Baja Isn’t For Everyone and That’s The Point

After a couple hours of work, I lace up my running shoes and head down the hill toward the Malecón for my morning run. The neighborhood is pleasantly quiet at this hour. High tide pushes the water up against the sea wall, and the Sea of Cortez sits still, like it hasn’t made up its mind yet.

I find a rhythm running along the water as I look out toward Isla Espíritu Santo sitting low on the horizon. It doesn’t look real at that distance. More like something placed there to balance the view. After a short mile, I cut inland for several blocks then up a driveway that feels like its leading to a sketchy place. There’s no sign, no front door, nothing to suggest what’s inside. Just a sliding chain link gate, slightly but invitingly open.

Inside, it’s dark. No artificial light, just whatever the morning sun lets in. Black walls, concrete floors and Black Sabbath’s Paranoid playing overhead. Five people, maybe. Nobody talking. Everybody putting in work. There is a eerie quiet vibe although music is playing fairly loud.  On the far wall, a massive painting of Arnold Schwarzenegger stares back, his right eye painted red like the The Terminator. On the opposite wall is a painting of Bruce Lee with some Japanese writing, I later learned means “The Way of the Warrior“.  The initial feeling is complete intimidation. Then I settle in and realize this amazing place — tucked behind what looks like an old auto body shop hanging on for dear life — is my new gym, Bushido or 武士道.

No front desk. No smoothie bar. Nobody talking. No Americans counting steps. Just weight, heat and intent. And somewhere between the run, the silence, and the sound of metal moving through the room, it hits me— It sure is great to be back in Baja.

It takes but a few seconds to understand La Paz is a different kind of Baja.

The airport has but one terminal. Deplaning the stair exit onto the tarmac, you immediately realize you are not in the curated version of Mexico designed to keep you comfortable. There is no Senor Frogs, just señors. La Paz is a city that moves at its own pace and doesn’t care about yours – in fact it doesn’t even notice you.

La Paz is the capital of Baja California Sur, the last state to be formed in Mexico in 1974.  It’s the least populated state and La Paz is a coastal city of a few hundred thousand people sitting quietly on the Sea of Cortez. From a distance, it looks almost too still to be a city at all. But up close, it’s something else entirely — a little gritty, a bit quiet and largely untouched by the people turning Baja into Dave & Busters.

There are tourists, but not many. Expats too, though they congregate just outside the city in a place called El Centenario — building their own version of Baja, a few miles removed, but worlds away from anything real.  They want the beautiful Mexico screensaver, but with the American operating system — paved roads, gated communities, pickle ball and doggie spas.

The rest of La Paz belongs to the people who live here.  Vive Calle Norte!

From Los Angeles, La Paz is a two-hour flight — close enough to feel easy, far enough to feel like you’ve stepped out of the bubble. The kind of place you go not to escape your life, but to see if it still works when you change the setting.  And that was our mission, to escape the brutal Southern California winter for a month.

By the second week, a pattern starts to form. Familiar faces. Restaurant owners who recognize you. Scenery that feel less like somewhere you’re visiting and more like – your neighborhood.  There’s no urgency here.  The best restaurants are never more than 2/3 full, even on weekend nights. There is no sense that you’re missing something if you’re not doing enough. Which, depending on who you are, can either feel like freedom — or something else entirely.

Exploring The Beaches of La Paz, Mexico, BCS

For a coastal city, La Paz has surprisingly little beach culture.  This was perhaps our biggest surprise, but it pleasantly enhanced our stay as we were forced to do other things. We get a lot of beach life at home in the South Bay of Los Angeles, which also explains why we had to explore them all. Aficionados.

When you google ‘beaches in La Paz, Mexico” you will see plenty, and they look nice.  In fact when you Google anything about Baja, the images always look great, but in reality its a little different, not bad, just different. Baja is different. A five star restaurant sits comfortably next to a half torn down building on many blocks, giving La Paz a special character.

The beaches in La Paz do not function in the way you are used to.  They are small, the water is shallow, there are no waves and no sense that people have planned their day around going there. They are not destinations. You can go, have a look around and then, at some point within an hour, it’s time to move on.  In La Paz you go to the beach to eat a sandwich, not to enjoy the sun, sand or surf. We hit all the beaches close to city in about an hour on our motorbike.

Feeling very unfulfilled, we then made a plan to hit the major beaches outside the city, Balandra, Tecolote, La Ventana & Cerritos. This would take a couple days and require a coche.

Balandra is the one you see online — shallow, clear, almost unreal in the right light. And it is, for a while. You walk it, climb the hill above it and enjoy the vista. The water barely reaches your waist. People drift through it slowly, like they’re unsure what to do next. We felt the same. There are some palapas on a very short sandy beach where the locals set up camp.  It’s beautiful, there is no doubt.  The moment lands and after about one hour, it’s time to go.

A few locals pointed us to Tecolote, a much larger beach just beyond Balandra. Driving in felt familiar — like pulling up to the surf towns on the Pacific side of Baja years ago. The road turns to dirt, then opens into a wide, dusty lot. Vendors set up in loose rows, tents flapping, selling hats, jewelry, whatever fits on a folding table.

A lot of towns in Baja start the same way — a surf break is first, then a campground, then a taco stand, then a restaurant, then a hotel. Tecolote looks like that. Except there’s no surf… and development stalled somewhere between the taco stand and restaurant.  We took a dip in the ocean, walked the beach, and left quicker than our time in Balandra.

So we widened the search for beach culture.

Todos Santos sits about an hour south and across the peninsula on the Pacific side. I had been wanting to check out this town for decades. I knew there was a good surf break nearby (Cerritos) and the town itself has a reputation for being vibrant, fun and safe. An alternative to Cabo, for people with a little more soul and creativity than fanny pack nation.

It’s smaller than expected. A few streets of boutiques, clean facades, places that feel curated in a way La Paz doesn’t bother with. At times it leans toward Santa Barbara — the kind of town that knows exactly how it looks and is comfortable staying that way.

The surprise is the beach.

For a place that gets mentioned in the same breath as the coast, you don’t just walk to it. You drive. In and out. The ocean feels like an accessory, not the main draw.

We spent a couple hours there, long enough to get the idea. Maybe the nightlife shifts things after dark. Maybe it opens up. But by late afternoon, we were already heading back — one hour south to La Paz, where things feel less arranged.

We didn’t come to Baja to pretend we were in Santa Barbara.

Quick Cerritos tie-in (right before or after)

Cerritos sits just outside of it — more movement, more purpose. A real break, people in the water, boards on trucks, something closer to a beach scene. Not perfect, but at least it knows what it is.

The beaches in Baja aren’t the main event.

You Might Also Like