. Rust flakes shedding from the pillar mixed with loose cement, and a dark stain spread across the pool. Nearby, a second hole was punched and another pillar inserted. Then a third, then a fourth. There are now 40 pillars in this cenote alone, marching through in rows of four. By Rojo's count, more than 15,000 pillars have been stabbed into the thin Yucatan soil, an assault that may trigger a chain reaction. The Yucatan Peninsula is bigger than Florida, but because it's made of porous limestone, much of the region has no rivers or lakes. The widespread cenotes are a crucial source of fresh water, sustaining hundreds of species, from jaguars to tapirs, as well as millions of Mexican citizens and all of the tourists. Maya people have placed ceremonial objects in cenotes for over a thousand years. Architectural achievement or environmental disaster? The 966-mile rail system looping the Yucatan Peninsula and cutting through dense jungle has led to rising tensions between progress and preservation in the modern age. Photograph by Robbie Shone (Top) (Left) and Photograph by Martin Zetina, AP (Bottom) (Right) Most critically, many of the cenotes are interconnected—ruin some of the water, says Rojo, and you risk it all—and they drain to the sea, so ooze from the pillars also attacks the Mesoamerican Reef, and the beaches of Cancún, and the mangroves buttressing the coast, as well as the jungle and its wildlife. Everything, in Rojo's perspective, could be lost; an ecocide, he calls it. All for the sake of a train. Tren Maya slides into the station, air-conditioning pumping, spotlessly clean, the seats and aisles and trim tinted teal or aquamarine, like the sea beyond. Cancún's terminal, all sleekly curved walls and planters bursting with greenery, clarifies why this is one of the most expensive infrastructure projects in modern Mexican history. The system fully opened in December 2024, costing an estimated $30 billion and creating a grand loop around the Yucatan Peninsula—966 miles of rail, 34 stops, and more than three dozen trains moving in both directions at up to 100 miles per hour. Some track sits on elevated viaducts supported by steel pillars that have been stuccoed, aboveground, demurely in white. (Are trains on track for a comeback in Mexico?) 'The train is an incredible achievement,' says ecologist and cave diver Germán Yáñez, one of the few people who love exploring the cenotes as much as Roberto Rojo. The two of them were once close—'best friends,' says Rojo—and started a caving club together. Now they hardly speak. Tren Maya divided them, as it has cleaved friendships and families across Mexico and beyond. How could a train, so innocuous, stir up terrible fights? The conflicts are both grand and not—the direction of a nation, the price of a beer—and tend to polarize society. There's a battle between those with a far-sighted need to preserve the last scraps of wild Mother Earth and those who understand that human impact, unstoppable since our species was born, should be celebrated when you feel it's been appropriately wrought. Tren Maya, as a result, is a project that's seen with two sets of eyes. When construction started, in 2020, Yáñez and Rojo were both drawn to the cenotes beneath the route. But while Rojo documented ruin, Yáñez helped seek treasure. For two years, Yáñez was employed by Mexico's government and worked closely with members of the National Institute of Anthropology and History, a respected Mexican office that oversees the nation's cultural heritage, from museums to pyramids. The institute's field unit assesses the archaeological impact of proposed public works, and for Tren Maya, an unprecedented team of 2,000 was assembled, including scientists and support staff, who combed the jungle along the planned circuit. To some passengers, especially in Mexico's southeast, Tren Maya's modern stations, like this one in Cancún, and sleek locomotive design are symbols of civic triumph. Photograph by Angie Smith (Top) (Left) and Photograph by Robbie Shone (Bottom) (Right) 'It was the job of my dreams,' says Yáñez, who was with the underwater mapping division and assisted in dozens of finds, including the first intact Maya canoe discovered in the region, believed to be from around A.D. 900. Likely it will be displayed in one of the nine new museums being built that will highlight Tren Maya discoveries. Yáñez, unlike Rojo, was actually on the jobsite every day, in uniform, part of the crew. From tracklayers to archaeologists, Yáñez says, he sensed dedication and national pride, a belief that the work was important. Because to them it was. The Yucatan Peninsula, beyond the tourist strips, has long been neglected, with areas of extreme poverty. Tren Maya has the power to change that. For sisters Karen and Sandra Sánchez, the ride to Valladolid for a family vacation was occasion enough to memorialize with a selfie. Photograph by Angie Smith In addition to taking passengers, the rail line will soon carry large quantities of cargo, which should reduce the price of goods, from beef to beer, in formerly remote areas and let farmers efficiently transport produce. Tourists, and their cash, will be distributed more equitably throughout the peninsula. Ticket prices for locals make the train cheaper than the bus. A study by the United Nations estimates that by 2030, the economic boost from Tren Maya will generate more than 900,000 new jobs and lift 1.1 million people out of poverty. It's the ideal project at the right time, supporters say, launching an impoverished region into the future. Not building this modern marvel would have been tragic. Without a train, the area's population growth may have necessitated a more ecologically damaging, old-fashioned highway. Even the pillars, to some, are beneficial—elevating the train preserves the natural flow of the wildlife beneath, instead of fragmenting habitats. Rojo has documented 120 cenotes the pillars have pierced. Which means, Yáñez notes, that at least 10,000 others are unharmed. As for contaminating the aquifer, sanitation experts believe a greater culprit than pillars is a lack of proper sewage disposal in the area, and the monetary stimulus of the train should help fix that. Tren Maya, says Yáñez, won't kill the Yucatan. It's going to save it. Tourists can travel back in time on Tren Maya, from the colonial city of Mérida to Palenque's ancient ruins, but it will also function as a practical mode of cargo transportation and make places like this beach in Cancún more accessible. Photograph by Angie Smith Circling south out of Cancún, the train rolls through jungle, inland of the famous beach resorts. The ground-level tracks here have sliced open one of the last places in Mexico with vast, healthy forest. Otto von Bertrab, a Mexican journalist and owner of a tour-guiding business, has spent years investigating Tren Maya and claims that anyone who supports it has been brainwashed by government propaganda. Yáñez and Rojo fought chiefly over tolerance for ecological harm, but the von Bertrab family, like many others, is attempting to maintain cordial relations while clashing over politics and sociology too, and what it means to be Mexican. Étienne von Bertrab, Otto's first cousin—their fathers are brothers—is an academic specializing in sustainable development who has also intensely studied Tren Maya and believes that many opposed to it have been blinded by dislike of Mexico's new leadership. Ancient Maya rituals are thought to have taken place in Playa del Carmen's Río Secreto (Secret River), which is still relatively pristine although popular among ecotourists. Here, scientists like Rojo journey through luminous cave pools, beneath porous popcorn-like ceilings and past calcite daggers, to better understand Tren Maya's ecological impacts. Photograph by Robbie Shone Tren Maya is the pet project of former president Andrés Manuel López Obrador, known as AMLO, who brought a progressive outlook to the Mexican government for the first time in decades when elected in 2018 on a platform focused on reducing poverty. AMLO mentioned the train in his inaugural address and swiftly launched construction, which finished soon after his chosen successor, Claudia Scheinbaum, became president in 2024. To keep the project moving, believes Otto von Bertrab, AMLO brazenly lied. The president stated repeatedly that 'not one tree will be cut,' because the train would be built over abandoned rail lines. In truth, millions of trees were felled and much of the route is far from old tracks. To protect wildlife where the train wasn't elevated, the government promised to install animal crossings—plans distributed to the media showed wide, gently sloping overpasses, designed to look natural with trees and shrubs. None have yet been built. Otto reported on such deceptions for the Yucatan newspaper La Jornada Maya. He joined forces with Rojo and other antitrain activists. Rojo's videos of the pillars were widely distributed. Dozens of Mexican scientists and academics signed letters pleading for construction to halt. Mexican singers, actors, and artists recorded videos begging the government to conserve the forest. Demonstrations were staged in fresh clear-cuts. Some protesters cuffed themselves to machinery. Journalists around the world took notice. A New York Times headline announced that the project 'Barrels Toward Disaster.' A number of Maya artifacts were destroyed during construction of Tren Maya, while others, like this centuries-old, stucco-covered shrine framing a striking stalagmite in a Playa del Carmen cave, remain intact. Photograph by Robbie Shone The reaction of the government, expressed in AMLO's televised speeches and social media posts, was to imply that those who opposed the train were traitors, enemies of Mexican progress. 'That's when I got my first threatening calls,' says Otto. He was warned he could be 'disappeared'—a terrifying concern in Mexico, where over a dozen environmental protesters are murdered each year, more than anywhere else in the world except Colombia, according to the nonprofit agency Global Witness. Fearful for his life, Otto fell silent. 'I couldn't write anymore. It was too dangerous.' He lauds the bravery of people like Rojo, who kept up the drumbeat, repeatedly pointing out the project was illegal, as the mandated environmental impact statements were never completed. AMLO's response, in November 2021, was to declare that the train was a matter of 'national security.' Further, AMLO put the Mexican military in charge of the project's construction and operation. And with these strong-arm tactics, as Otto views them, the president bypassed the need for environmental assessments. In May 2023, the Mexico Supreme Court ruled that such evasive actions were illegal, but AMLO overrode the court's decision with a narrower executive order and construction rolled on. Even the revered National Institute of Anthropology and History was caught up in an apparent scandal. An archaeologist with the Tren Maya team, Juan Manuel Sandoval, published a scathing 75-page report detailing incidents of purposeful destruction of artifacts so that train workers could bulldoze through without delay. The Washington Post reported that more than 25,000 antiquities, including Maya temples, were obliterated. While many cenotes lie beneath the surface, above-ground ones can create natural swimming pools. Enjoying a dip in the heart-shaped Cenote Corazón del Paraíso (Heart of Paradise) near the town of Tulum, now accessible by train, is, appropriately enough, like bathing in heavenly blue waters. Photograph by Angie Smith Members of the Indigenous community—about half of the peninsula's population identifies as Indigenous, more than double the national average—raised voices in protest. Some expressed that the very name, Tren Maya, reduced Native people to a marketing slogan. But nothing stopped construction, and the train is done. After all that, says Otto, the result is a cultural, environmental, and economic catastrophe. Many stations are far from city centers, difficult to reach. The early rider numbers are one-fifth of government expectations. Maintaining a high-tech train in tropical weather and salty air will be an endless expense. In a handful of years, he's certain, Tren Maya will lie in ruins, rusted and overgrown. Maybe people will visit it like the temples of Tulum. (How a Yucatan jungle hike could help revive Mexico's ailing Maya communities.) Tren Maya, says Otto's cousin Étienne von Bertrab, though not free of flaws, is one of the most important projects in Mexican history. Étienne grew up in Mexico but now lectures on urban development at University College London. He acknowledges the painful losses—stalagmites that grew for millions of years shattered in minutes—but feels that what's gained, the opportunities for coming generations, a region connected, outweighs the damage. He plans to publish a book about the train. A considerable majority of Mexican citizens, says Étienne, approve of Tren Maya. An early poll put support at 90 percent. What some haters are really expressing, he says, is fear. The affluent, those who have already attained success, generally don't want a more equitable society. Tren Maya was built so swiftly, against their wishes, and this rattled those accustomed to clout. From Étienne's perspective, the election of AMLO marked a progressive leap forward for Mexico. Social benefits, he says, are expanding; poor kids no longer need to drop out of school. To him, Tren Maya represents this hopeful new sentiment in one triumphant work. The interconnectivity of the Yucatan's underground freshwater system means that polluting cenotes, like this one in Playa del Carmen that's being used as a trash dump, can have devastating ripple effects across the region. Photograph by Robbie Shone On the train itself, gliding through greenery on the southern part of the loop, stylishly linking cities once separated by long, rattling drives, the feeling is of a rolling celebration. The passengers, primarily Mexican, lots of families, walk the aisles snapping photos or carrying snacks from the food car. Several wear Tren Maya caps and shirts purchased at a station gift shop, like fans of a sports team. To aid the visually impaired, the accessible bathroom speaks in both Spanish and English: 'The door is now locked.' The cleaning crew passes by after nearly every stop. A region that has experienced extensive periods of war, slavery, and resource extraction has finally gained something back. 'This train is a wonderful gift,' says Anna Danieli, who traveled across Mexico from her home in Guadalajara to experience Tren Maya. 'I feel like I'm royalty, like Lady Diana.' 'I'm bursting with pride to be Mexican,' says Norma Villarreal, who drove more than a thousand miles from Monterrey, in the north, with her 90-year-old mother, Concepción, to ride the train. 'I'm a high school teacher, and I can't wait to tell my students about this.' As for environmental concerns, Étienne adds, many trees were indeed removed to make the train—the protesters were right— but a federal work program for rural laborers, called Sembrando Vida, or Sowing Life, is in the process of planting 500 million trees in the region, far surpassing the number that were cut. It's one of the world's largest reforestation endeavors. As part of the scope of Tren Maya's construction, according to the Mexican government, the biosphere reserve of Calakmul, where the tracks pass by, expanded its protected area by over a million acres, making it the second largest natural sanctuary in the Americas, surpassed only by the Amazon. Rising high above the treetops, the legendary temple of Kukulcán each year draws millions of visitors, who now have the option of arriving via train at Chichén Itzá. Photograph by Angie Smith The intervention of the military, in Étienne's opinion, was necessary. Mexico is littered with half-finished projects, and if it weren't for military control, activists may have tied up Tren Maya forever. There were previous passenger trains in the region, privately run, but they disappeared decades ago for lack of profit. With the military in charge, Tren Maya doesn't need to make money. It's a public good. And the train won't financially burden Mexican citizens, as it holds no debt and is chiefly funded by a tax on tourists. Whether or not Tren Maya is an insult to the Maya also seems part of the hyperbolic vitriol flung from both sides. Quetzal Tzab, a well-known activist who has consulted for the United Nations on Native rights, insists that 95 percent of the Indigenous people he knows favor the train. The tiny minority opposed, he concedes, is masterful at making itself heard. Condemnation of the archaeological rigor, and the willful wrecking of relics, is addressed by Manuel Pérez Rivas, head of the National Institute of Anthropology and History's 2,000-person team. Yes, Pérez Rivas says, the project wasn't perfect; some items didn't survive. But his team did register precisely 871,267 pieces of archaeological significance, the most extensive rescue of Maya history ever collected and possibly the largest dig of all time. 'The Yucatan is an evolving thing, not a museum,' says Pérez Rivas. 'You need to balance the living with the historic. If we preserved every artifact, we'd never build anything.' (Discover Maya history along Mexico's first thru-hike.) The pieces found by the team, in obsidian, jade, seashell, clay, and wood, were notable because most weren't extraordinary, says Pérez Rivas. They were everyday objects like knives, plates, and pipes. When fully studied, decades hence, they will offer a more complete understanding of how common people lived in ancient times, he adds. The focus of the archaeology, like the train itself, will be on lives that are often overlooked. It's the early days of Tren Maya, and no one knows where it's heading, triumph or disaster or in between. Ridership did start slowly, but Étienne projects a massive hit. The train, many feel, could serve as a global template for juggling environmental concern and economic expansion, and for how to transform a local population that's minimized by tourism into one that reaps benefits. When hurricane-force winds blow in, holes built into the facade of Templo del Dios del Viento (Temple of the God of the Wind) funnel gusting cacophonies through Tulum like a Maya disaster alarm. This outlook isn't far from a stop along the new train route that some consider just as awe-inspiring. Photograph by Angie Smith Detractors claim the opposite—that the only thing Tren Maya will achieve is to show the world what not to do. The antitrain faction tends to view the project as a new kind of threat, though this idea seems subverted at the renowned archaeological site Chichén Itzá, a couple of train stops west of Cancún. (Besides Chichén Itzá, visit these 3 other archaeological wonders in Mexico.) The ancient Maya constructed roads, called sacbeob, all over the peninsula, which were wide and slightly elevated and often ran through the jungle plumb straight. They look a lot like train tracks. There's one in Chichén Itzá, starting near the main pyramid. And something else is there too. In the center of the site is an area of giant pillars, lined up in rows of four—light-colored, at least aboveground, and extending toward the forest. Their similarity to the pillars that Rojo recorded is startling, except that these are a thousand years old. This story appears in the September 2025 issue of National Geographic magazine.
