A slosh through Tijuana’s afterparty epicenter

“Remember one thing: la city is not a utopia or a dystopia, it’s the afterparty where you hear the last call.”

The words of the late Rafa Saavedra, a culture writer and champion of Tijuana nightlife, take on a special relevance at Tropic’s Bar. They feel as if they were born here. This decades-strong cantina is the indisputable afterparty epicenter of downtown Tijuana, where rockers from Moustache, churched-up cocktail sippers from Dandy del Sur, and sweaty techno kids from La Mi-Ja all converge after the 2 a.m. bell tolls to drink round after round of Tecate roja from disposable plastic cups. Caguamas, 32-ounce bottles of beer, roll out for 50 pesos (about three bucks), making it dangerously possible to drink well past sunrise into the cruel accusation of morning.

Tijuana imposed a ban on late-night bars in early 2010 following the shooting of soccer hero Salvador Cabañas at an after-hours joint in Mexico City, but the measure has long since been lifted or bought into obsolescence, as evinced by the standing-room-only crowd that flocks to Tropic’s every weekend. In fact, the place has become so popular that their brass stripper pole and platform were removed a few months ago to make room.

I think Saavedra would agree that the most Tijuana thing you can do is drink until 5 a.m. with a few friends on a weeknight debating what the most Tijuana thing you can do is, and Tropic’s facilitates this process with a weathered nonchalance. Between the pornography on the swinging men’s room door, the cockroaches climbing up the wall, and the dim haze of cigarette smoke and pickled romance at dawn, one senses the soul of la city looming thick on the stifling morning air.

House matrons Claudia and Lulu, attentive server Sixto, and the abuelita whose name I’ve never learned seem to never sleep. There they are, at all hours, cracking open caguamas as anything from Macklemore to Pink Floyd to Los Ángeles Azules croon from the jukebox. But one of my favorite quirks of the Rockola is the near-transcendental joy one gets from interrupting a streak of blaring banda ballads with five dollars’ worth of the Locust, which will afford you a good bulk of their blistering discography.

Saavedra was right about Tijuana. It isn’t heaven or hell. It’s the greatest afterparty in the Californias, except here at Tropic’s Bar, last call never seems to come.

Capacity: Apparently infinite

Prices: 50-peso caguamas

Hours: Eternal

Parking: Take an Uber, gringo

Food: Chicharrones de harina and microwaved carne seca

The Deal: Everything