Written by Heather Whipps

Manuel likes to use the word beautiful. It dots every sentence about everything. We don’t blame him. Manuel lives in a beautiful place, and does a beautiful thing, running his not-for-profit Fundación Selva Maya, now in its twelfth year, in the jungle near Akumal. You realize quickly that Manuel is just extremely passionate about his land, its heritage, and all the beautiful inhabitants here needing protection. Recently, he asked Maya Luxe to visit his foundation, an integral part of his private stretch of land known as Rancho La Higuera, to explore and to learn about its main initiative — offering sanctuary to the beautiful, native bees of the Riviera Maya, known as the Melipona. This experience is like few others in the region. Dedicated to the preservation of the jungle in general and the Melipona in particular, the truly unique place invites visitors to come learn about its projects, enjoy the land and, hopefully, spread the word.

We reached the sanctuary via a road turn-off just a few minutes west of Akumal Bay. “Road” being, perhaps, an overstatement. The gravel trail bumps along for a few kilometres inland before reaching the ranch’s private gate. Another, thinner trail winds from there through dense thickets of trees for many kilometres more, until you couldn’t feel further from the seaside life. This is Yucatan pristine, with no tourists or cell phone signal in sight. And at over 200 acres, the ranch boasts an impressive array of natural wonders. On our walk from the makeshift parking spot to our first stop — a cenote — we hear birds, and spot kaleidoscopic butterflies weaving through the vegetation. The cenotes are home to bats, fish and crocodiles, we’re told, and a system of cave-mounted cameras have confirmed the presence of multiple families of jaguar.

Manuel’s customized adventure started at one of his best, most accessible cenotes–one of 30 on the property. According to Maya Luxe CEO (Chief Expedition Officer) Andrés, it’s one of the best he’s seen in the region. The entrance is easy enough, with a small dock and sloped steps into the shallow water, where small, black catfish (a sign of a healthy pool, Manuel assures us) congregate. The water is fresh, cool and a welcome respite from the jungle humidity. We take a minute to adjust our masks and snorkels, and hold tight to the underwater flashlights Manuel provided, unaware just how necessary these would be. About 10 metres in, we enter another world, as the cave yawns and opens up into an enormous mouth dotted with stalactite and stalagmite teeth dripping down from the cave’s roof and up from the water’s floor. The cave is inky dark above water and even more so underneath it, where rock formations give way to unknown black expanses of water. As we swim along deeper into the abyss, a few of the passages are tight and require some manoeuvring, but Manuel guides us delicately. We are rewarded with beams of sunshine punching through a gaping hole at the other end, where local birds swoop in and out and perch on the thick vines that drape in and connect to a rocky perch covered in soft silt. It is truly magical. The ranch’s cave network is so large, he tells us, that students from universities worldwide arrive regularly to map its ins and outs.

After our swim, we enjoy a snack and glass of wine in a sediment clearing shaded by tall fruit trees. A dozen monkeys swung between the branches high above, hooting and waiting for us to leave before beginning their fruit buffet. Many more were lurking invisibly nearby, as they do every day at the dinner hour.

But it was the bees we really came to see and so we set off back for the ranch’s main pavilions, built in the palapa style using local wood — already fallen, not cut– by their Mayan employees. One of the palapas is dedicated to the beekeeping work and houses a jumble of tools and materials. Inside the palapa, we climb a purpose-built platform sitting among the treetops where, in a small landing, the bees are hidden in small box hives lining a simple, three-sided wooden shelving unit. Each of the 50 boxes are unique in some way — with different sizes, shapes and woods continuously being tested in rotation to optimize the bees’ happiness and production. Small holes ringed with residue are the only indication of what they hold, until Manuel’s beekeeper lifts the top off of one low-lying box. If it is possible to call a bee cute, these bees are just that. Small-bodied and covered with just a hint of “fuzz” on their back halves, even the Melipona buzz is soothing. Knowing that they couldn’t inflict a painful sting like the large North American honeybee probably helped, the Meliponas having lost their need to sting over years of evolution. We peered in further: the bees hummed softly in their boxes, seemingly unaware of our presence as they deftly crept in and out of dark amber-coloured honeycomb towers. There are fifteen varieties of the Melipona in this part of Mexico, Manuel tells us, and many of these boxes have been transferred to him from local Mayan communities, by people who either preferred that he take over their care or who simply didn’t want them anymore. Some boxes will ultimately be given back to their original owners or communities, he says.

Melipona bees have been important to the Maya for centuries, lauded for the healing powers of the honey they produce. Ancient Mayans used melipona honey as a sweetener, of course, but also as an antibiotic and as part of religious ceremonies conducted by priests. Ah Muzen Cab, the Mayan God of Honey and Bees, is their link between the human and spirit worlds. But the Meliponas have been struggling of late, dwindling in numbers due to habitat loss as well as the slow invasion of the Africanized honey bee, which spread to the Yucatan from Brazil after being introduced there by Europeans. Although Africanized bees are generally easier to maintain and produce far more honey, they are not native to the region or hold the same longstanding cultural importance as the Melipona. With the art of Melipona husbandry dying, these bees are now in serious peril of disappearing altogether and probably would have already if not for the intervention of people like Manuel and precious others in the region. A cultural tragedy in itself, the disappearance of the Melipona would also threaten the stability of the region’s flora and fauna.

As Manuel reminds us, the bees, flowers, birds and other animals here live in a fragile eco-balance. Today, they’re important to the pollination of the vanilla plant, among others. As Manuel describes the history and beautiful particularity of the Melipona tradition, it is clear that these bees are in good hands at present. The point is to stoke the fires of the Melipona tradition and get them back into the jungle in healthy numbers, not to turn the Selva Maya into a honey-making business. The Melipona honey produced here, in fact, cannot yet be bought on the market and probably won’t be for a long while until the proper steps toward certification are taken. If and when it is, the honey will be of the purest, most authentic variety — Meliponas don’t roam far, and prefer only certain plant pollens. Understanding the importance of preserving traditions properly, we are only slightly disappointed not to have gotten a taste.

We left Rancho La Higuera refreshed from our dip, rejuvenated and re-committed to spreading the word about the Riviera Maya’s tiny, but beautiful, resident. The folks at Maya Luxe like to say that sometimes you need to disconnect to connect. It’s easy among the bees, whose buzzing is so much sweeter than the ones coming usually from your phone.

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