Sunken City: San Pedro’s Hidden Gem

Los Angeles County is a region that usually struggles to grow old and leave its treasures in the past. There’s always a fight to stay beautiful and relevant, to preserve everything within an inch of its life. That’s partly why the old Queen Mary cruise liner still resides in Long Beach. It’s a monument to an era people wish they could get back. Yet, if you head a little further south into San Pedro, there’s an area of historical interest that’s seen better days. Almost 100 years ago, a coastal neighbourhood collapsed into the sea. All that’s left are the concrete foundations, parts of the roads and some large fractures in the landscape.

What remains on the coast is unique and oddly attractive, if you’re into that sort of thing. While some will say the graffiti is detrimental to the site, others feel it adds to the character. The Sunken City has evolved into a daredevil’s playground where street art is welcome. It turns the ruins into an engaging art trail and makes it incredibly photogenic. It also means that the new generations in San Pedro can hold onto what little remains and maintain some form of human connection. You can barely make out anything of the original neighbourhood, but the shadows of the past are still there. You can sit on the rocks, right where the Pacific Ocean stakes its claim on the Californian coast and feel insignificant. It’s humbling to reflect on what used to be there and where Los Angeles could be in another 100 years, as the climate continues to change.

The City is not curated for public consumption, and maybe that’s part of the draw. The site hasn’t been romanticised or scrubbed of its rough edges and, because of that, it feels more genuine than many polished landmarks.

There is just one problem with the Sunken City right now that you need to be aware of though, before heading to the coast. The place is completely fenced off with “No Trespassing” signs plain to see. It’s not an official tourist destination, so you need to ask yourself if you’re willing to take the risk and head in there. The number of people openly posting about their visits and the human-sized hole in said fence show that most visitors aren’t bothered. It doesn’t seem like many have faced serious repercussions, either. As long as you’re careful on the ruins and around the water; as long as you’re respectful of the neighbouring community, there’s no harm in looking. While you may be breaking one law, you could see if there’s space to add to the colourful designs and pay your respects to the lost city. It’s most certainly not a place for parties or drone videos or tagging your name in neon green. It’s not ‘ruins with a view’ but rather a space in-between.

If you do visit Sunken City, go near sunset. The crowds thin, the light softens and the mood shifts. There’s a quality to the late afternoon sky there that you don’t get in many other parts of LA – a kind of openness that feels expansive, but calm. You can hear the waves crash below, the occasional whistle from the port and the wind rustling through patches of hardy brush. It’s not entirely silent, but it’s still.

The status of the Sunken City is surprising as it surely should be open to the public and treasured as a piece of local history. Why spend so much time and effort deterring trespassers when the place could be preserved and given a new lease of life? The fear here is that eventually, what remains of Sunken City will also become lost to the ocean or fully reclaimed by nature. There have been petitions to get the place turned into a public park with improved access and facilities. Until that happens, visitors are left checking over their shoulders and crawling through the fence to make the most of this local landmark.

There’s something deeply interesting about places that have become accidents of memory. The Sunken City wasn’t preserved; it simply survived – as a cautionary tale, as a canvas and as a rare example of what happens when nature interrupts progress. In a city known for reinvention and constant development, this spot is an exception. It’s a snapshot of loss without a final caption; and that kind of quiet narrative has a power of its own.

Pair It With Other Unofficial Stops

If you’re the type to seek out offbeat experiences, the Sunken City isn’t the only place in LA County that feels slightly outside the rules. A short drive north takes you to the Korean Bell of Friendship, a massive bronze bell housed in a pagoda-like structure overlooking the sea. It’s a peaceful spot, ideal for reflection and it carries its own complex history. Continue along the coast and you’ll find the Point Fermin Lighthouse – still standing, still operating, and still a slice of 19th-century California architecture in a city better known for modernity.

nother lesser-known highlight nearby is Angels Gate Park, where a walk through the hillside will introduce you to remnants of military bunkers from WWII. They’re often overlooked, but they speak to the layered history of coastal defence and urban sprawl. These aren’t ‘bucket list’ stops in the traditional sense, but they reward a slower pace and a curious eye.

What Sunken City Tells Us

More than anything, Sunken City challenges the idea that cities should always be moving forward. In a place like Los Angeles, where entire neighbourhoods are built and rebranded in the span of a few years, the Sunken City feels like a necessary pause. It reminds you that progress isn’t always linear and that nature doesn’t ask for permission when it decides to shift the ground beneath our feet.

Places like this invite a different kind of tourism – one based on humility rather than spectacle. You’re not coming here to be amazed – you’re coming here to listen, to wander and to piece together the story for yourself. It’s rare to find that in a place with no formal signage and no real promotion.

What Happens Next

The future of Sunken City remains unclear. As more people visit, there’s pressure from both sides – some demanding better access and preservation, others asking for stricter enforcement and protection of the neighbourhood nearby. Either way, the place is changing, slowly but certainly. Graffiti gets painted over, paths wear down deeper and new fences are patched up.

If there’s a takeaway from a visit here, it might be this: history doesn’t always survive because someone made a museum out of it. Sometimes it survives because people keep showing up, even when they’re not supposed to. Sometimes the best places are the ones that ask you to look twice, step carefully, and leave quietly.