This is what happened, well sort of, don’t quote me.
The tip of the Baja was a dangerous and desolate destination known by a few Pericu natives. Scrounging for seeds, roots, and shellfish in the waterless desert was not exactly luxurious.
After Cortez raided México, and the Spanish Galleons laden with stolen New World riches for the crown, Pirates appeared. Sir Francis Drake was the first known taker and was called the ‘scourge of God’ by the Spaniards. Later on, in 1587 Thomas Cavendish another particularly scourge sailor lay in wait for the heavily leaden 700-ton Spanish galleon Santa Ana and made pirate history.
The fearsome Jesuits made inroads in 1697 and were hated and later extinguished by the oppressed locals. Replaced by the barely more tolerable Dominicans in 1773. They at least knew how to farm and brought some vines. Come 1804 the Spanish crown divided the Baja into North with Franciscans and South with the Dominicans but it hardly mattered. The Mexican American War ended and the Baja was saved from those northern squatters who didn’t see the value of the slim pickings. After the Gold Rush ended up north gold was discovered in Triunfo just south of La Paz and a new influx of craggy smelly miners spilled into the Sierra de la Lagunas. A few even made some dough but most just discovered tequila. Could be worse for sure.
By the 1950’s the lower Baja was still pretty isolated. The fortunate few who called this paradise home lived by simple means, paid no tax nor had much law. Except for the common decency prerogative that is really all one needs. Taking care and treating each other with respect requires no government assistance. One day they spied a small single prop plane bringing some rich dude that wanted a marlin. Not any small catch but a big fat ornery Black Marlin. Unfortunately, he was very wildly successful and retold his tale of an adventurous monster-slaying in Cabo. And THAT was the beginning of the ruin.
Turns out his story went viral and the in-crowd of Hollywood took notice. Bing, Lucy, the Duke plus a bunch of oilmen from Texas started their own private clubs which they eventually called hotels for local jurisprudence’s sake. Things remained idyllic for quite some time since there were no crowds due to the fact that you couldn’t just fly Southwest on budget. Then to make the trip to the tip of the Baja took grit, determination, and most important cash, lots of mullah in fact. You either flew private or floated in a boat big enough to get there and back without support which meant no gas – no go. The few new places to stay were legendary in style, Hotel Las Cruces outside of La Paz, Hotel Palmilla in San Jose, the Hotel Cabo San Lucas at El Tule were all private social clubs pretending to be hotels. Then they built the Hacienda on Medano, Twin Dolphin beside Santa Maria, Solmar, and Finnestera on the Pacific side of Cabo.
The wild idea of building cliffside mansions at the Pedregal began at the same time as the Marina, the inter-peninsular highway, and statehood in 1974. This was the beginning of the modernization of this once-forgotten formerly isolated and desolate Cape.
Now it became possible for the middle class to drive down or fly commercial but what really escalated things was the invention of Timeshare. Blue-collar folks could stumble off the cruise ship and pony up a few thousand and own a week each year. Once they sold out the first timeshare they added more and once that sold out they kept at it ’til every available beach between Cabo and San Jose became either a hotel, an RV park, oceanfront houses and or golf courses. Jack Nicklaus has been credited for both promoting and destroying the Cape. Since fishing was so excellent back in the day, catching a whopper in the morning with time to tee off in the afternoon was the two-sport day. Then of course there was the nightlife. Squid Row opened on a dirt road not too far from the Giggling Marlin and then Sammy got in on the game and opened Cabo Wabo in 1990.
By the time this drunk narrator got wind of Cabo, it was 2004 and the place had just scored Costco. Should have bought more land back then when it was still $8 a meter square. Do miss the open beaches and fence-free trail riding as well as the quiet drive to San Jose for some authentic chili rellenos. Now 17 years later here I sit with a half-empty bottle of El Jimador, a cooler of remaining Modelo Especiales, and a tightly rolled spliff with my loyal companion Oakley and my lovely, lovely reminding me to be a better boy.
Well, that’s what happened – sort of.
