Personal corners of the culture
La Paz: Baja fishing town a quiet, isolated alternative to Cabo that retains its original character
It is almost certainly by design that some of the elegant cast-iron benches along the waterfront malecón in La Paz do not face toward the Gulf of California. They face inward, like tiny grandstands placed for witnessing the pre-dusk stroll (not to be confused with the morning stroll, the lunch stroll and the post-siesta stroll).
More importantly, they face toward La Paz, a city that is easily overlooked until you’re here.
While this pocket-size beach town on the inside of Mexico’s 700-mile forbidding flank shares a name with the Bolivian capital, the closest thing to a jungle here might be the palms lining the malecón. And as with every town on the lower Baja Peninsula — where rain is on the calendar less often than Cinco de Mayo — there is an independent spirit, probably born of isolation.
It is not just a convenient alternative for party-centric Cabo San Lucas three hours to the south; La Paz offers a smaller, more reasonable dose of Cabo — as well as the antidote. Yes, there are spring breakstyle beach bars where the floor planks have been well marinated in Corona and Cuervo, as well as nook bars frequented (for weeks at a time, possibly) by sun-baked expats. But the town does not cater to tourism in the way of Mexico’s purposebuilt destinations. It is its own city, with local museums for local history and locally produced artwork for locals to enjoy. Once a capital of the pearl-producing world, La Paz just seems less likely to bow.
Some things have changed since John Steinbeck was here in 1940 and talked about “the greatness of La Paz” in “The Log From the Sea of Cortez,” although some haven’t. The bay still is placid (La Paz means “peace”) and at dusk reflects every tangerine-pink cloud on the surface. By the time Pacific waters make it here, they have been tempered and tamed in the Gulf of California and in the sheltered nook of Bahia La Paz.
There is life, and not just in the bustling shopping blocks. On Friday and Saturday night, the street that hugs the malecón fills with cruising cars, a fourwheeled promenade that mimics the seafront stroll — and seems to move even slower.
Pull up a bench and sit for a while.