2002 - Found San Pancho - Dor Riley

Why I Was Looking for a Beach Community - 2002 +/-

I wasn’t.

I came here searching for and with my sister. Someone had told her she should buy property in this little town in Mexico, San Pancho — that it would be perfect for her retirement. She imagined herself sitting by the ocean, reading books, drinking coffee, and finally slowing down.

When she told me I should come with her because I would want to do the same, my husband and I were certain of one thing: we had absolutely no interest in owning Mexican property. None. I was simply going along for the ride, just as I always had — keeping her company, helping look out for my diabetic older sister, playing my quiet role as caretaker.

A Change in Plans

One day, shortly after arriving here from my hometown of Southampton — a world-class surf community with a magnificent ocean beach — I picked up the phone and called my husband, Michael.

“We might want to reconsider buying land in Mexico after all,” I told him. This place is amazing.

But before jumping to conclusions, I needed to be sure. If this was going to compete with Southampton, it had to truly measure up. So I traveled up and down the coast — fifty miles in both directions. I visited all other beach towns, including Sayulita. No. Absolutely not. San Pancho what the only one that made the cut.

The beaches in San Pancho were the best. Wide. Swimmable. No hotels crowding the coastline. No umbrellas. No rows of beach chairs. It felt untouched.

What made it truly unique wasn’t just the surfable, swimmable waves. Down near the Playa San Panchito peninsula, a rocky outcropping allowed small fishing boats to launch safely. That single geographic feature created something rare — a town where surfers and fishermen coexisted, where the ocean supported both recreation and livelihood. It fostered a diverse, working community rather than a purely tourist one.

The Village Itself

The town had a simple, almost perfect design. A single main street ran perpendicular to the ocean, creating one natural path straight to the beach. That alone was an extraordinary gift. Community was automatically created by the casual greetings between locals and gringos alike made when walking to and from the beach.

There was a strict building code: no more than two stories high, with only a few exceptions. No looming condos. No towering hotels.

All roads seems to be dirt. When it rained, the main street mud swept gently toward the ocean. There were buried by sand cobblestones streets. Traffic was practically nonexistent. A few cars. Horses. One bicycle. Certainly no motorcycles or 4x4s. Seeing a woman riding a motorcycle was beyond imagination.

The people were healthy. Obesity was rare. Babies were happy. Everyone was friendly.

There were only a few restaurants — and not a single table or chair spilled out into the street. No street vendors. No Wi-Fi. No digital distractions.

Out and About

At the entrance to town were fruit-packing facilities where produce was prepared and shipped worldwide.

At the other end of town, the pantheon — the cemetery — sat out on Las Palmas, overlooking the ocean, before a developer ousted them and moved them to Pakistan.

There were none of the institutions the town would later become known for — no EntraAmigos, no arts collectives, no music festivals, no Circo du los Ninos, La Bolero Theatro, Gimnasio Comunitario, or pickleball.

Behind the village stores on the lagoon was the spectacular remains of the Chinese Fishing Technology building.

And just one tiny hotel: Cielo Rojo.

The “hospital,” really more of a clinic by American standards, felt surprisingly substantial for such a small village.

A unique polo field lay less than a block off the main street, and because it was so close to town, people gathered there often. It was part of daily life.

In the evenings, there was often great music at Gallo’s and many would walk uptown for great food and to see what locals were playing or new show might have come to town. (Because of Gallo’s, San Pancho attracted three record company owners to town, two of whom bought property here. And the third of whom asked me to design a house for him but in the end decided to go elsewhere.)

San Pancho wasn’t polished. It wasn’t convenient. It wasn’t modern. It was alive.

And somewhere between the dirt road, the perpendicular street to the ocean, the fishing boats launching at dawn, and the untouched sweep of beach, I realized I hadn’t been looking for a beach community at all.

Yet somehow, I had found one.