Tulum Beach Clubs

A club sets a sum — the consumo mínimo — that you agree to spend at the bed or table you take. It is not an entry fee and it is not lost: you spend it on food and drink. If you were going to have lunch and a couple of drinks anyway, you may well reach it without trying, which is the design.

What makes it feel like a trap is the variability. The number depends on the position of the bed, the day of the week, the season and sometimes on how busy the club looks when you arrive. Front row is dearer than back row; a Saturday in February is dearer than a Tuesday in September. Nobody publishes it, and nobody is obliged to.

The way to handle it is boring and effective: before you sit, ask what the minimum is for that specific bed, for how long the bed is yours, and whether it includes anything at all. Then decide. Walking away is normal and nobody minds.

The questions worth asking at the door

Four of them, in this order: what is the minimum for this bed; does it cover both people or each; until what time do we keep it; and is the bathroom and shower included. The fourth sounds trivial and is the thing people most often assume.

The public access points at the north end of the strip — Playa Paraíso and the beaches beside it — put you on the same water with the same view, for nothing. What you give up is shade, a bathroom, somewhere safe for a bag and anybody bringing you a drink. What you gain, on a three-night trip, is most of a day's budget.

The honest middle path is a table rather than a bed: most clubs will seat you for lunch at the normal menu price without a minimum, which buys you the shade, the bathroom and the view for ninety minutes. Then swim from the public sand afterwards.

And if what you actually want is the water rather than the furniture, the reef snorkel costs less than most beds and puts you on the second-longest barrier reef in the world.

Cash and cards. The established clubs take cards; the smaller places and anyone selling from a cart do not. Draw pesos in the town, not on the beach road, where the machines charge more.

Getting there. Four kilometres from the town on a flat road, twenty minutes by bicycle, a negotiated fare by taxi — there is no meter. Parking on the strip is paid and scarce by mid-morning. Getting around has the detail.

Timing. Beds fill from about eleven in high season. The sea is calmest early, the sand is coolest early, and the afternoon is when the wind gets up and, in the wet months, when the rain arrives.

Sargassum. When it lands, clubs rake at dawn and the water at the shoreline can be brown regardless. Nobody forecasts it — the beaches page explains why, and the cenotes are the plan B.