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I'm just a sucker for places like Palmetto Beach -- those tucked-away spots you'd never find unless you lived there.
Of course, this blue-collar neighborhood, wedged into a tiny triangle between Adamo Drive, the Port of Tampa and McKay Bay, is more than just a hard place to track down. It's got the cheapest waterfront realty in the city. It's just minutes from downtown, a short walk south from Ybor. And yet, Palmetto Beach feels like a small town. You'll see more bikes than cars and hear as much Spanish as English on S. 22nd Street, the neighborhood's sleepy, gritty main drag. Most folks know each other, wave as they pass by on the street.
Palmetto Beach enjoys a level of invisibility in the shadow of downtown's skyline and within earshot of the bustling port. But that anonymity might not last too much longer.
The neighborhood became more invisible 18 months ago, when the city widened S. 20th Street to six lanes and put a cul-de-sac at the north end of S. 22nd Street -- Palmetto Beach's main drag. Without the Tampa-Brandon traffic and its 18-wheelers pumping through, 22nd Street has gotten quieter, almost too quiet. The 22nd Street businesses -- the ones that have survived, anyway -- have taken a beating without any of the drive-by customers they were accustomed to. Palmetto Beach was already divided from the city by the port and Adamo. Now, it's even more isolated.
But with real estate anywhere close to downtown being gobbled up, it seems like just a matter of time before Palmetto Beach gets earmarked for redevelopment. Already, a few three-story homes line the waterfront, and local rumors have condos coming in next. Those who can afford to are buying up land, fixing up their houses. The price per square foot has doubled since 2002.
"It's the only place downtown has to go," says Juan Gonzalez, who purchased a bar on S. 22nd Street in April. "People are going to start looking here."
So Palmetto Beach finds itself in a strange position. It's open for development, yet it continues to be cut off.
In August, the neighborhood made headlines after the Department of Transportation informed residents in the northern two blocks that they would have to move to make way for a truck ramp off the Selmon Expressway, to be built in 2009. Homeowners can either sell now on the open market or be eminently domained and bought out by the DOT down the line.
No doubt, Palmetto Beach will look different a decade from now. Perhaps it will stay gritty, an urban offshoot of the port dominated by the highway to the north. But standing on the pier off the neighborhood's jewel, DeSoto Park -- which has added a skate park, a public pool and a baseball field put in over the last few years -- it's hard to imagine that developers won't attack the place soon. Dilapidated crab shacks line the sea wall to the southeast, new homes sit next to run-down ones across the street from the water. Behind you, the expressway's concrete skeleton rises above the trees. And over your right shoulder, you can see downtown Tampa. It feels like it's next door.
After I was lucky enough to have the neighborhood pointed out to me last week, I spent a few days in Palmetto Beach. As far as I can tell, whatever sand it had vanished a long time ago.
But here are four spots that make the place worth seeking out:
La Mexicana Restaurant
902 S. 22nd St.
A little joint with a chair propping open the front door, La Mexicana isn't high on frills. There's the requisite Corona paraphernalia tacked to the walls and an unplugged jukebox in the corner. But Garret Garcia, who works at an ad agency in Ybor, doesn't come for the décor. "It's just true Mexican food," says Garcia, who eats lunch here at least once a week and makes sure not to eat breakfast that morning. La Mexicana does tacos, flautas and mole. But the chile relleno, a Weekly Planet Best of the Bay winner from 1998, is the house specialty.
McKay Bay Nature Park
34 N. 34th St.
After La Mexicana, a good walk is in order. Aside from the water, Palmetto Beach is surrounded by several industrial, smoke-billowing establishments, including Tampa's waste-to-energy plant on the northeast corner of the neighborhood. Next to the plant there's a maze of trails through a marshy swamp the city bills as an urban wildlife refuge. I didn't see much wildlife, but after a sign told me I could find Golden Orb Spiders, which has gotta be the coolest name in the animal kingdom, I spent a while looking for two of them. According to the sign, the female eats the male after they mate. And this happens often. I looked and looked -- for some reason thinking about my high school girlfriend -- but there were no Golden Orbs to be found. Still, the park is an amazing respite from Tampa's concrete -- stay in there long enough and the sound of the traffic is replaced by the rustle of the trees.
The Crab Hut
1002 S. Bermuda Blvd.
There are three reasons to head to The Crab Hut, one of two remaining fresh seafood joints in McKay Bay: 1) The crabs. You buy them live, $14 per dozen, and they're all caught locally, many in McKay Bay. 2) There are two warnings on the bright yellow walls of the hut, both of which take punctuation, specifically the use of quote marks, to all new levels: Any questions or complaints "please" see management and "Not...responsible" for injuries or lost items.
3) Linwood Crain. A member of the family that owns The Crab Hut, Crain isn't shy when he's working behind the counter. He'll tell you about how the Rough Riders camped out at DeSoto, about how the Trib never says anything good about Palmetto Beach and how the city couldn't care less about the potholes. Seconds after you meet him, it's impossible to imagine him anywhere else.
Stoney's Bar & Package
1305 S. 22nd St.
Even at 2 p.m., Stoney's is dark, smoke hangs in the air, country tunes waft in from the back. The bar is the spot for sailors after they dock at the port -- the crowd is usually a mix of diehard regulars and an international contingent. "If you've been out there on a boat for 10 months, Christ, any place you land would be a good place," says Bob Steele, a 61-year-old regular who lets out a little whistle with every "s." "Just so happened that the place was Stoney's."
But aside from the clientele, Stoney's is worth checking out just for bartender Virginia McDaniel. She's got everything you look for in a barkeep -- she'll crack jokes, give an in-depth explanation of why the south end of Palmetto Beach is called Hooker's Point (use your imagination), and always remembers your drink after that first visit. Plus, she'll help out in a pinch. "I'm not just a bartender," she says after recounting a particularly long night. "I'm a bail bondsman and a taxi cab, too."
