San Cristobal de Las Casas: A Magical City in the Mountains of Mexico
SAN CRISTOBAL DE LAS CASAS
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We entered the maze of narrow, mostly one-way streets, with rain falling steadily, and no clue where we were, or where we were going. I’d reserved us a hotel room through Expedia.Mx, a place called the Hotel Hacienda Don Juan. It sounded terrific on the website, but it was NOT in the center of town with the rest of the hotels, so finding it proved quite a challenge. We programmed the address into Mike’s phone and started following the turn-by-turn instructions. If we’d used the GPS from the beginning, it would have been easy, but starting where we did, Google had us driving down narrow alleys and over tiny one-way bridges intended for horse carts and pedestrians. I assumed the GPS had malfunctioned, because there was no way in the world the route we’d just followed was going to lead us anywhere but lost. We popped out of another alley and onto a main street, and, much to my surprise, there it was!
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The grounds of the hotel were surrounded by a wall, so all you could see from the street was a long cobblestone drive through a tunnel of trees, leading back to a lushly landscaped courtyard. Still not quite believing that this was really the right spot, we drove in, and checked in, to what was probably the coolest hotel of our whole trip.
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We didn’t have a lot of time in San Cristobal de las Casas. We arrived in late afternoon, and we were going to have to leave first thing the next morning. Our whole visit was compressed into a single quite wonderful evening, wandering the cobblestone streets between storefronts of buildings that were hundreds of years old. Many were restored and newly painted, mostly earth tones, rather than the muted pastels we’d so admired in Campeche. The local folk were mostly indigenous, with roots in this region going back countless generations, but it’s important to note that most of the people we saw on the street that night didn’t appear to be locals. They were visitors, just like us, most of them Chilangos, a disparaging term for people from the D.F. (Mexico City). There were college kids in jeans and jackets, on holiday from their studies, as well as backpacker types from Europe and Asia, all checking out the scene. Mexican President Felipe Calderon declared San Cristobal de las Casas to be “Lo mas Magico de los Pueblos Magicos!” (“The most Magical of the Magical Towns!”) That’s quite a distinctive honor, when you consider the fact that there are no less than 177 cities and towns in Mexico that have earned the designation of Pueblo Magico, an honor bestowed by the Mexican Government, for the purpose of preserving cultural heritage–and promoting tourism.
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An evening spent in one of Mexico’s Colonial Cities always seems to include some sort of celebration in the main plaza. In San Cristobal de las Casas, they put on a concert, featuring a local orchestra playing both classical and contemporary instrumentals. The conductor was–let’s just say he was enthusiastic, and his musicians, of varying skill levels, did their best to keep up with him. The night was crisp and cool, the crowd respectful, applauding in all the right places. Colored spotlights lit the stage, and photo-luminescent plastic necklaces lit the faces in the audience with a ghostly blue glow.
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Like every Spanish Colonial City in Mexico, San Cristobal de las Casas has a centuries-old cathedral that fronts on the main plaza, in this case, the Cathedral of San Cristobal Martir. Construction started in 1528, making it one of the oldest churches in Mexico. There’s a simple elegance to the building’s facade, painted pale yellow (and in need of a fresh coat)!
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Mike was constantly shooting video with his GoPro camera, so I made a project out of reviewing those clips and capturing screen shots of anything interesting. The resulting images are a little blurry, and often at strange angles, but they’re fun to see. Here are a few from our evening in San Cristobal de las Casas:
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San Cristobal de las Casas in 1971
Original Photographs by Carl Duisberg
My good friend Carl Duisberg has been a world traveler almost as long as I’ve known him, and I’ve known him since we were both kids in school. I recently helped Carl resurrect two dozen rolls of black and white film from some of his early travels, negatives that had been packed away for half a century and essentially forgotten. No prints were made when the film was processed, all those years ago, so when I scanned and edited the images, I brought wonderful photos to life that had never been seen before.
One of those rolls of film was shot in San Cristobal de las Casas, more than fifty years ago, and Carl has graciously agreed to share them here. Viewing these old photos, it’s apparent how much has changed in what was, at that time, a primarily indigenous community. In 1971, the modern world has barely intruded on this charming Colonial City in the mountains of Chiapas.
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All in all, we sincerely enjoyed our brief visit to San Cristobal de las Casas. During my years in South America (back in the early 1970’s) I spent quite a lot of time in cities and towns surrounded by tropical mountains much like these, with cool climate, predominantly Indian populations, and Spanish Colonial buildings. Walking those streets felt like deja vu, even though I knew perfectly well I’d never been there before. It was the atmosphere, and the chilly evening, and the scenery, all of it together stirring fond memories dating back many decades.
Tomorrow, we’d push it a bit, as far as Oaxaca, and the next day to Puebla, or possibly Queretaro. From there, it was a short drive to San Miguel de Allende for a three day fiesta focused on the Dia de Los Muertos, the Day of the Dead. That was going to be the icing on the cake of our Mexican Road Trip. But first we had to get there, and it’s a long danged drive from San Cristobal de las Casas to San Miguel de Allende!
Next up: Day 21: San Cristobal to Tuxtla Guttierez
San Cristobal de las Casas to Tuxtla Guttierez
Day 21! We’d been on the road in Mexico for three very full weeks, and for most of that time, we had no fixed itinerary, and no set schedule. We never planned more than a day or two ahead, so the route that we were following evolved as we drove along. I prefer that style of travel, personally, because it affords maximum flexibility, but now that we were closing in on the last phase of our road trip, all that flexibility went right out the window. We wanted to experience Dia de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead celebration, and we’d concluded that the best place for us to do that would be in San Miguel de Allende, the charming Pueblo Magico and UNESCO World Heritage site, five hours north of Mexico City. We’d passed through there far too briefly on our drive south, and we’d vowed to return for a proper visit on our way back north. The three day fiesta was going to be our last hurrah before our final push back to the border, the cherry on the top of our Mexican Road Trip, and timing was suddenly critical. It was going to take us two full days of driving, just to get there in time for the start of the holiday. We’d spend three days and nights in San Miguel, and that would leave us exactly two days for the drive to the border and on to Austin, where we’d be arriving just in time for Mike to catch his flight back home. It was all perfectly doable, and perfectly timed, but there was ZERO room for any deviation or delay.
San Miguel de Allende is one of the most popular destinations in Mexico during the Day of the Dead holiday; we’d been warned about that, so we’d used Expedia.Mx to find a hotel with availability (the Hotel San Ramon), and we’d made our reservations weeks in advance. Knowing that we had our lodging squared away for the necessary dates was a good feeling, but this two-day drive we were facing wasn’t going to be like crossing Kansas on the Interstate. There were at least a bazillion things that could go wrong and prevent us from getting to San Miguel on schedule. We had just two days to cover most of the length of the country, much of that considerable distance over dangerously beautiful mountain roads…
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San Cristobal de las Casas to San Miguel de Allende
Today, we’d be driving as far as the city of Oaxaca, 380 miles of curves, switchbacks, and rolling hills that would require at least ten hours of our full attention, crossing the Sierra Madre de Chiapas, traversing the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, and entering the rugged, agave-studded landscape of the Sierra Madre de Oaxaca. If you’d like to know what that was like, read on!
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CROSSING THE SIERRA MADRE on MX 190
San Cristobal de las Casas is an old city that was laid out long before the advent of automobiles, so most of the roads are narrow one-way streets, and those few that are not tend to be jam-packed with more traffic than they can handle. In order to get out of town, we had to join that slow-and-go herd, dodging taxis, trucks, and pedestrians through the business district, until we finally spied a sign pointing toward the Toll Road to Tuxtla Guttierez.
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Scenes along the road leaving San Cristobal de las Casas
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Scenes along MX 190 from San Cristobal de las Casas to Tuxtla Guttierez
This portion of MX 190 is designated MX 190 D, because it is a “Cuota,” a toll road. What that means, in practical terms, is that there’s funding available for proper maintenance. Sometimes the cuotas are limited access divided highways, much like the modern expressways in the U.S. and Europe. More commonly, they are simply in better shape than the “libre,” (free) alternatives, with fewer potholes and topes (speed bumps), as well as less livestock, and fewer pedestrians, because they bypass the small towns.
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Construction zone: a portion of the highway is being resurfaced, using equipment and techniques that are all too familiar to drivers from the United States.
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There are few (if any) passing lanes on these mountain roads, so long lines of vehicles tend to stack up behind slow trucks and buses. An entitled idiot in a Suzuki SUV decided he just HAD to leapfrog his way to the front of the pack, so he whipped around me on the left, then cut back into my lane, forcing me to brake and veer onto the shoulder.
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The horn on my Jeep is linked to my car alarm, with dual trumpets and a very loud siren. I gave him an extended blast, followed by two or three more. That didn’t change anything–but it made me feel better, and it most definitely got his attention!
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Nobody likes being cut off; we stayed mad until the pendejo finally jumped every car in the line ahead of us and disappeared!
The area in between San Cristobal de las Casas and Tuxtla Guttierez is still the Chiapas Highlands, a mountainous plateau that forms the greater portion of the Sierra Madre de Chiapas. Tuxtla, with a population well in excess of half a million, is the capital of the State of Chiapas and the largest city in the region. The closer we got to it, the more level the terrain; since leaving San Cristobal, we’d dropped more than a mile in altitude, into a much warmer climate.
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TUXTLA GUTTIEREZ
Tuxtla (pronounced tooks-tlah) Guttierez is not much of a town for tourists. There are no Mayan ruins, no beaches, no picturesque colonial architecture. It’s a contemporary era Mexican city with nothing special to set it apart. There’s no significant local industry, so the largest employer is the Chiapas state government. The city ‘s main claim to fame is as a transportation center, the hub where all the regional highways and bus lines come together, and the location of the largest regional airport.
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Tuxtla Guttierez
For me and Michael, it was nothing but an unwelcome delay. We had no plans to stop for anything other than fuel; since there was no bypass route, we had to drive through the middle of town, and the traffic was tied in knots.
At one point we were stopped dead for at least ten minutes, nobody moving in any direction due to an accident in an intersection up ahead of us. Several of the sidewalk vendors took advantage of the situation to wander among the stalled vehicles, hawking snacks. I’d just recently recovered from a bout with the Turistas, so I wasn’t inclined to risk food from a questionable source, but Mike was hungry, so he called this guy over. Unfortunately, what he was selling wasn’t food. It was a unique local handicraft, a banana leaf, cleverly folded and trimmed to look like an oversized grasshopper.
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Mike decided it would make a great gift for his granddaughter, so he bought one. I can’t honestly remember if he got it home in one piece, but it was definitely an interesting souvenir!
Next up: Crossing the Isthmus of Tehuantepec
Across the Isthmus of Tehuantepec and on to Oaxaca
Everything was fairly calm, as far as police and military action, but we did see an occasional reminder of tension behind the scenes:
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A machine gun set up behind sandbags on the road out of town
After leaving Tuxtla Guttierez, we were back in the mountains once again.
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This was the point when we crossed the narrowest section of the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, and entered the Sierra Madre de Oaxaca.
Prior to the opening of the Panama Canal in 1914, the shortest overland route between the oceans was right here; mule trains, and, in later years, a standard gauge railroad ferried cargo from the Atlantic to the Pacific and vice versa. They still transport some cargo along that route, which is billed as a faster, less costly alternative to the Panama Canal, but the most important thing moving along that corridor today is the steady breeze, created by the temperature differential between the two oceans. There is a gap between the Cordilleras of the Sierra Madre, the Chivela Pass, which concentrates and accelerates the flow of air between massive walls of rock, creating a source of power with enormous potential. The level ground on either side of the highway is perfect for wind turbines, so in 2009, the Oaxaca Wind Power Complex was built. There are hundreds of turbines, lined up in rows for more than 30 km, producing hundreds of megawatts of clean energy, offsetting vast amounts of CO2 and other pollutants.
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The Oaxaca Wind Power Complex is made up of hundreds of turbines installed alongside MX 190, beginning at about Kilometer 217 (as measured from Tuxtla Guttierez) and running west from there, all the way to Kilometer 250.
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TRAVELER’S ADVISORY (effective September, 2024):
The U.S. Department of State has issued a Level 4 (Do Not Travel) advisory for this region. The restrictions are mandatory for U.S. government employees, and strongly advised for all U.S. travelers, due to the high prevalence of violent crime, and recent increases in activity by the Mexican cartels.
• Isthmus region: U.S. government employees may not travel to the area of Oaxaca bounded by Federal Highway 185D to the west, Federal Highway 190 to the north, and the Oaxaca-Chiapas border to the east. This includes the cities of Juchitan de Zaragoza, Salina Cruz, and San Blas Atempa.
•
Please note that Highway 190 through the Isthmus region is considered the northern edge of the restricted area, but is not included in the restrictions. It’s still considered the safest route between Tuxtla Guttierez and Oaxaca, but if you’re driving this way, it’s important that you stay on Highway 190 until you’re past Tehuantepec. Don’t deviate toward the coast, and don’t stop along the way unless it’s absolutely necessary!
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Scenes along MX 190, West of the Isthmus of Tehuantepec
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The further we travelled into the Sierra Madre de Oaxaca, the more desert-like the terrain, complete with tall cactus such as this fine specimen.
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They don’t need flat land for growing agave. Any bare patch of dirt will do.
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A small mescal factory with a pulping mill powered by a cow in harness, walking in circles
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Scenes along the Road to Oaxaca
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Next up: Oaxaca!
the photos are very cool.
Rick,
Great report--as always--and the photos are very cool.
Quote:
when a bottle of Mescal is passed around at a party, whoever ends up with the last swig is honor bound to eat the worm.
I am not sure why this is, but for some peculiar reason this task has fallen on my plate several times over the years! Statistically, way, way beyond reasonable happenstance in my view!
Oaxaca to Puebla (Part 2):
After the toll plaza: more beautiful mountain roads!
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Mexican passing lane
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Nice curve!
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Cool! From the sign, it looks like a 45% grade!
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Seat belts? We don't need no steenking seat belts!
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Just in time for happy hour!
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Statue of Liberty on a northbound bus
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Interesting luggage rack
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Pigs on the move in Puebla
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We arrived at the next toll plaza an hour or so later, and at that point the terrain started to level off. There were still plenty of mountains, but they were mountains off in the distance, along the horizon, so the highway was straight and flat, with a high speed limit that made it easy to cover distance quickly. At the rate we were going, we’d be in Puebla before lunch time. That was our halfway point, so we were burning up the miles like nobody’s business.
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So--is that a real pyramid, off to the right? Maybe. But probably not.
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We decided to pass on the Restaurant Enriquez
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One advantage to the libre (free) Mexican highways that usually parallel the autopistas is the free entertainment. You see so much wacky stuff, especially when passing through the small towns. My plan for the day had us staying on the cuotas, so I assumed we’d be missing all the fun. Not so, as it turned out! In central Mexico, even the toll roads are entertaining, with all sorts of bizarre, “only in Mexico” scenarios. I’m particularly fond of this “cattle car,” (above); a half-ton pickup hauling two full grown cows and a calf (or is it a goat?)!
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Mexican Highway Maintenance crew
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??? (I have no idea what that is...)
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By just a bit after 11 AM, we were already rolling into Puebla, where there was major construction happening, adding an overpass to the very highway we were driving on. Traffic was a total mess, but we finally got through the work zone, and back on the open road.
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The next part of the drive was going to be tricky. We almost (but not quite) pulled it off...
Next up: Officer Plata and La Mordida
Officer Plata and La Mordida
After Puebla, we started seeing truckloads of cut flowers, mostly yellow-orange marigolds destined for the upcoming Dia de los Muertos celebrations in the cities and towns surrounding Mexico’s capital. Marigolds are used to decorate the altars, known as ofrendas, put up by families to honor deceased relatives during the three days of the holiday. The bright color and strong scent of the blooms is thought to attract the spirits of the departed, so they really pile them on. The displays pop up everywhere: in parks and cemeteries, on street corners, in the plazas, so many flowers, the trucks we were seeing were only the beginning.
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The next segment of the trip was the tricky part. The main route from Puebla to Queretaro was the toll road, MX 40D, but that was a bad choice for us, because it crossed and re-crossed the border into the State of Mexico, where we would be at risk of violating the Hoy no Circula regulations. Mike was the navigator, which put him in charge of telling me where and when to turn, in order to avoid all of that. We’d studied our road map, (the Guia Roji) back in Oaxaca, and I’d drilled Mike on the safe sequence of roads. The first critical turn would be at the Toll Plaza Capulalpan, where we would exit the Autopista onto a smaller highway, MX 88, toward Pachuca.
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The blue line is the autopista from Puebla to Queretaro, crossing in and out of the State of Mexico (the area delineated by the dotted red line). The orange line is a detour that avoids the State of Mexico.
We were sailing along, listening to some tunes on the Jeep’s good stereo, and reminiscing over old times, the way old guys like us love to do. “You know where we’re supposed to turn, right?” I asked him.
“Oh, hell yes,” he replied. “Caca-poop-in-a-pan. How could I forget a thing like that? Besides, we can’t miss it; it’s a toll plaza, so we’ll have to stop.”
“Right,” I said, not quite as confident as Mike seemed to be. I saw a sign that said Ixhuatepec, which sounded familiar. “Keep a sharp eye out,” I said to Mike.
“Of course,” he replied, pointing off to the right. “There’s the toll plaza right there. Wait. We’re not stopping. I thought we were supposed to stop?”
“We were supposed to take that exit we just passed,” I said, one eye on my rear view mirror as I watched the toll booths disappear behind us. “The exit must have led to the toll plaza. Crap. Now we either find one of those Retornos to make a U-turn, or we keep going to the next exit. Route 9 will take us to MX 88. It’s only about 15 miles up the road, but it’s on the wrong side of the State border.”
We crossed into the State of Mexico long before we reached the exit for Route 9, but there were no police cars waiting to pounce, and no net dropped over our heads. We never did see any Retornos (U-turn exits), but we arrived at the turn-off without incident. Just our luck: the exit was under construction, and closed with barricades.
“Double crap,” I said, (or words to that effect). “Please check the map. If I remember correctly, there’s going to be a junction with MX 85, to Pachuca, maybe 20 miles up the road. Do not, do not, DO NOT miss that turn, Michael! It’s super important!”
“Calm down, Rickey. We got this.”
About 15 minutes later, I was busy driving, moving through a tightly packed herd of eighteen wheelers, and Mike was busy with his GoPro camera, shooting random video through the windshield. We came up on one of those big overhead highway signs: Queretaro and Morelia were straight ahead, while Mexico, Pachuca, and Aifa veered off to the right. By the time I realized the significance of what I’d just seen, we were past it. “Wasn’t that our turn?” I asked.
“It said Mexico,” Mike replied, looking at me through the video camera. “Aren’t we staying away from Mexico, State, City, whatever?”
“It also said Pachuca, and MX 85,” I said with a groan. “That was it, you nimrod. Now we HAVE to turn around!” We proceeded along MX 40D for ten miles, then twenty miles, but there were no Retornos, and every exit that might have allowed us to reverse direction was blocked by construction.
“You know what I’m thinking?” I said to Mike. “We’re already past the halfway point. I’m thinking that as long as we stay on the toll road, and don’t make any stops, we might just make it all the way to Queretaro without any trouble. I haven’t even SEEN any cops on this road; not so far, anyway. Maybe I should stop worrying about which of these Estados we’re in, and focus on getting where we’re going as quickly as possible.”
“Amen to that,” said Mike, still shooting scenery with his GoPro. “You’re acting so nervous, it’s making ME nervous!”
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I remembered this part of the road from my map, an area where the Mexico State border looked like it had been drawn by an inebriated grasshopper dipped in ink. I hadn’t exactly memorized the lay of the land; we weren’t even supposed to BE here! We should have turned off to the north fifty miles back, but there was no changing things now. We simply couldn’t worry about the location of that State border. It would have been impossible to keep track of it.
We merged on to MX 57D from MX 40D, and hadn’t gone far before we arrived at a Toll plaza where all traffic had to stop. A squad of Federales was inspecting vehicles as they exited the toll lanes, questioning drivers and using mirrors on poles to search beneath cars, trucks, and buses, apparently looking for explosives. We’d seen a bit of that sort of thing in the border region, when we first entered the country, but otherwise, this was something new, and it had me worried. When our turn came, they waved us on without any inspection. Thankfully, there was no mention of “Hoy no Circula.”
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As we drove away from the toll plaza, a State Police car that had been parked off to one side made a fast U-Turn and started following me. A moment later, he turned on his flashers and gave me a short blast on his siren, motioning for me to pull over. I did that, and watched as two uniformed policemen got out. The pair approached me on the driver’s side, and one of them hung back, apparently checking out my license plate before making a phone call.
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Documentos,” said the officer by my window. “Licensia, los permisos, seguros, todo eso.”
I wasn’t sure if I was being stopped for some infraction, or if these guys were just fishing. I figured it might be related to Hoy no Circula, but I wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up. My Spanish is decent. I understood what they wanted, but I pretended ignorance, and responded strictly in English. “I don’t understand,” I said. “No entiendo. You want papers? Papeles? Have I done something wrong?”
I handed over a sheaf of papers, as requested. The officer took a moment to glance through them, then he looked at me with a sly expression. “No tiene Pase Turistico?”
He was referring to the Hoy No Circula exemption for tourists, which we did NOT have. “I don’t understand you,” I said, sticking with the ignorant gringo approach. “No entiendo.“
The other officer, obviously the senior of the two, walked up beside his partner. “No es-peaking Spanish?” he said, more a statement than a question.
“No,” I replied, shrugging my shoulders. “How about you? You speaking English?”
The two of them went on to explain, in broken Spanglish, the Hoy No Circula program. They told me that I was not allowed to be on the road in the State of Mexico, and that they had no choice but to have my vehicle towed to their impound lot. There would be a large fine, plus towing and storage fees.
There was no way I could let that happen–the fine was one thing, but losing a whole day? That would ruin our plans for the Dia de Los Muertos celebration. At that point, it was time for me to remember my Spanish. “Si pago la multa aquí mismo, ahora mismo, en efectivo, ¿hay alguna posibilidad de que nos dejen ir con una advertencia? Salimos del Estado de México, vamos a Querétaro.” (If I pay the fine right here, right now, in cash, is there any chance you could let us go with a warning? We’re leaving the State of Mexico, driving to Queretaro.)
The two policemen looked at each other and grinned. “Cinco mil Pesos,” said the younger one.
Five thousand Pesos was more than three hundred dollars at the exchange rate in effect back in 2015; that seemed high to me. “I’ve only got 2,000 Pesos in cash,” I said. “Dos mil. I would have to go to a banco to get more.”
They didn’t much like that idea; they obviously wanted to keep this simple, so they conferred with each other, then turned back to me. “Two thousand, no suficiente,” said the older cop. “How about your amigo? No tiene dinero?”
Mike had been sitting quietly the whole time, not saying a word. “Do you have any cash?” I asked him in a half-whisper. “Fifty bucks or so?” He pulled out his wallet and opened it up, showing maybe 200 Pesos in small bills. “That’s it? That’s all you got?” Michael was carrying most of his money seperate from his wallet, stashed in his socks. That was smart, but what he did next was just plain dumb: he pulled out his whole bank roll, ALL of his money, in plain view of the two policemen.
“Parece que hay suficiente,” said the young one to his partner, pointing to the money in Mike’s hand. I tried negotiating, but there was no more hiding the fact that we had the cash.
In the end, I counted out the five thousand Pesos, and handed it over. From that point on the two officers were nice as pie, explaining that I was still in violation, so we should proceed directly to Queretaro without stopping. They actually gave me a hand-written receipt, so that I’d have something to show if anyone else tried to pull me over.
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There’s no mention of the $300 “fine” I had just paid; it simply lists the date, my license plate number, and his name: “Officer Plata.” That last was clearly an attempt at humor: In Pablo Escobar’s famous catchphrase, “Plata o plomo,” Plomo (lead) refers to bullets–violent consequences–while Plata (silver) refers to the bribe money offered as an alternative.
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Mike messed up: he missed our turn, not once, but twice, and then, at a critical moment, he flashed his entire bank roll in front of two guys who were intent on taking it from him. I’d like to say I was blameless in the whole unseemly affair, but that wouldn’t be accurate. With all my experience driving in Latin America, and dealing with questionable law enforcement, I’m the one who should have handled things better!
If I had been properly prepared, and in possession of a Pase Turistico, this could have been avoided. In fact, if I’d simply done my research, I would have known that this day, a Friday, was NOT the “no-drive” day for my Jeep, nor was the time of day, mid-afternoon, a time when I was supposed to stay off the road. “Officer Plata” and his partner were scamming me from the start. If I had called their bluff, made them issue their citation, I could have fought it and I almost certainly would have won. Thing was, we didn’t have time for this nonsense. For me, it was worth three hundred bucks, just to be allowed to leave without further delay!
Next up: Queretaro vs Tequisquiapan: The GPS wasn’t wrong!
Queretaro--or Tequisquiapan? It seems there was a big difference....
Driving away from that toll plaza, the mood was what you might call somber. I was angry with Michael, angry with myself, angry with the two Mexican cops that had just robbed us in broad daylight. Corruption of that sort is a fact of life in pretty much every third world country. Public servants, from passport clerks to high level bureaucrats, routinely supplement their income by dubious means; bribe money is the grease that oils the machinery of funky governments. I understood that, intellectually, but this incident affected me personally, and put me in a rotten mood. We were doing this trip on a budget, and three hundred bucks was a lot of money to lose.
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It took us until almost 4:00 to reach Queretaro. The weather was cloudy and cool, and the rush hour was starting. What that meant for us was horrible traffic, approaching total gridlock. Mexico has more than its share of bad drivers, and when you concentrate them, like this crowd of commuters in a big city like Queretaro, (1.3 million inhabitants, back in 2015) what you get is vehicular chaos. We hadn’t made any reservations, so we were stuck in a traffic jam with no idea where we were going. We had to get OFF the local expressway, and even that was a serious challenge!
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We’d stayed in Queretaro on our drive down from the U.S. Finding a room was not difficult, so I foolishly assumed it wouldn’t be a problem this time, either. I logged in to Expedia.Mx using Mike’s phone. First, I checked the Staybridge Suites, the business class chain hotel where we stayed before. No dice. They were totally booked. I used Expedia to cast a wider net, and ALL of the mid-range hotels were booked through the weekend. The only room I found was a suite at the Marriott that cost $200 per night, which was totally out of the question. The scarcity of accommodations had to be because of the upcoming holiday. I hadn’t expected Queretaro to be impacted by Dia de los Muertos. Were all these people staying here because they couldn’t get rooms in San Miguel de Allende? That was a scary thought!
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Rainy afternoon in Queretaro
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We headed for the outskirts of the city to escape the crush of traffic; there wasn’t a single hotel in sight, so I pulled over to the side of the road and did another search on Expedia, widening the search area, and this time, I found something! A hotel called the Casa Blanca, located at #6 Cinco de Mayo, Tequisquiapan, Queretaro. They had rooms for 700 Pesos (a little over $40 U.S.), so I booked it. When I punched the address into my GPS, the silly thing tried to send me to a town called Tequisquiapan, 60 km away to the east. That couldn’t be right, so I punched in “#6 Cinco de Mayo,” just that by itself, and we followed the prompts across town, into a neighborhood.
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We found Cinco de Mayo, a purely residential side street, very narrow, and a bit shabby. #6 was the last door on the right of this dead end.
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I Googled the Hotel Casablanca–something I should have done in the first place–and discovered that my GPS was right the first time. The hotel was at #6 Cinco de Mayo, that much was correct, but it was, in fact, in a TOWN called Tequisquiapan, not in a neighborhood in Queretaro, as I had assumed. After losing $300 to Officer Plata, I wasn’t inclined to throw away the non-refundable cost of a hotel room, even though it meant driving an hour out of our way.
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The route from #6 Cinco de Mayo, Queretaro to #6 Cinco de Mayo, Tequisquiapan, Queretaro!
What I had not considered was the lateness of the hour. By the time we cleared the city limits it was already 6:30, and the sun was dropping fast. Long before we reached Tequisquiapan, it was full dark, and when I say dark, I mean black as pitch, moonless, and so dark it was hard to see the blacktop! Worse, there were dozens of Topes, speed bumps, all but invisible in the darkness, as well as livestock wandering in the road, and vehicles driving without headlights, leading to numerous heart-in-mouth moments as we drove along. We finally reached the Hotel Casablanca after an hour or so. The experience underscored the many reasons why they advise against driving at night in Mexico!
The hotel was charming, and so was the town, but we arrived too late in the day to see much of anything.
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We had an interesting chat with the hotel owner. We seemed to be his only guests that night, which was strange, considering how busy they were in Queretaro. He explained that Tequisquiapan was a market town, that almost all of his business happened on weekends when markets were being held–and this weekend, there was no market. Everybody was off celebrating the Dia de Los Muertos, so his usual customers, mostly Chilangos, tourists from Mexico City, made other plans.
He quizzed me about Expedia, which I used to book the room. He explained that hotels like his are forced to participate, because if they’re not listed by the service, they’ll lose business. Expedia then forces them to discount the room prices, and then they take a fee off the top. What he’s left with barely covers his expenses. I explained that Expedia helped me find wonderful hotels that I would not have seen otherwise, and allowed me to compare prices before booking, all of which I found very useful. I hadn’t been aware of the fact that the hotels are getting a raw deal. I don’t know if that problem was specific to Mexico, or if it has since been resolved, with a more equitable fee structure. My personal experience with Expedia.mx was ten years ago, and it was entirely positive.
We had dinner somewhere near the hotel, and then crashed. It had been a rotten day. First the shakedown by officer Plata, then the boneheaded mixup on the address of the hotel. Tomorrow was bound to be better: San Miguel de Allende was just over an hour away, and we had reservations at a hotel there for the next three nights. We were going to just relax and enjoy the festival; three days in a row in the same spot? That was going to be NICE!
Next up: Tequisquiapan to San Miguel de Allende
Tequisquiapan to San Miguel de Allende
DAY 23!
We started Day #23 of our road trip at the Hotel Casablanca in Tequisquiapan, a colonial era town an hour or so east of the city of Queretaro. It’s said to be quite charming, but, sadly, we didn’t get to stay long enough to check it out. We arrived after dark, and we had to leave right after breakfast. San Miguel de Allende was still two hours away by road, and our goal was to get there, as quickly as possible! This was the first day of the Dia de los Muertos celebration, and after everything we’d gone through to make it there on time, we didn’t want to miss a single minute of the festivities.
HOTEL CASABLANCA
TEQUISQUIAPAN, QUERETARO
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Tequisquiapan is a popular weekend getaway spot for residents of Mexico City, as well as the nearby city of Queretaro. The town is known for its cobblestone streets and 300 year-old Spanish Colonial architecture, and for the surrounding vineyards that produce some of the region’s better wines. The Hotel Casablanca is reasonably priced and centrally located.
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We ended up at this quaint hotel by mistake. When I booked the room, I thought “Tequisquiapan” was a neighborhood in Queretaro, as opposed to a seperate town that was two hours out of our way!
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In and around Tequisquiapan, Queretaro
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Tequisquiapan was about 75 miles from San Miguel de Allende, but it was likely to take us two hours to travel that distance. We first had to retrace our steps back to the city of Queretaro, and from there, it was at least another hour to our destination. We had reservations for the next three nights at the “Hotel/RV Park San Ramon,” just outside the town. I’d put in so many long days behind the wheel, the thought of stopping in one place for three days in a row had enormous appeal.
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The sky was overcast, and traffic was light. One of the few vehicles we saw on the road was a truckload of soldiers.
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OCTOBER 31st: ALL SAINTS EVE
We arrived in San Miguel at about 11 AM. That was too early to check in to our hotel, so we had a little time to kill. We found a nice spot to park in the hills above the city. There were expansive views of the whole area, and the neighborhood that was built to take advantage of those views was lovely, replete with flowering trees that filled the air with their perfumed scent. San Miguel, at an altitude of 6,400 feet and a tropical latitude has a climate that is very close to perfection, with pleasant days and cool nights, rarely an uncomfortable extreme.
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We drove down out of the hills, and stopped at a roadside cafe for a bite to eat before searching for our hotel. The San Ramon was just beyond the city limits on the road to Dolores Hidalgo. There are vineyards in the area, so the road itself is part of what’s been designated as the Ruta del Vino (Wine Route).
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HOTEL SAN RAMON
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The Hotel San Ramon features fairly basic motel-style accommodations, including a swimming pool (which was not in use when we were there). They have a large lot out back that fills with RV’s in the busy summer season. It’s the perfect spot to leave your rig while you explore San Miguel on foot. Hop on one of the buses that pass by every half hour; they’ll whisk you downtown in 10 minutes or less, for 10 Pesos!
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The San Ramon was not the least bit fancy, but it was exactly what we needed!
Next up: The Fiesta Begins!
