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Ajijic–on Lake Chapala, the largest lake in Mexico–is a typical mid-sized Mexican town in many ways. Every Wednesday a tianguis (farmers’ market) takes over one huge street and everyone comes out to buy avacados and fresh-squeezed orange juice and any of the hundreds of other wonderful and affordable goods for sale. The streets are cobbled. The town square is peaceful. The pace is languid. The sun is out pretty much every day of the year. Nobody obeys the traffic signs.

Despite a sizeable (and growing) population of gringos, Ajijic retains a healthy Mexican population and they retain a healthy regard for the Virgin of Guadalupe, especially during the festival held in her name every December 1-12 throughout Mexico. It’s a time for Mexicans to honor their own unique religious icon, also known as Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, which was tolerated by the Spanish conquistadors who figured turning a blind eye to a miracle-working Mexican version of the Virgin Mary was a small price to pay for converting an entire country to Catholicism.

It all began on December 12, 1531 when the image of what has come to be accepted as the Virgin of Guadalupe appeared on the cloak of Juan Diego, a peasant who, earlier in the day, had encountered an odd teenage girl who had requested that a church be built in her honor on the hill of  Tepeyac. Mexico’s virgin was eventually invoked by revolutionaries and honored by Popes (there’s a shrine to her in  St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome) and today she is perhaps the most ubiquitous symbol in all of Mexico (left).

December 12 was decreed a feast day for the Virgin of Guadalupe in the early 1800s by Jose Maria Morelos, a priest and rabble-rousing leader of Mexico’s War of Independence against the Spanish. Today, in typical Mexican fashion, the Virgin of Guadalupe celebration has been expanded to encompass the first 12 days of December and her festival is marked with  both the profound and the not so profound.

On the one hand you can buy a car freshener with the Virgin’s image on it and hang it from your rear view mirror (we did). On the other hand, millions of devoted pilgrims and followers swarm Mexican shrines and temples devoted to the Virgin every year during the annual festival commemorating her miraculous encounter with Juan Diego. Mexico’s Basilica of Guadalupe,  Tepeyac hill near Mexico City, is the most visited Catholic pilgrimage destination in the world. In 2009 more than 6 million pilgrims traveled there over December 11 and 12–many of them walking for biking long distances.

Ajijic’s festivities don’t include millions of people, however, those who do take part make sure they have a good time.

The faithful pitched tents for the 24 hour mountain-top Virgin of Guadalupe fiesta above Ajijic. That's our orange Coleman tent in the lower left hand corner.

We were lucky enough to get invited to one of Ajijic’s celebrations of the Virgin which combined some of our favorite things: a good stiff hike, good friends (new and old) and the chance to take part in Mexican hospitality and ritual. But first we had to get there.

On December 6 At 6:00am we (along with our great friend Tom from Ajijic) met up with Renee at the local Oxo (think 7-11 but without the creepy parking lot lurkers). Renee is a Mexican resident of Ajijic, an avid hiker, a big-hearted guy and an artist and it was thanks to him that we were headed to the top of Mount Chupanya, 6.5 miles and 3,000 feet above us.

We began the steep steady climb in the dark and slowly wound our way up the desert scrub hillsides of the Sierra Madre for about three hours before we reached our destination, a saddle in the mountain with a small shrine to the Virgin that’s been hand-chipped out of a huge boulder.

This small Virgin of Guadalupe shrine has been carved out of a huge boulder on Mount Chupinaya above Ajijic.

The trail takes us past a few stations-of-the-cross markers, through someone’s small hand-worked corn field and in and out of many different types of vegetation ultimately passing a cluster of crosses, then the summit shortly thereafter. When we got there around 9:30 we were shocked to discover that we weren’t the first arrivals. Already hard at work was a group of Mexican men and it was a pleasure to watch (and try to help) as these guys, not necessarily even friends on any other day, worked seamlessly and resourcefully together to turn a narrow, lumpy bit of hill into a party pad.

It was amazing what they accomplished with a few tarps, a knife and some fallen logs. And as we watched them build a campfire, create makeshift benches, string up tarps, collect firewood and literally unearthing buried treasure, we thought MacGyver’s got nothing on these guys.

For month these men and others had been hiking up the mountain from Ajijic and neighboring communities with enormous bottles of purified water, huge soup pots and other cooking utensils,  bottles of tequila and many other necessities that were the makings of a party which was expected to attract 200 people–not to mention an entire banda band (typically at least eight musicians) which would hike up with their instruments some time in the wee hours when they were done playing at parties down in town.

The early arrivals (including us) warmed up by a never-ending campfire between trips into the woods to dig up party necessities that had been cached in the ground over the previous months.

Two vital ingredients that couldn’t be cached in the ground ahead of time were fireworks and noise makers. Virtually no celebration in Mexico is complete without setting off copious quantities of bombas (extremely loud creations that look like giant bottle rockets) and fireworks or cuteras that come with names like vampiros. During the 12 day Guadalupe Festival even priests set the things off at their churches.

It wasn’t long before other men began arriving up on Chupinaya, huffing up the hill carrying huge baskets full of bombas and cuteras on their backs. All told, about 300 of the things were ultimately amassed at the top. Almost immediately one guy began lovingly sorting, piling and covering them. Then he began lighting them–usually four or five in a row from extremely close range.

By noon it was drizzling and Tom was sorry he hadn’t bothered schlepping his tent up the hill. All said, however, he kept miraculously dry under a crudely strung up bit of plastic even after the drizzle turned to a true rain. We’re just saying.In large part due to the rain, this year’s Chupinaya Virgin fiesta attracted far fewer than 200 people and the banda band arrived late and in reduced numbers. But by dawn they were set up gamely in front of the shrine where they belted out loud, rollicking, slightly-circus-like banda tunes on their drums and cymbals and tubas.

Yes, someone walked up to the top of the mountain carrying a tuba.

In the morning the rain stopped long enough to allow Karen to go on a successful orchid hunt.

At some point in the soggy night the party crew had begun simmering an enormous pot of menudo (a slow-cooked soup made with tripe) and a equally impressive pot full of cafe olla (a Mexican spiced and simmered cowboy coffee). We’ve had menudo before and have we’ve made peace with the fact that we just don’t care for tripe (cow stomach) but we do like the broth so we breakfasted on a couple of bowls of rich broth (puzzling our fellow revelers by politely refusing the tripe), then we packed up our wet gear for the hike back down.

As we began our descent the weather cleared and we were treated to this view of Lake Chapala and the village of Ajijic 3,000 feet below.

The sun finally came out when we were about half way down the mountain. Here Karen and Tom push on.

A few days later we found ourselves at another Virgin celebration, this one slightly more urban, in the viollage of San Antonio next to Ajijic. It was December 12, the culmination of the 12 day festival, and San Antonio–like virtually every other city, town and hamlet in the country–was marking the day with a big fireworks display at the entrance to the church. As if to enhance the experience, the power miraculously went out in San Antonio, plunging everything into darkness–the perfect backdrop for the huge castillo or intricately built tower of spinning wheels and fancy shapes which would be brought to life with one flick of a match.

The Virgin of Guadalupe Festival in San Antonio on Lake Chapala culminated, as so many Mexican festivals do, with a castillo (fireworks tower).

The fireworks finale of the Virgin of Guadalupe Festival in San Antonio on Lake Chapala included this castillo (fireworks tower) and a larger-than-life fireworks Virgin.

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We love Querétaro in Mexico. First of all, it’s fun to say. Then there’s the history, the chic shops, the even-chicer refugees from Mexico City and the wine ice. So it was with particular pleasure that we quite literally stumbled upon a lovely B&B in downtown Queretaro called Casa del Atrio. It wasn’t even quite open when the proud owners showed us around but even then it was clear that this was/is a special place to stay in a special city to visit.

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San Blas, on the Nayarit coast between Mazatlan  and Puerto Vallarta, sits on an almost-imperceptibly high spot amidst a sprawling, swampy, jungly mangrove. This means many things, both good and bad. Mosquitoes and other mercilessly pesky and blood-thirsty insects abound, for example.  It also means that the sleepy town’s secluded, wide, white beaches aren’t the only watery thrill to be had.

For around 360 pesos (about $25) for four people one of the captains for hire who loiter in a median in the road as you enter town will take you on a three hour cruise up the Estuary San Cristobal through the federally protected mangroves and jungles and waterways that lead to the La Tovara fresh water spring (add about an hour and another 80 pesos if you want to continue past the spring to a crocodile farm where the animals are bred and released).

Our prow pushed silently through still water as we floated through the jungle toward La Tovara Springs in San Blas, Mexico.

A juvenile osprey eyed us as we passed under it during our float through the jungle and mangroves.

After waiting around for over an hour hoping two other travelers would show up to share the cost of the boat, we finally gave up and convinced a captain to take just the two of us for 300 pesos. The moment we stepped into the small, open, brightly painted wooden boat and started to move we relaxed thanks to a shockingly quite and non-stinky motor, a languid pace and plenty of eye candy. All told we saw dozens of birds, at least a dozen crocs and just two other boats.

You can get the trip for less if you walk or drive across a bridge or go even further out of town moving closer to the springs itself. However, if you ask us, the most serene and “mangrovey” sections of the trip occur in the first 20 minutes so cutting out that stretch to save a few pesos doesn’t make sense, even to us.

This small crocodile, one of many toothy terrors we saw during our boat trip, didn't budge from his sunny log as we floated by.

An egret stood motionless above the glassy water looking for the almost imperceptible movement of lunch below the surface.

Our ultimate destination was the La Tovara fresh water spring where the boat docked and we got out to gawk at the amazingly crystal clear water (this spring actually feeds the town of San Blas) and its population of happy fish. There’s a restaurant here, shady tables and you can even swim in the natural pool that’s been discreetly built up at the mouth of the spring. Be warned, however: at least one swimmer has been attached by a croc here and though there’s now a big weighted chain link fence separating the large natural pool at the mouth of the spring from the river itself we decided against taking a dip.

The crystal-clear waters of the La Tovara Spring.

This bad boy was the largest crocodile we saw and more than big enough to satisfy any Wild Kingdom dreams.

A black Iguana warming up.

San Blas’ other (absolutely unprovable) claim to fame is as the birthplace of banana bread. All over town bakeries swear they invented the stuff and you can hardly turn a corner without bumping into a chance to buy a slice or loaf of pan de platano. We sucumbed at a bakery called Juan Bananas. Why there? No idea, but the bread WAS tasy and the label that came on it can’t be beat: it’s a crude line drawing of a palm tree and a banana tree with a hammock strung between them in which a sated customer (one supposes) slumbers as gargantuan mosquitoes swarm about. We told you there were epic bugs here…

This great blue heron stood almost three feet tall.

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Playa Olas Atlas, just a few blocks from the center of Old Mazatlan, was one of the first resort areas in Mexico.

Located down at the Playa Olas Atlas end of town, the original part of Mazatlan was once referred to as the “Pearl of the Pacific.” John Wayne used to keep a boat here and Ernest Hemingway spent more than a little bit of time in town. The area has long since let go of the last vestiges of its glamorous past and embraced–either out of choice or out of necessity–its decidedly faded present.

The result is an old travel battlehorse so comfortable in its peeling, slightly-crumbling skin that visitors are instantly made to feel perfectly, casually at home as well. A fresh crop of hip bars, a thriving arts scene and a growing number of boutique hotels (we’re talking about you Melville Suites and Hotel Machado) and bed and breakfasts keep the area from lurching into has-been-land.

More on the chic lodgings later. For now, let us stress that Old Mazatlan is also home to some exceptional hotel bargains, like the Belmar Hotel, a faded but still perfectly acceptable budget option (clean, safe, central, functioning Wi-Fi, secure parking) where we got a room with A/C for 200 pesos (about $13). Yep.

The Hotel Belmar was the first resort hotel to be built in Mazatlan. Opened in 1918 it was, at one time, THE place to stay. Now old school, open-air Pulmonia taxis pick up and drop off budget traveler guests at this ramshackle diva.

Old Mazatlan combines the pastels of Miami with the wrought iron and languid patios of New Orleans and many of Old Mazatlan’s original buildings have been (or are being) renovated, giving the area a kind of lazy boom-town feel. Another quirky Mazatlan plus? Free calls to the US and Canada from house phones at most of the hotels–even the penny-pinching  Belmar.

The restored buildings in Old Mazatlan bring color and style to the neighborhood.

The sights and sounds of a low-key seaside town like Mazatlan make a seafood meal sound good and we spent plenty of afternoons at Mariscos Tono enjoying wonderfully fresh ceviche and 12 peso cervezas. We were also tipped off about a  great taco place called Taqueria Playa Sur. Tender, tender beef and a bustling turnover. Want a tablecloth and live jazz and a wine list and a cappuccino? Restaurants like Pedro y Lola in Old Mazatlan deliver that too.

The heart of Old Mazatlan is the Plaza Machado which is surrounded by cafes and the beautifully restored Angela Peralta Theater.

Street art on one of the buildings in Old Mazatlan is too good to be called graffiti.

The 19th century cathedral in Old Mazatlan.

Though we originally checked into the wonderfully frayed (and equally wonderfully priced) Hotel Belmar we were intrigued by the number of really chic little boutique hotels and bed and breakfasts we walked past on our daily strolls through Old Mazatlan. One of them, the Casa Lucila, is right on the waterfront and has a story as irresistible as its location.

Opened by Conchita Valades de Boccard and her husband Christopher, this stunner is named after her mother and the eight over-sized rooms (many with sea-view patios) are named after Conchita’s eight sisters. The restaurant and lounge is named for Conchita’s father, Mazatlan crooner Fernando Valades Lejarza. Conchita jokes that she’s going to have to open another hotel so her five brothers can have rooms named after them and she’s done such a wonderful job with Casa Lucila that we really hope she follows through on that threat.

A native of Mazatlan, Conchita bought the property in 2007 and photos of the building at that time prove that calling it a shambles would have been a compliment. Today the tranquil and stylish two story hotel is properly dressed in Italian stone and windows and doors and plush linens. There’s even a plunge pool and a lovely one-room spa. The sublime custom mattresses are made by hand in Mazatlan by a man who can only be called an artist.

As if to seal the deal, the location of the hotel, on a slight rise above the seawall, provides gratis views down the long, sweeping crescent of Olas Atlas Beach. All in all, Casa Lucila is a wonderful new take on Old Mazatlan.

Sunset on the Pacific.

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It’s true. Durango doesn’t have the museums or restaurants of Mexico City. Or the charro culture of Lagos de Moreno. Or the tequila of Tequila or the beach resorts of the Costalegre.  And it’s certainly not on most visitors’ itineraries.  

Then again, we’re not most visitors. Durango it is!  

Durango's Cathedral Basilica Menor by day...

...and by night.

Our first stop in Durango was Cremeria Wallender where our minds were boggled by its luscious similarities–from the freshly roasted coffee to the freshly baked bread and pastries to the gourmet cuts of meat to the decadent prepared foods to the hard-to-find ingredients–to Dean & Deluca, the gourmet mecca in New York City’s swanky Soho district. It’s not the biggest food bargain in Durango (more on food bargains later), but it’s a lovely shop and cafe especially with the owner passing out free glasses of sangria, apparently inaugurating a beautiful new outdoor patio complete with  a jazz duo.  

Cremeria Wallender delivers live jazz on weekends, great salads and tortas (sandwiches) plus gourmet groceries and adorable painted cows.

Next we checked into the Hotel Durango where we found free parking, a big clean room with an even bigger outdoor patio and all the mod-cons all for 240 pesos with Wi-Fi. Honestly, this room is one of the biggest city hotel bargains we’ve encountered in Mexico so far.  

Another bargain? Dinner at Corleone Pizza. Not only is the pizza and pasta perfectly respectable, but the prices are unbeatable (a 16″ pizza is 90 pesos) which explains the crush of young couples on dates and new families on a budget that fill the place and form lines out the door (come early).  

Town was filled with the sound of drum and bugle corps and when we stumbled upon Plaza IV Centenario we discovered why: the Concurso de Bandas de Guerra (Contest of War Bands??? Anyone?) was in full swing.

An unexpected bonus of our stay in Durango was a convergence of marching bands of all ages which were in town for something called the Concurso de Bandas de Guerra which we’ve lamely translated as “Contest of War Bands.” One evening we stumbled across a kind of battle of the war bands in Plaza IV Centenario and when the participants began to solemnly unfurl the Mexican flag and play and sing the national anthem we suddenly realize we’d never actually heard it before. It’s lovely and heartfelt and mournful and long–like everyone’s national anthem. What is unusual is that any Mexican who’s been in the military sings the anthem while saluting at their foreheads. Those who have never served salute at the level of their hearts.  

Unfortunately, at least one of the bands was staying at our hotel and the teenaged  members felt the need to use the echoing hallways as playgrounds from 2 am to 4 am. One thing you learn in Mexico: noise does not bother people the same way it does in the US and if you complain about noise you’re likely to be met with a puzzled look. We certainly were.  

A formal flag ceremony at the Concurso de Bandas de Guerra. We realized this was the first time we'd heard Mexico's national anthem.

One thing Durango has that Mexico City or Tequila or Lagos de Moreno or the Costalegre don’t have is a golden history as the place where many beloved movies have been shot over the course of the past 100 or so years. There’s even a Museo de Cine in town.  

For obvious geographical reasons, many of those movies were westerns–John Wayne was here so often he eventually bought a local ranch which was ultimately turned into a movie set. The western main street (saloon, post office, jail, etc) that served as the set for many famous western movies is now an attraction called Villa del Oeste which. For 30 pesos per person, including bus transportation from downtown, you get a blessedly  tongue-in-cheek “re-enactment” of western scenes palyed out on the dusty main street, plus plenty of beer, snacks and food. It’s cheesy but also strangely enjoyable and we ended up surprising ourselves by being really glad we came.  

At Villa de Oeste Karen is nearly taken hostage by a crazed gunman.

After the show one of the actors, a scar-faced toughie named Tom Hansson who played a scar-faced toughie in the show, approached us and insisted on signing our program. When he becomes the next John Wayne we expect to clean up.  

The road from the coast (Mazatlan) to Durango is one of the more spectacular drives in Mexico as sections cross the heart of the Sierra Madre Occidental. A particularly narrow and winding section is aptly named El Espinoza del Diablo, or The Devil's Backbone.

Perhaps another reason Durango isn’t on everyone’s Mexico itinerary is that you have to take Highway 40, a road that includes a narrow, windy section unwelcomingly named The Devil’s Backbone. The road itself  is often referred to by the locals as “El Camino de Tres Mil Curvas” or The Road of 3,000 Curves and there were moments of mild car sickness even though we “never get car sick.” 

The 180 miles from Durango to Mazatlan is so winding that it takes six to seven hours to make the trip, depending on how courageous you are at passing slower moving traffic. But it’s also a spectacular drive as you climb and turn through the Sierra Madre Occidental. The two lane road is narrow and hogged up by a steady stream of 18-wheelers whose drivers demonstrate wildly varying levels of skill and consideration for other vehicles and many turns are simply too tight to accommodate big trucks and buses.  

A multi-billion dollar road works project is currently creating an alternate high speed and undoubetedly high-toll route that involves a lot of high-tech engineering including 26 tunnels and 14 bridges in just one 29 mile section. One of the bridges, the Baluarte Bridge (El Puente Baluarte), will be nearly 3,700 feet long–the biggest cable-stay bridge in Latin America. The new road, set to be done in 2012, will have fewer turns and drop 75 miles (including the Devil’s Backbone section) out of the route cutting the total trip time from six hours to around three hours and all but erasing the white-knuckle factor.  

We’ll take the old road any day.  

One of the few places along Carretera 40 (The Road of 3,000 Turns) where it's wide enough to pull over. This section is called The Devil's Backbone.

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Christmas, as you might expect, is a major big deal in Mexico and the season stretches all the way to January 6–aka Three Kings Day (Día de Reyes). In some parts of the country this is when the children get their presents not on that tired old December 25.

Three Kings Day is also celebrated with its own special baked good, a bready/cakey/tasty thing called a rosca de reyes. A particularly massive and popular bakery in Mexico City called Ideal actually shuts down production of all other goodies in the days leading up to January 6 and focuses exclusively on churning out tens of thousands of rosco de reyes cakes which are duly gobbled up by the masses.

In Guadalajara the Colegio Gastronomico Internacional charges its budding chefs with the task of baking a rosco de reyes that masures 500 meters (more than a quarter of a mile) long. This we had to see. We have to admit we were a bit disappointed to discover that it’s not one continuous 500 meter long cake, but a series of 1 meter long sections lined up end to end. But it tasted great and went perfectly with the mugs of hot chocolate they were also handing.

Part of the 500 meter long rosco de reyes baked every year by chefs-in-training at the Colegio Gastronomic Internacional in Guadalajara.

A warning about the good old rosco de reyes, however. Each and every one is loaded with white plastic representations of the baby Jesus (inserted after baking so they don’t melt). If your piece of the cake contains one, you could break a tooth plus you’re responsible for throwing a party on February 2 at which you must supply tamales for everyone.

Have we mentioned how much this country loves any old excuse to throw  a party?

Serving up the 500 meter long rosco de reyes baked by chefs-in-training at the Colegio Gastronomic Internacional in Guadalajara.