Dear Sir,
On Sunday, February 22, my wife and I left our home in Ajijic around 10 a.m., heading for Barra de Navidad on the Pacific coast. What should have been an uneventful four-hour road trip turned into an ordeal that stretched past midnight — but also became a powerful reminder of the kindness of the Mexican people.
As we approached the small village of El Molino around 11 a.m., we encountered burning cars, trucks, and grass fires. We initially assumed local farmers were protesting government produce prices. We were wrong. An hour down the road, things changed quickly and dramatically.
By noon, we hit our first highway blockade near Tapalpa — the epicenter of the military operation against “El Mencho.” There, we met Jorge. None of us knew exactly what was happening, only bits and pieces from cell phones. We shared information and kept each other updated in the blazing sun.
At one point, we considered turning back. Jorge said no. He insisted it would be safer to stay with the hundreds of others. He was right. The return highway was blocked; we could have been alone and in danger in the dark. Thank you, Jorge.
After nearly six hours, the blockade finally lifted around 7 p.m. But five kilometers ahead, an overturned transport truck stopped us again. Word passed through the line of stranded travelers. We did not move until 9:30 p.m. — now in pitch darkness, much colder in the mountains, 90 kilometers from Colima with nowhere to go.
During that wait, we met Sofía, her sister (23), and their parents. Only the sisters spoke English. We were all resigned to sleeping in our cars. But Sofía suggested that if we were released, the Fiesta Inn in Colima would be the safest and closest hotel. She and her sister used their phones to show us the exact exits. Their directions were perfect. We arrived at midnight.
At no time did we feel scared or threatened — just worried. But we never felt alone. The wonderful Mexican people we met along this journey made all the difference.
Names withheld by request, Ajijic