first tastes of mainland mexico: lake chapala, morelia & etzatlán
Dates: February 13, 2023 - February 24, 2023
Distance: 647 mi / 1,041 km
Route: Guadalajara > Lake Chapala > Morelia > San Miguel de Allende > Etzatlán
For two weeks I sat back in the recliner in my parents’ home and watched from afar as Mike crossed the Sea of Cortez on the TMC ferry and began digging into the rich culture of mainland Mexico. Though I was grateful for the quality time I was spending with my family, I couldn’t help but feel a tad envious of Mike traveling through new places without me.
I hugged my mom extra tight the morning she dropped me off at the airport. This time at home had been very special, and there was nowhere else I would have rather been instead–not even in Mexico with Mike.
But now that my time in Ohio drew to a close, I turned my sights on rejoining my little travel crew in a place where I had never before been–a place that I knew had so much to offer, and I couldn’t wait to see it all for myself.
Reunited in Guadalajara
Traveling solo with luggage for the first time in a while, I was outraged to find that a luggage cart at the Columbus airport cost $6. It seems to me these should be provided for free to assist the disabled, elderly, or even people who are just heavy packers, with their luggage. My mom had offered to park and carry my bags in for me, but I insisted it would be easier and a shorter walk for me if she just dropped me off at departures.
So I paid the extortion fee and plopped my two large duffel bags and backpack onto the cart. Mind you, I didn’t pack this much for two weeks. My bags were full with a few (or many) things for me to take back to Mexico, like supplements and parts we needed for the rig. I checked my bags and was happy to be rid of them until I landed in Guadalajara several hours later.
Relieved to find the Guadalajra airport more accommodating to folks who require a little extra assistance like me, I grabbed a free luggage cart and waited for my bags to magically arrive on the conveyor belt.
Once through Immigration and Customs, I pushed my cart towards the exit. A man came up to me and said something in Spanish. Assuming he was asking if I needed transportation, I thanked him but waved him off. Undettered, he persisted and in English told me I couldn’t take the cart beyond the yellow line on the ground that I was about to cross. Well, shoot (and also, apologies, sir, for my dismissiveness).
I abandoned the cart and carried my bags over the yellow line to a chair where I could take a moment to catch my breath, orient myself in the airport, figure out where Mike was planning to pick me up, and the shortest route to get me to that location.
Note: Airports do offer assistance options for people who need them. But I think there are many people, apparently like me, who hesitate to formally request it. I have yet to take advantage of this kind of assistance, even though I should. But while I work on my own internal ableism, it would be nice to have access to free luggage carts that can cross yellow lines and help me to my ride. (Learn more about ableism.)
Due to height clearance issues, he couldn’t pick me up in the usual arrivals pick-up location. With a duffel bag in each hand and my backpack hanging on my shoulders, I made the strenuous walk out to a roundabout where Mike showed up at the exact same time as I did. Somewhat blocking traffic, he helped pull my bags into the truck cab, I then clamored inside, and breathlessly greeted Granger who was the most excited to see me. (Mike was understandably focused on the traffic).
Knowing I would need a few days to rest and recuperate from this day of airport travel, Mike picked out a campsite on the west side of Lake Chapala, thirty minutes south of Guadalajara. We headed straight there.
Our campsite on Lake Chapala was a perfect spot to do pretty much nothing for a few days. And once I was feeling up to it, we could take short walks out to an old lighthouse and watch the sunset by the lake.
Safety in Mexico
After a few days of rest, I was itching to get moving. We had a couple of weeks to spare before needing to be in Puerto Vallarta to meet up with some friends, so we considered where to go in the meantime.
Looking at the map on my phone, my eyes fell upon the mid-sized city of Morelia. A quick Google search was all it took to entice us–beautiful architecture, a solid food scene, and plenty to do–but there was a problem.
Morelia is the capital city of the state of Michoacán, an infamous state in Mexico, known for its higher rates of violent and organized crime. The US Department of state warns: Crime and violence are widespread in Michoacán state. Do not travel due to crime and kidnapping. More helpfully, the UK advises: Do not travel to the state of Michoacán except for the city of Morelia accessed by federal toll roads 15D, 126 and 43.
Streets of Morelia
Based on the UK travel guidance and some informative YouTube videos we watched about the safety of driving to Morelia, we felt comfortable with going for it.
As soon as we crossed the border into Michoacán on toll road 15D, we were waved over to the side of the road by a national guard officer. Crossing our fingers that we weren’t about to be asked for a bribe or be given any other difficulty, Mike rolled down the window and greeted the officer.
“¿De dondé vienen?” asked the officer, and I incorrectly replied “Morelia.” He asked where we were coming from, not where we were going, but I think my obviously wrong response gave him little confidence in our Spanish abilities, so he moved on and asked to see our Temporary Import Permit (TIP) for the rig. Mike showed him the document and he sent us on our way.
Most of the time when we told people in the US that we were going to travel through Mexico, they raised their eyebrows in surprise and asked if it was a safe thing to do, or they’d say something much more callous, but with the same meaning behind it–Isn’t Mexico really dangerous?
Mike’s first free camping site in a soccer field parking lot in mainland Mexico.
Telling someone not to travel through Mexico because it’s dangerous is like telling someone not to go to the grocery store or to church or to a club or to a concert or to school in the US because of mass shootings. Yes, there is real potential danger, and yes, all-too-often horrific tragedies occur, but it’s not the whole of Mexico that holds higher risk of danger, just as your life isn’t threatened every time you walk into a grocery store in the U.S.
Note: We feel strongly that the violent crime in parts of Mexico and mass shootings in the US are extremely serious problems that deserve increased attention and effort to reduce their fatal consequences.
We haven’t felt unsafe at any point so far in Mexico. There have been moments when we’ve gone into high alert mode and on the lookout for potential trouble, but none has arisen. However, crossing the border into Michoacán, a particular region of Mexico that is reportedly more dangerous, we couldn’t help but notice how, apart from our thoughts, nothing really felt any different.
We intended to free camp in the parking lot of a community center, but when we arrived, a massive military exhibition for the public was going on and the parking lot was jam-packed. After consulting with iOverlander, we found a quiet street to camp on a few minutes from the community center. We’d sleep here for the night and try again for the community center parking lot in the morning.
Our first night in Morelia.
The next day Mike hopped out of bed earlier than I felt compelled to open my eyes, so he left me and the animals in the back while he drove us over to the parking lot which was thankfully empty.
We claimed our parking spot campsite and settled in for the next two days.
Exploring Morelia
Excited to explore more of this city, we got ourselves ready to head out. Mike locked the camper and then I realized I had forgotten my camera. He unlocked the door and I jumped into the camper to grab my camera. He locked it again. Crap–I forgot my water bottle. Once more, he unlocked the door and I climbed in to get what I needed. Before locking it this time he asked half jokingly, half annoyed, “now, is there anything else you need?” With an eye roll, I said “no.” He locked the door. Oh no… I forgot my notebook. I hadn’t been out much lately, and it sure did show.
We climbed into an Uber and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was traveling in another country. Since we take our home with us anywhere we go, we always have this feeling of being at home. But being in the back of an Uber with a driver who didn’t speak English, driving down unrecognizable streets, and heading somewhere unfamiliar with hopes of seeing what it had to offer brought back the rush of international travel, and I was grateful for it.
The first thing we wanted to do in Morelia was to check out the historic district (Centro Histórico) home to much of the colonial architecture and cafés that Morelia is known for. Traffic in this area was a mess, so we offered to get out of the car a block away from the Plaza de Armas, our intended destination.
We walked slowly along the busy sidewalk until we reached the plaza. I took the first opportunity to sit on a bench to catch my breath and allow my heart rate to calm down. Once I was ready, we cut through the Cathedral of Morelia to the other side of the plaza. Sitting on a pew, we took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the church, during which Mike got silently scolded by an older gentleman for wearing his hat. Oops–he quickly removed it.
Inside the Cathedral of Morelia.
Exiting the church, we saw a parade unfolding in the street and people everywhere. Later on, a woman approached us to explain that people were gathering today for God. I’m not sure why she felt the need to tell us that, but we were glad she did, because we were curious about the festivities.
Admiring the plant sculptures of elephants and camels along the way, we navigated to the only open bench in the plaza, which sat before the large gazebo in the square. Mike set out to explore more of the area, and I sat there taking in the sights and energy of everything around me. The parade was in full swing in the street accompanied by megaphoned voices and loud music, people were milling about in the park, a work crew was chopping down a tree on the other side of the gazebo, and women would occasionally walk up to me asking if I wanted to buy something from them (I appreciated how they respectfully walked away when I said no, thank you the first time).
Nervously, I reached into my bag and pulled out my notebook, a small cup for water, and my new paint set. Since I’m currently not able to walk around and explore places with Mike, I’m trying to find new ways of experiencing the places we visit. I felt incredibly self-conscious as I opened up the paint set and got started. The only people who typically paint in public are really good painters. I’m a complete novice and I was afraid someone would see me painting and think “oh I wonder what she’s painting over there,” and then walk by to sneak a peek and think “oh, that’s what she’s painting.”
Note: We’ve also considered getting a wheelchair, but most of the time, the streets and sidewalks in these towns really aren’t well-designed for someone in a wheelchair.
I struggled to get started but soon I was immersed in the activity, and instead of feeling like an observer watching what was going on around me, I felt like I had melded into the scene. On one side of the gazebo, there was a man from the work crew taking a break and dancing unabashedly to the music from the parade, and on the other side, there was an American tourist focused on the gazebo and piece of paper before her, trying to recall what she had learned in high school art class.
After a while, Mike returned and we treated ourselves to a nice meal on the square. The outdoor seating of the cafés surrounding the plaza reminded me of Paris. We shared some starters and a meal, and then grabbed an Uber to head back to the animals.
The following day, Mike walked around the military exhibit and checked out the surrounding area while I rested up in the camper before our joint outing in the evening.
We hopped in another Uber and headed to Tata Mezcalería & Cocina for an upscale dinner of croquetas, quesadillas, bone marrow, and more. Yes, you read that right–we scooped marrow directly out of a bone with a spoon and used it as a topping for our quesadillas. It was as delicious as the setting was beautiful: an open courtyard with green vines climbing up a red brick wall.
Fuente de las Tarascas — a fountain that celebrates three indigenous Purépecha women as they raise local fruits to the sky as a sign of prosperity, abundance, and fertility of the earth and humankind.
After dinner, we walked through the Jardín Héroes Del 1847 (Heroes Garden of 1847), where the smell of marijuana hung thickly in the air around groups of grungy youngsters, and then down the Callejón del Romance (Romance Alley). Stopping occasionally to take photos, rest, or check out an open art gallery, it was a perfect evening of gentle exploring.
Callejón del Romance
Pit-Stop in San Miguel de Allende
Next stop–San Miguel de Allende. We’ve heard a lot of good things about this town, as it has quite an esteemed reputation among foreigners. Many Americans, Canadians and Europeans opt to retire to its quaint and cute streets or return to visit every year during the cold winter months.
Enjoying a nice breakfast out right down the street from the RV park in San Miguel de Allende.
We were looking forward to seeing what all the hype was about, but I had a few rough health days and Mike had actually smashed his toe pretty bad in Morelia, so he was somewhat out of commission too. In the end, we spent two nights at an RV park in the middle of town and hardly saw much of the town at all. We can confirm that the streets are cute though and shops and cafés are abundant.
Note: It’s also important to note that Mike loved the grocery store there. He couldn’t stop raving about it as we drove out of the parking lot. So if you’re ever in SMA, you must check out Mike’s favorite grocery store in the world: City Market.
Driving out of San Miguel de Allende, we headed due west towards Puerto Vallarta. We wouldn’t make the nine hour journey in one day, so we found a spot to camp for a few nights along the way.
Small Town Guinness World Records: Etzatlán
Delias RV Park (aka Campadritos RV Park) lies on the edge of the small town of Etzatlán and isn’t without its charms. Free range roaming chickens, a pair of elderly dogs, and the friendly women who run the campground all contribute to its positive vibe.
We were surprised to discover that Etzatlán is home of a Guinness World Record for the largest crochet canopy. Needing to see this for ourselves, we headed into town, and it didn’t take long for us to encounter the outer edges of this world-renowned canopy.
The story behind this record-breaking pabellón, or festive street canopy, is a beautiful one. A mother and daughter duo from the town, one a 90-something year old, both recent widows, decided to turn their sadness and grief for the loss of their husbands into something beautiful.
They used a synthetic fiber made out of recycled plastic bottles, called “raffia,” to create the 30,500 sq. ft. canopy. It took over 200 people eight months and about 2,000 lbs of material to crochet the 8,248 hexagon pieces that together make up the canopy.
After driving under the canopy for several blocks, we parked the truck and hopped out for a short walk through the colorful light it casts beneath it.
As they found their way through their grief, these remarkable women also brought something into the world that sparks continuous joy for the people in their community and the travelers who are lucky enough to swing through town. This pabellón is truly a piece of art–and I’m glad we were both there to witness it.
