Farewell to a Scuba Landmark: Los Alcatraces Cozumel Says Goodbye
Some Places Are More Than Just Buildings, Aren’t They?
Have you ever driven past a place you used to love—a restaurant, a bookstore, a quiet little corner of the world that was yours—only to find it shuttered and empty? There’s a specific kind of hollow feeling that comes with it. It’s more than just disappointment; it’s like finding a small hole in the map of your own memories.
For a particular kind of person—a specific type of scuba diver who has found their way to Cozumel over the last decade—the hole is now located on 25th Avenue. I’m talking about Los Alcatraces.
If you know, you know. And if you don’t, well, let me tell you, this wasn’t just another motor lodge. It was a landmark. But not the shiny, postcard kind. It was the other kind. The kind that matters more. And now, its doors are closed for good.
It Wasn’t Fancy, and That Was the Point
Let me paint a picture for you. Back around 2012, Silvia and Greg Lupone decided to build a small, two-room haven for divers. It wasn’t on the main drag with all the tourist traps and blaring music. It was tucked away, unassuming. They didn’t have a five-star rating or an infinity pool. What they had was something much harder to find: a soul.
Honestly, it was the definition of a passion project. Just a couple of rooms, a simple courtyard, and a whole lot of heart and even more elbow grease. And for divers, it was perfect. The place was built by people who understood. They knew you needed a sturdy rinse tank for your gear, not a mint on your pillow. They knew you needed a secure place to hang a wetsuit to dry, not a 24-hour concierge.
Word got around the way good things do—quietly, and among the right people. Pretty soon, you had fixtures of the Cozumel dive scene making it their home base. Guys like Adam from Scuba Tony (yes, that Scuba Tony) and Scott Harrell from Scuba Luis were regulars. It became the unofficial clubhouse for people who were here for one reason: to get underwater.
The magic of Los Alcatraces wasn’t in its amenities. It was in the moments between the dives. The gentle clank of aluminum 80s being loaded into a truck bed in the morning quiet. The shared silence of rinsing salt off your BCD after a long day drifting over Palancar Reef. It was swapping stories—the big eagle ray you saw, the frustrating current, the near-perfect buoyancy you finally nailed—over cold bottles of Sol in the fading afternoon light.
That’s the stuff you can’t manufacture. It grows organically, like coral.
Why a Simple Place Matters So Much
You know what? There’s this idea of a “third place.” It’s not your home (that’s your first place) and it’s not your work (your second). It’s that other spot where you find your community, where you can be: a coffee shop, a pub, a local park. For so many of us, Los Alcatraces was our third place in Cozumel.
When you’re on a dive trip, you’re in a different headspace. You’re not thinking about spreadsheets or what to make for dinner. Your world shrinks down to tides, tank pressure, and surface intervals. Being around other people on that same wavelength is… well, it’s everything. You don’t have to explain your obsession. They just get it.
Los Alcatraces was the physical embodiment of that shared understanding. It was a home for the transient tribe of scuba.
Passing the Torch (And Then the World Went Sideways)
Life moves on, of course. In 2018, our own journey led us to build Stingray Villa, a different project just a few blocks away. It was an exciting new chapter, but it also meant we had to say a tough goodbye to Los Alcatraces and pass it into new hands.
And for a while, it seemed to carry on just fine. The new owners kept the spirit alive. It continued to be a hub, not just for divers, but for Ironman athletes who needed a quiet, no-fuss place to focus before the big race. The courtyard still saw its share of meetups and morning coffees. The DNA of the place was strong.
But then, 2020 rolled in. And the world… stopped.
The thing about a place like Cozumel is that it runs on the rhythm of visiting heartbeats. It thrives on the hum of dive boats heading out to sea and the chatter of people from a thousand different places marveling at the water’s color. When that stops, the silence is deafening.
The pandemic hit the island hard. It hit everyone hard, everywhere. Dive operations had to get creative to survive. The flow of visitors slowed to a trickle. On top of that, Mother Nature threw us another curveball with the sargassum. That relentless, brown tide of seaweed has become a severe headache for the entire Riviera Maya, changing the very look and feel of the coastline in some seasons. It’s an ongoing battle.
You can feel the shift downtown, too, even now in the quieter days of September. Big, familiar retail names have packed up and left. It’s not that the island has lost its charm—God, no. The reefs are still stunning, the people are still warm, and the sunsets can still break your heart. But the vibe on the surface? It’s different. The economic currents have changed, and some of the smaller vessels couldn’t ride out the storm.
With all that pressure, it’s with a heavy heart that we learned Los Alcatraces is now permanently closed. The building is for sale. The sign might hang there for a bit longer, a ghost of what it was. But the lifeblood of the place—the community, the laughter, the shared purpose—has moved on.
Just a ‘For Sale’ Sign on Sacred Ground
What comes next for that little plot of land? It’s hard to say. Maybe it’ll become another hotel, slicker and more modern. Perhaps a local will purchase it and transform it into something entirely new. Maybe it’ll just sit there for a while, a quiet monument to a time that was.
Whatever rises in its place will be built on what feels like sacred ground to a lot of us.
If you ever stayed there, you know exactly what I mean. You remember your room, the specific tile in the shower, the spot where you hung your gear. You remember the people you met, even if you’ve forgotten their names. You remember the feeling of belonging.
So, here’s to the memories made at Los Alcatraces. Thanks for being more than just a roof over our heads. You were part of Cozumel’s dive soul, and you’ll be missed. Pour one out for a real one.