I didn’t have a great sense for the national topography of Mexico before this trip; I knew that Baja was beach and desert with a big spine of mountains running down its back, and I knew that the jungle and the desert collide in parts of Veracruz, with the waves of the Gulf knocking at the door, at times no more than an hour away. I also knew that Veracruz was home to a big volcano, Pico de Orizaba, that wasn’t too far from Jalcomulco, the little community that we called home on the last trip, and that the sub tropical jungle extended down through the Yucatán peninsula. Essentially, I knew a bit about the two coasts, west and east, and not much more. I had been really looking forward to this trip to stitch together those parts of the country by driving across the center, and as we left the high alpine attractions of Mexiquillo, I understood that my wish was being granted, and we were being thrust into the body of mainland Mexico.

We departed La Ciudad and hopped back on the MEX 40D, the toll road that was supposed to be newer, faster, and safer than its original and free counterpart, MEX 40, the ruta libre. In many ways toll roads in Mexico are “safer” than their alternative - their routes are straighter, their curves are gentler, and they are backed by federal dollars for maintenance and upkeep - but they are also much faster, and that increased speed brings its own set of dangers. Managing the other traffic, especially the single and double semi trucks, is a challenge. On many of the climbs the semi trucks were struggling to maintain even 20KPH, forcing us to pass to stay safe in the flow of traffic, but those same trucks would quickly catch up to us on the declines, passing us going easily 120KPH if not faster. It was a constant battle of watching the road, watching traffic ahead of us, managing traffic behind us, and playing defense on everyone and everything. Chelsea and I were pretty stressed; we were in a new place, driving on a new road, risking a lot for what felt like a little, and when we eventually took a pothole way too hard and too fast we exploded into an emotional breakdown that forced us to pull over and just breathe for a minute. Luckily there was no immediately visible damage on Walter. He hadn’t exploded, we did. We made the decision to get off the “safe” toll road and onto the slower, windier, free road. Free roads have their own dangers as well, but we needed to get away from the constant threat of semi truck traffic.

For the next few hours we made our way through little towns on our way to the city of Durango, passing countless groups of motorcyclists gathered at the local cafes, restaurants, and haciendas. We were traveling on the tail end of the Espinazo del Diablo, a road said to be the best motorcycle route in the world, and there was a level of bike culture that I hadn’t seen anywhere else in Mexico. Like so many other countries that aren’t the US, Mexico relies on motorcycles. People, goods, ideas, hopes, and dreams ride on the back of millions of little single cylinder four stroke motorbikes. They take the place of the family sedan, the local taxi, the small pickup truck, the tractor, but perhaps due to the ubiquity there isn’t as much of a motorcyclist counterculture in Mexico, or at least I hadn’t seen it yet. That, however, is not the case in Durango, and it was a bit of a culture shock to be passed by what looked like entire motorcycle clubs of choppers, sports bikes, and baggers all posted up at restaurants, out for a Sunday group ride on one of the world’s greatest roads.

Our destination for the night was a little hot spring water park just outside the city of Durango. The reviews on iOverlander were recent and very positive, and as Idahoans we can’t pass up a good hot spring soak when offered. We pulled up to the water park towards the end of their business day, as the small crowd was just beginning to leave. The owner’s son, Edwardo, showed us around and got us situated in the RV parking area, an empty lot the size of a football field, perfect for big disc throws for Gracie. Edwardo told us they often welcome large RV caravans at the park, even providing half a dozen full hookup sites, but we were the only ones parked there for the night, and once the gates closed it was just us and a lone security guard hidden away near the office watching soap operas.

The park’s main offering were a bunch of cool pools and various water slides, but tucked in the back were two spring fed pools, one warm and one HOT. As the sun set on our second day in mainland Mexico we couldn’t resist a quiet, hot bath. We ended up staying at the hot springs for three nights, using their reliable and fast WiFi during the day to get caught up on “work” and using their pools at night (and often first thing in the morning as well). Gracie got giant disc throws in the dirt lot, and everything was pretty good for a few days at our mid-journey oasis.

The water park was huge, and though it was quiet during our time there, we could imagine it being packed on weekends and holidays.

The RV parking was equally huge, and luckily it was empty. Gracie loved having the giant field to herself.

Our first of many soaks in the evening after all the people went home for the day.

One of the natural springs to the left (no swimming in that one) and the hottest of the pools in the center bathed in the morning glow.

The sunrise soaks ended up being our favorite.

The park had great internet and lovely shaded areas for us to work in during the day.

We took advantage of the park’s endless supply of water and borrowed a hose to clean Walter up and get rid of all the salt from the ferry ride and the mud from our unexpected water crossing.

Gracie has now learned that when we put the kitchen hatch up to cook, she can sneakily beg for treats while we cook. She got a few morsels of cheese.

Three days and ten soaks later, we continued on our mostly direct journey across Mainland Mexico, trying to choose known campgrounds from iOverlander that weren’t very far off our route. We were focused on making miles, rather than exploring, because I knew that boating season in Jalcomulco was slowly slipping by. We were also a little afraid of central Mexico, and I am still struggling to determine if that fear is warranted or not. The boogieman of organized crime and decentralized government loomed large over our route making choices, so we stuck to toll roads and tried to keep our detours to campgrounds as short as possible, at least in the states of Durango and Zacatecas. Our route was leading us through sprawling agricultural lands, with our elevation usually over 5000ft, caught on the plateau between two massive mountain ranges. On our first day back on the road we stopped for delicious carnitas tacos and got to talking to a local who told us that the rains just hadn’t came this year, and the black bean crop (their main local export) was very limited, almost nonexistent. He was happy for the company and we were happy for the tacos.

Our stop that night was more of a driveway than a campsite, but it did offer a single guest room if we needed it; El Rincón de los Abuelos was one of very few “established campground” options listed on iOverlander on our route, so we were happy for whatever we found. We used WhatsApp to get in contact with the owners son who arranged a stay for us, and we had secure, gated parking for the night in the neighborhood of El Bajío just outside the cool little town of Rincón de Romos. The property was very pretty and had a definite Catholic vibe; the guest room was adjacent to a very ornate home shrine, complete with kneelers and nearly life size statues of Jesus and the Virgin of Guadalupe. It was easily the nicest shrine I’ve seen in Mexico, nearly the size of small bedroom, with room for maybe half a dozen devotees. I didn’t feel comfortable taking pictures, but now I wish I had. The lights stayed on in the shrine all night, allowing (or forcing?) us to gaze in on the Savior and Mary during our night time runs to the bathroom.

Delicious carnita tacos and delicious homemade salsas.

Pancho spoke really excellent English, and was excited to meet us and spent our time eating tacos telling us about his time working in the USA and about his home in Mexico. He was really proud to show us how clean his taco cart was, complete with two hand wash stations.

Sometimes a safe place to park is just that…nothing more, nothing less.

Heating water for our most important meal of the day…coffee.

We saw a juice and torta place on the way into town and couldn’t not stop.

The next morning we were up early enough, not exactly an alpine start but earlier that usual for two lazy travelers. We wanted to make miles and try to beat the heat as much as possible. With our eyes set to the south east, we continued on our journey, this time back on the toll road, making miles through the high plateaus of central Mexico, surrounded by farmland and mining operations in the countryside, and automobile and aviation factories in the cities, zipping past the breadbasket and the wallet of Mexico. We hadn’t found any suitable places to stay on the iOverlander app in the area that we wanted to stop for the night, so we had widened our net and used Google to look for some local campsites. We eventually found a cluster of business reviews, one for a hotel, one for a campsite, one for an undefined entity, all within a single walled compound on the outskirts of Santiago de Querétaro. We tracked down a number associated with the google business listings and sent out a message via WhatsApp. At first, the proprietor apologized, declining our request to stay due to the hotel being closed for improvements, but I pleaded with him and told him we were simple travelers in our simple van, and his tune changed immediately. I got the sense that we had found another traveler, and I wasn’t wrong.

Arriving at the address, we found a large, walled and gated compound, complete with a metal work sign advertising Casa Marucca, one of the businesses listed on Google. We’d had the best luck contacting the owner of MotoCamping, the other business listed at the address, and my heart sank a little - I was hoping we had arrived at the right place. We waited, poked around a little on foot, measured the gate to see if we would fit, and sent some more messages to the owner. It was getting late and I was getting concerned, if this didn’t work out we would have to find another solution fast, and probably end up dry camping, or maybe staying at a by-the-hour auto motel. Minutes later, our host Juan appeared astride a Royal Enfield motorcycle, wearing full leathers and an MC vest, his arrival banishing any doubt we had that this establishment was a place for motorcycles and camping, beckoning us to follow him around the side of the walled compound to a second gate, the entrance into the garden and campground.

Our conversations were basic, facilitated by equal parts hand gestures and Google translate, the two ends of the technological spectrum, as there is no correlation between miles traveled and words learned when it comes to language acquisition. Juan explained that Casa Marucca was the hotel, a beautiful, boutique guesthouse with maybe a dozen rooms on a single floor, all with exterior windows and walls, and all accessible from a shared central courtyard. Some of the rooms boasted dedicated office spaces, some had lofts for kids and families, and everything was finished tastefully in a modern-traditional aesthetic; clean, uncluttered, with local art and artifacts from indigenous peoples as well as from the age of the missions adorning the walls. Behind the hotel a variety of separate structures offered more amenities, a generous pool, a game room, a restaurant under construction, a communal outdoor kitchen or asadero, a gym with resistance machines and weights, a temazcal, and even a massage parlor. Juan had owned the hotel for 17 years, and boasted that some of the mature trees in the garden were planted right when he started the project, but he had recently began a remodel and an update. His love and care for the place was obvious, as was his love of all things motorized - he proudly showed off his Harley Davidson, his BMW adventure tourer, and his late 60s VW Combi van.

A beautiful little garden campground on the hotel grounds.

The owner, Juan, was happy to give us a tour of the hotel and grounds. This door was an antique, salvaged and now used as decoration.

A traditional Temazcal, and Juan explaining the building technique and the ritual.

What do you do when you meet a fellow traveler…you bust out a map and ask for recommendations!

Continuing on the next morning, we kept marching south east towards Veracruz, now passing through the state of Mexico and into the city of Jilotepec, and into more mountainous terrain as we exited the vast plateaus of central Mexico. Our target was a rock climbing camp, La Burbuja, with good iOverlander reviews and decent photos that really sold the place. The description of the property made it sounds like a half base camp, half commune kind of place where daily camping rates were a little relaxed, and most guests cooked together in the shared kitchen. Google routed us through some small factory towns and local suburbs, then through a large industrial plant, whose roads were private and gated, despite what the navigation software thought. We politely asked the guards for entrance, and after a few minutes of non-communication, they relented and allowed us though. In hindsight, and only after driving through the factory compound, we realized they were advising us to stick to the better, larger, public road and just take the next left, it would get us to the same place faster and easier.

The climbing camp was comfortable, basic in some ways, extravagant in others, an aesthetic not unlike rock climbing, in my opinion. The property had a casita to rent for folks coming from the city, fast and stable WiFi, simple and clean-ish bathrooms, and a communal kitchen well appointed with lots of room for multiple groups to cook at once. The shelves were stocked with leftovers from past travelers, and one refrigerator was stocked with beer and wine and coffee for sale. Payment was made on the honor system, with wads of cash being left in a small tin box on the shelf. If I was a climber and not a boater, I think we would have spent longer there. Our camp spot was pretty nice, although a little too close to an aggressive dog for Gracie’s liking, and a little too close to a failing cliff side for Chelsea’s liking. Unfortunately, that same cliffside made a loud gurgling noise and expelled some rank gases every time the toilet was flushed up in the communal building. We left the next day.

We rolled into camp to find an overlanding couple that had been on the same ferry as us. Mexico is large, but travelers always tend to find eachother.

The sloping hill of the property made for a great disc-throwing play area for Gracie, wearing her out as she would run up and down.

The nighttime city lights of Jilotepec only added to the ambiance of the misty rain that fell around us all night.

The communal kitchen, with fellow overlanders and some local climbers all preparing and enjoying breakfast together.

Leaving the camping commune felt like we were beginning the last leg of our journey across the country, with only one more night of any-port-in-a-storm camping ahead of us. Using our trusty iOverlander app, we set our destination for Centro Vacacional la Trinidad, a resort area that supposedly had some camping areas that had been bogarted by overland travelers in the past. After traversing another day’s worth of highway driving, and navigating through some backroads of the city of Chiautempan in the state of Tlaxcala, we found the place, an example of a tourist attraction that doesn’t translate well into American English. The resort structure boasted a small hotel, many pools, and many small attractions. Supposedly there is a go kart track, and we saw what looked like a mini golf course. I think there was an event venue and a restaurant as well. The whole place was a mix of day use and overnight use, like a mashup of a traditional hacienda and small amusement park, with equal parts wedding venue and four star hotel thrown in for good measure. There was a camping area, and a whole bunch of signs that said no dogs, so we had to sneak Gracie past a handful of guards as we got our entrance tickets and wristbands. Chelsea did an amazing job keeping the mutt quiet - it was late enough in the day that we didn’t want to role the dice and find another spot to sleep due to an errant, excited bark.

The camping area was pretty well hidden from us, and from everyone. We had to navigate around fenced off parking areas and cross a bridge that certainly looked to be designed for foot traffic, but we made it to our spot for the night. A security guard immediately came over and set up shop - it’s our belief he had been dispatched to guard us and make sure we were comfortable, but it meant that we were on high alert for letting Gracie out for some much deserved throws. We kept her quiet as we set up for the night, and eventually we just had to let her play disc. She behaved, and nothing was said otherwise by the guard, who seemed content to use being assigned to us as an excuse to play games and watch videos on his phone. We spent an uneventful last night on the road, camped in the shadow of the active Volcano Popocatépetl, before making our way to Jalcomulco.

The next morning brought the excitement of getting back into familiar vistas. The highways were dotted with signs for cities and towns that we had visited, and eventually we saw our first sign for the little town of Jalcomulco, complete with a whitewater raft emblem next to it, beckoning all to the call of the river. As we got closer and closer we began to climb again, from the 5000ft average of our travels, up to over 8000ft, even as our navigation apps told us we were only an hour away from our destination. I hadn’t realized just how high most of central Mexico is - within two hours of landing in Mazatlán we were at 9000ft, and now with the gulf coast only two hours away, we were still riding the spine of the Mexican dragon, perched atop a continental roller coaster, ready for the drop, ready for the fun bit.

We slid out of the high alpine clouds down into the canyons of Veracruz, lush vegetation and cactus welcoming us in equal parts, past the Veracruz Capital city, Xalapa and the towns of Coatepec and Tuzamapan, down into the canyon of the Rio Antigua, surrounded by sugar cane and coffee beans and bananas. We were nervous - we were coming home in a way, to a community we really cared about. Would it be the same? Would it welcome us back? Was it as good as we remembered, would the gold stay for just one more trip? We quieted those voices with an emergency pit stop for tacos, and then onward, to a familiar camp spot, to our friend Oscar’s driveway. We had made it, Jalco-home.

Blog

Nov 6 - Nov 12 : Making the miles to Jalcomulco, Veracruz

Traveling Tuttles

Search Our Site

Get Blog Updates by Email

Blog Post Archives