That's My Story

Originally Published the Week of July 11, 2021 in Western Outdoor Publications

          It came without fanfare as so many things did during the covid shutdowns last year.

         So many things were closed.  It was such a widespread occurrence that when things started to come back, you suddenly realized that some things just never opened up again. 

         Sad victims to businesses that Covid “wolves” pulled down.

         This afternoon, I walked down the historic Malecon waterfront of La Paz that extends about 2 miles along the eastern shore of La Paz Bay.  It’s a little more sedate than normal given there are still some Covid restrictions in place like so many other places.

         But, the popular stretch of roadway is filled with the usual restaurants, mom and pop eateries, watering holes, gift shops and tourist stops.  Strolling tourists meander.  Joggers and bikers huff and puff.

        Sidewalk cafes offer shade and refreshment al fresco under colorful awnings and umbrellas.  Locals  in cars cruise up one side and down the other in a decades-old ritual of life here along the waterfront .

         The blue waters of La Paz Bay lap gently up to the palapa dotted beaches and stately palms sway to the whims of the ocean breeze.

         It’s a Chamber of Commerce postcard.

         Except for one thing. 

         About mid-way down my stroll I hit the construction barriers and chain-link fence now surrounding the old Hotel Perla.  It’s the last original hotel in La Paz.

         Dating back to the 40’s, it’s the last elegant grand lady of the city. 

         It was built post-WW2 at a time when few cars moved along the waterfront  and there were more palm trees than people. Cobblestone streets were the norm just narrow enough for a wagon were the norm. 

         Folks didn’t usually fly into La Paz.  They took stately cruise ships.

         Men wore white linen suits and panama hats to go along with fasionable pencil-thin mustaches.  Women wore dresses and heels.  Waiters stood by in waistcoated jackets.  One dressed for dinner. A lobster could be had for 2 dollars after the martini appetizers.  The margarita had not yet been invented.

         Celebrities like Bing Crosby, John Wayne, Lucy and Desi Arnaz might easily be sitting at the next table over.  Even the Queen of England stopped by for a visit.

         Ice was a luxury.  Air-conditioning usually meant opening the window to the fresh salty ocean breeze and the sweet smell of street vendors selling grilled carne. tacos.

         Mariachis didn’t just sing.  They serenaded.

         It was a slower and more elegant time.

         And,  now I just stared at the now barely visible old Hotel Perla.   The last anchor to a long history. 

Her bustling sidewalk café now boarded up.  The Copacabana Club upstairs forever silenced.  The arched entry only a memory.

         Like so many things it just stopped last year.

         They stopped accepting reservations.  Employees who had worked for decades were shown the door.

         A big mega-corporation had purchased it and now plan to put a big gleaming white shopping center there along with a tower hotel in the middle of it.  There’s talk of a glass-bottom pool.

         All the local little family shops surrounding the hotel are all vacant.  No doubt to make room for and allow for the massive construction to come.

         I’m sad.

         Historic things act as an anchor to the past.  A reminder of what was and had been. 

I used to love going into the lobby of the hotel and spending time just looking at all the old yellowed-photos documenting the history of the hotel and, in many ways, the history of the city.

         It was always there.  And now it’s not. 

         Like a favorite actress that was always there.  Decade after decade And then a surprising obituary posted with no fanfare.

         There was no grand ovation or exit stage left to applause. 

         Yes, the grand lady of the Malecon had drifted into her latter years catering toward budget travelers and families.  The old actress now accepting bit parts as a matriarch or matron.  Now playing a supporting role for the current starlet of the day.

        But, no doubt the old gal was still a handsome dowager along a waterfront that with it’s growing trend toward upscale chic.

         How could Perla’s $80 rooms compete with the $400/ night rooms at the new place down the street boasting down comforters; bathroom TV’s and Netflix?

         Frankly, I don’t think it had to.  The old lady could have held her own against the new upstarts.

         But, that’s just me.  No one asked me.

         She’s the last.  At least as far as I can remember. 

         The old Hotel Los Arcos has been closed for a decade now.  Hotel Las Arenas is long gone.  In Cabo, I think of the old Hotel Hacienda and Hotel Cabo San Lucas.  All gems of their day and built by visionary men of their day.

         From another time.

         Nothing is forever and there’s no staying the crash of the wrecking ball and din of the jack hammer.  Even for all of us.

         And then, there are just the good memories of days gone by.  That which is remembered lives forever. 

That’s my story!

Jonathan