Welcome to Beach Week, our annual celebration of the best place on Earth.

In the summer of 2023, I’d been quietly wandering for months, running from the pandemic’s aftermath and my life in San Francisco, when talk of a hard-to-reach town with a legendary wave lured me in. I arrived in Puerto Escondido, Mexico, sweaty, dirty, idle, and, for the first time in what felt like years, happy more often than not. Each morning there, I woke to my fan’s low hum and the sound of distant water pounding the shore. I’d head to the beach and sit on the hot sand to watch surfers hurl themselves into a violent dance, dropping 15 or 20 feet into a wave born from storms thousands of miles away, funneled to shore by a deep underwater canyon. The swell, the tide, the wind, the decades of experience: it all had to align for one fleeting life-changing—and, at times, life-taking—wave.

Known as the Mexican Pipeline, Zicatela has been attracting intrepid surfers since the ’70s who are drawn by its consistency, power, hollowness, and death-defying size. (Sometimes I’d see stickers on dusty cars: “Dios perdona, Zicatela no.” God forgives, Zicatela doesn’t.) International surfers began traveling there in earnest in the 1990s, but soon, tourism followed. “Puerto went from a really small town to the mecca of surfing in Mexico, and one of the most famous waves in the world,” says Edwin Morales, a local surf photographer and filmmaker. Now, a deluge of development in part spurred by the sheer number of visitors is threatening the quality of a wave that for many is a way of life.

Locals say it started with a poorly planned jetty. In 2000, the government completed a breakwater at the northern end of the beach to protect fishing boats. Since, according to some, it’s been trapping increasing amounts of sand, altering the currents and generating rip tides that have changed how Zicatela breaks. A 2024 documentary of the wave coproduced by Morales, Place of Thorns, chronicles its legendary status and deteriorating condition: the once consistently surfable wave is now increasingly closed out, meaning it crashes all at once.

“When some of the best surfers in the world say they have watched this change, and can draw a picture showing the dynamics of the riptide and how it’s affecting the sand—I believe them,” says Dr. Chad Nelsen, CEO of Surfrider Foundation, which works to preserve oceans, waves, and beaches. “Based on my decades of science, everything they are describing makes perfect sense. Coastal systems are so dynamic and complex that anytime we mess with them, it’s usually bad.”

Puerto used to be difficult to access. “It wasn’t an easy trip; it was a whole mission,” says Morales. But when I returned in February of 2024, that was changing. There was talk of a new highway that would connect Oaxaca City to the beach town in two-and-a-half hours. When it opened that March, barriers to visit were essentially gone: no more expensive connecting flights or one famously nauseating overnight bus ride. “Every weekend there’s chaos. We didn’t have an actual plan for the town’s growth and the highway,” says Morales.

If I had asked more questions during my first visit, I would’ve learned the currents of change had been building for some time. Mexico’s lax travel restrictions during Covid brought an influx of visitors to Puerto. Then the new highway was followed by more direct flights, and now an ongoing airport expansion. The population jumped from less than 30,000 in 2020 to nearly 47,000 in 2025, and from 2021 to 2022, tourism surged 145 percent. “Covid changed everything. Puerto exploded, and our infrastructure couldn’t keep up,” says community activist Humberto ‘Beto’ Olivera. “We don’t have adequate wastewater systems and as those became overwhelmed, sewage started leaking everywhere.” Further threatening the quality of life is mounting trash, questionable construction practices like culling sand from riverbeds, and disappearing mangroves.

While there’s not yet conclusive data linking new development like hotels and highways to changes in the wave, locals are concerned that if gone unchecked, it could ruin the surf at Zicatela for good. There are examples of this happening around the world, of surf spots being damaged or completely wiped out by new infrastructure. Just ask residents in Pavones, Costa Rica, or Ventura, California. Or consider Petacalco, the once-mythic Mexican surf break—now completely gone—after a dam project rerouted the river that sustained it.

In January 2025 I returned again, prepared for crowds but still stunned by the sheer number of people. Construction was everywhere. The roads I had once flown down were now clogged with traffic. (I couldn’t help but feel somewhat guilty, since I had written about some of the new hotels.) There were “nice” gyms now, and a fancy sushi restaurant, and so many vacation rentals I couldn’t tell where one curving concrete building ended and the next began.

“If we, as residents, don’t take action—if we leave it to the authorities, who won’t do anything—Puerto Escondido will collapse within ten years,” says Olivera. “We have serious problems: water shortages, overflowing landfills, untreated sewage, and a wave at Zicatela that’s at risk of dying.”

And its loss cannot be overstated. “Zicatela is the living soul of Puerto Escondido,” Olivera says. “Zicatela is everything to me. I’ve had the most incredible moments of my life there,” adds Javier Ramirez, a local surf instructor and body boarder. Trent Hodges, who works for Save the Waves, a California-based nonprofit dedicated to saving international surf ecosystems, agrees. “Zicatela is a marvel of nature. When you see that place break perfectly and people surf that wave—it’s like the Everest of surfing. These places are sacred sites,” he says.

But the community is fighting back—and it’s working. Olivera is one of many local leaders who, through social media and on-the-ground community activism, have called attention to the trash fires, sewage problems, potential developments, and threatened marine life. The groups have also staged beach clean ups, protests, film screenings, and collected aid for hurricane relief. In 2021 and 2023, community efforts stopped development of Playa Colorada, one of the last untouched beaches in the area with another wave loved by the town’s bodyboarders.

In March, local grassroots coalition Salvemos Puerto Escondido successfully nominated the town as the 14th World Surfing Reserve. Created by the Save the Waves nonprofit, the reserve designation, once official in 2026, will encompass eight waves, including Zicatela and Colorada, and 6.2 miles of coastline containing critical biodiversity. The nomination has also launched a community stewardship program to identify key goals and, potentially, legislation.

The depth of community involvement in Puerto is exemplary—and critical to sustainable development and tourism. “I’ve done these workshops all around the world,” says Hodges. “We had more participation in Puerto than we’ve had in our entire history. That’s what gives me hope.”

That spirit of participation is rooted in the region’s traditions. “In Oaxaca, we have an ancestral practice called tequio. It’s a tradition of helping your community simply out of love—helping without expecting anything in return,” Olivera says. “I’m Zapotec, and most of us here descend from ancient civilizations that have always lived on this land. Tequio is about contributing with your heart, and that’s what we’ve done.”

Top photo by Tony Heff/World Surf League via Getty Images

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