There are rituals of impending spring that draw visitors to the state of Michoacan: vast swarms of birds darkening the sky as they fly north, the smell and smoke of burning foliage, rows of planters strewing seeds for the next harvest and the mating of the Monarchs before they begin their long journeys to their northern homes.
Visiting the Monarch Butterfly Sanctuary at El Rosario in the state of Michoacan is a must-see on the bucket list of many. Having asked a slew of friends to join the excursion and not finding one willing to make the trip, I set out alone. North-of-the-border scare tactics just don’t impress me. Defer all but essential travel to Michoacan, the U.S. State Department says on its website. My belief is that if I shun conspicuous consumption and stay away from places where drugs are being used and sold, my chances of being harmed are no higher in Mexico than they would be anywhere in the world. Collateral killing happens every day throughout the world.
After studying several guidebooks, I decided to stay in Angangueo because of its proximity to El Rosario. From Ajijic, I entered the toll road (cuota) at Ocotlan and drove to Maravatio before turning south on Route 122 and east on Route 34 to reach Angangueo. The drive was roughly four and a half hours and cost 385 pesos in tolls.
Angangueo has seen more prosperous days. My suggested hotel, Albergue Don Bruno, was a huge disappointment. At 650 pesos with a fireplace, it certainly did not warrant a recommendation. The room was dark and colder than the outside ambient air. When asked to have the fireplace lit soon, they said that fires were only allowed from 8 to 10 p.m. The wifi would not connect after multiple attempts by several people at which point it was determined that my computer was defective. In its defense, the rooms did appear clean, the grounds well kept, and they did provide gated parking.Having driven many hours already, I was anxious to find a larger city where I could find better accommodations with wifi service. Another drive of roughly 45 minutes brought me to the town of Zitacuaro. The only hotel with any appeal was the Hotel Mexico at the corner of Revolucion Sur and Lerdo de Tejada. For 350 pesos they provided a very clean comfortable room with wifi, television with two English-speaking channels, and gated parking. It was well located in a safe, well populated area and had a cafeteria on the lobby level.
After a good night’s sleep, the day had arrived to see the long-awaited Butterfly Sanctuary. Although my GPS had no reference to the Sanctuary, I found my way by infrequent signs. The guidebooks said that the Sanctuary receives upwards of 8,000 visitors per day so I had chosen a Wednesday to miss the crowds. This was a serious mistake! There were five people there: four ladies in shacks cooking up food for the impending masses and an 11-year-old boy. When asked, the ladies told me most tourists come on the weekend and that there’s little activity during the week. (Also, the season was coming to an end, I have to admit.)
The boy, named Pavian, offered to make the trek up the mountain and guide me, but I was skeptical. It would be a long cold walk with a youngster who spoke only Spanish. I had heard that horses were available to take you part of the way, but there were none in sight.
“I’m in 5th grade and I’ve been a guide here for years,¨ Pavian insisted. I bought him some lunch and went on my way. Hmmm, no butterflies for me this year.
The bitter cold at those high altitudes reminded me of the observation that there’s a bumper crop of babies nine months after a bad winter storm. Hopefully, the butterflies were huddled together to stay warm and creating a big crop of new butterflies for next season.
I would miss the butterflies but, as an optimist, I set out to make this trip a positive experience. Morelia is a charming colonial city with beautiful sights, interesting museums and many great restaurants.
Since my planned trip had not included Morelia, I didn’t have a reservation. Visiting or calling several known hotels, they were either too expensive or fully booked. A guidebook’s suggestion led to an excellent discovery – the Posada Don Vasco located at Vasco de Quiroga 232. Just four blocks from the Plaza de Armas on the Plaza Vallodalid, Posada Don Vasco is a former convent transformed into a comfortable hotel in a terrific location. This is no upscale lodging, but they provide a clean safe environment with television, wifi, lots of hot water, space for limited parking and wonderful staff. Call 443-312-1484 or e-mail This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..
Check out Shokolate on the Plaza de Armas at Matamoros 72 for great al fresco dining and their terrific corner shop with yummy homemade chocolate and other delicacies. Also sample authentic cuisine from the indigenous Purepecha at Rincon Kúrhunda located at Dr. Miguel Silva 92, a short walk from Avenida Francisco I. Madero Oriente.
My favorite part of my adventure was the drive home. Shunning the cuota, the drive on the Ruta Turistica or libre (free highway) brought me through the villages where Don Vasco de Quiroga had so painstakingly worked to help the Purepecha develop marketable products to support themselves. Before reaching Zamora on the Route 15 libre, don’t miss the 13 small villages, in what seems to be a five-kilometer stretch of the road, with their roadside stands selling everything from ceramics to copper to foods.
One young goat made a delightful impression. Passing through one of the villages, a herd of goats were noshing on the ground cover along the side of the road. One young buck just wasn´t satisfied with what everyone else was eating. He bounced happily on his back legs straining to reach the succulent new leaves of an overhanging tree. He seemed to epitomize youth, spring, and the need to stretch the limits!
The drive on the free highway took six hours (one and a half hours longer than the toll road), but there were many stops along the way.
During four days and over 950 kilometers traveled, I can testify that not a single robber, murderer or drug dealer assaulted me or even gave me a dirty look. At almost six feet tall and looking quite Aryan, I could rarely be confused for a Mexican. I guess they just didn’t have a bullet with my name on it.