We arrived in Los Pinos, a beautiful pine forest with cabins hugging the ocean, next to the hidden coastal town of Palma Sola in Veracruz that barely registered on the map. Perfect, I thought — a place with no Wi-Fi, little cell service, and not a single hotel chain in sight. I was looking to get off the grid, somewhere untouched, and this beach didn’t disappoint. The first thing I noticed was that it had more crabs than people. Hundreds of tiny crabs zipped across the sand like they were late for a meeting, scattering the moment you stepped toward them. They moved with a frenetic energy, like the beach was their city and I was just a guest who needed to behave.
The beach itself was raw and pristine, a stretch of sand bordered by a forest of pine trees, almost like nature’s barricade against civilization. No lifeguards, no umbrellas, just miles of sand and, walking to the beach, I noticed a solitary lighthouse, unsure if it was still active or just a picturesque relic. It didn’t flash or rotate; it simply stood there, like it had been forgotten, overseeing this beautiful beach without purpose or ceremony.
The campgrounds offered two choices: cabins or glamping tents. I’ve always thought “glamping” was an interesting term, a way to experience nature without actually roughing it, my eagle scout comrades would scoff at the very thought. But here, the glamping was just my style, canvas tents with an ocean view, not trying to impress anyone, but just focusing on the natural beauty of the place. The tent came with a basic mattress, a nice antique dresser, stepping out to an ocean view. Part of me wanted the cabin—four walls sounded comforting. But if I was here to be “off the grid,” I figured, I might as well embrace it. I took the tent.
Night fell quickly in Los Pinos, as if someone flipped a switch. One minute the sun was setting, and the next, we were left with only stars. The friendly employees hauled over a wheelbarrow full of firewood, and were more than willing to help me start the fire. Mesmerizing campfire, check. Large ice cold lager, check. Sounds of the ocean just a baker’s dozen meters away, check.
The next morning, I woke to the sound of waves and sunlight streaming into the tent. The crabs were gone, back in their burrows or wherever it is crabs sleep. I strolled down the beach, breathing in the salty air and the stillness, feeling like I had the world to myself.
The best discovery of Los Pinos was their restaurant next to the cabins, selling shrimp empanadas. What I bit into was unreal — a crispy crust filled with fresh, succulent shrimp with perfectly spicy salsa in the style of “chile seco”. They were, hands down, the best shrimp empanadas I’ve ever had in my life. It was the kind of flavor that makes you rethink every other empanada you’ve ever eaten.
Afterward, I sat by the shore, letting the morning pass. There was nothing else to do, and that was exactly the point. I’d come to Los Pinos looking for an escape and found it in a quiet beach, a forgotten lighthouse, and a bunch of tiny crabs who let me share their world, if only for a little while.
Stephen Randall has lived in Mexico since 2018 by way of Kentucky, and before that, Germany. He’s an enthusiastic amateur chef who takes inspiration from many different cuisines, with favorites including Mexican and Mediterranean. His recipes can also be found on YouTube.
This sounds beautiful. Thank you for sharing this place with us!