As I mounted my red, Honda SL 175 combination bike a cool drizzle sprinkled Mexico City. The city only had seven million inhabitants then, but still presented a puzzling maze my three week visit hadn’t deciphered. Today’s tourists complain about the lack of highway signs but there were even fewer in 1971. Two possible potholed roads led to the Gulf coast but, but I had no idea how to reach either of them.

I rode Avenida Reforma and took a right where I had been instructed and hopefully headed northeast. Cars zipped by inches from me, spraying my legs with dirty water. At 7,400 feet above sea level, my heavy coat and Army ground cloth/poncho kept me warm. Mexico City ended like a curtain dropped in those days. One second, I was among low adobe houses and then empty, treeless vastness sprawling ahead.

 The absolute last building stood far to the right within a gigantic gritty rock and dirt parking area. I crossed a morass of heavily laden three ton trucks and 1950s model autos to reach the combination mechanic shop, tire repair and trucker’s restaurant. Speaking little Spanish I dismounted and approached some guys in heavy, greasy ponchos. “Veracruz, Veracruz. ¿Dónde está Veracruz?”

Is this the right road?

They grinned and stared. After a moment of amazement over my fair skin they started repeating my poor pronunciation until they figured out what I had asked. The one missing two upper front teeth took my arm, and the four of us walked through the rain past the edge of the restaurant where we could see to the right. He pointed down a narrow broken ribbon of black asphalt that ran across the valley floor and disappeared into huge mountains miles down the highway. “Veracruz. Veracruz!”

I thanked the fellows, checked my bike and gear and mounted. It was mid-afternoon and I only possessed the simple map inside a three-year-old guide to Mexico. I didn’t see much sense in consulting it and headed down the road toward the high mountains as the rain fell harder. Few cars littered 1971 Mexican highways so virtually the only traffic was slow-moving trucks and buses belching diesel exhaust as they climbed.

Somewhere up in the mountains, depending on elevation, fog or heavy mist filled the air despite the rain falling even harder. Mexico’s broken and potholed roads didn’t bother me even after pure blackness took the earth. The road crawled through the mountains at eight to ten thousand feet. No guard rails protected against a tire leaving the pavement and I felt sorry for the outside truckers squeezing by one another. I could glance over the edge and down three or four thousand feet. Sporadic lights indicated there was life in these high valleys. About ten o’clock no trucks passed heading west to Mexico City. Occasionally I caught and passed trucks lumbering east, but the road remained lonely.

The night remained cold and wet as I continued. About one in the morning I pulled up behind a long line of stalled traffic. Truckers spoke to me rapidly and kept pointing ahead and up. I couldn’t really understand what they were telling me. But, I could hear occasional rumbling in the distance I marked down to thunder. After a few moments I remounted and began passing the stalled trucks. Surprisingly the line stretched around curves for well over a mile. Finally, I reached the lead ten-ton truck and stopped. Their lights illuminated a muddy clear road. A good quarter mile ahead two caterpillar bulldozers pushed boulders over the mountain’s edge. I quickly made friends with the three guys driving the lead truck. I had, no we, have a problem. It wasn’t thunder I had been hearing over the bike engine.

Road blocked by rock falls

It’s three in the morning and I don’t speak the language. What’s worse – my lack of fluency isn’t the main problem. Drizzle cutting the fog does nothing to ease the anxiety-induced perspiration soaking the Mexican truckers and farmers crowded together on the narrow, serpentine road. Not a woman or child is to be seen. They’re huddled helplessly in truck cabs. Giant rocks echo, each cracking like individual lightning strikes across the shrouded mountains. Every man strains to see upward. Clack –clack – then more clacks in the distant night signaling huge stones coalescing into a cascade of gigantic rocks rumbling down mountainsides. The pungency of my fright-induced sweat might overwhelm their odors, but no one cares. We glance at the two thousand-foot drop-off, then up and down the road, before darting behind the nearest big rig once again.

The horrific sounds stop and a tangible stillness fills the night. We wait for our hearts to slow and our breathing to become normal. Then it’s relieved grins all around. Laughter and slaps on the back from my new buddies precede a great deal of rapid explanation. I don’t understand a single word, but the tenor carries the meaning. It’ll be ten or fifteen minutes —twenty if we’re lucky— before the next avalanche and we repeat our futile retreat. Each time, I laugh at myself for seeking safety behind a semi. There would be as much hope of damming the Mississippi with the rig as using it to stop those huge tumbling boulders.

We made five or six attempts at running to the bulldozers but never got halfway before giant stones began tumbling again. Hearing the giant stones striking and the crashing of huge trees being ripped from the earth weakens the legs. After our last attempt the road suddenly opened. My new friends tugged my arm, pointed at the bike and with sign language and urgent Spanish made me know we had to move quick before the road closed again. They insisted I couldn’t make it through the mud on the motorcycle. They carried cement blocks and we quickly hoisted the bike on top, covered it with canvas and tied it down. Four of us fit snugly in the cab. I don’t know when I dropped off to sleep but at first light my companions woke me.

We were in the small oil town of Poza Rica. I’d never heard of Poza Rica but the sun was bright and there was no rain. They pointed, and I headed in the direction they sent me, wondering where in heck I was.

****

Motorcycle adventures in Mexico

I’ve traveled in Mexico almost every year since that first avalanche adventure. I discovered Poza Rica, near Papantala and the mysterious ruins of El Tajin are about three hours north of Veracruz City. It took a day to make that distance forty-four years ago. During subsequent trips, I never needed to take that route from the Gulf coast to Mexico City and it became a dim memory. Fifteen years ago I started taking that highway more often. It wasn’t the same primitive road. I figured the Mexican highway department used some of the old route and with better equipment just made a newer road. (They are now building a toll road that will cut between Poza Rica and Arco Norte going to Mexico City and the western cities.)

Five years ago I drove from Poza Rica to Arco Norte when in the middle of the mountain range all traffic was stopped. Highway workers were repairing a bridge ahead. Such stops are fairly common in Mexico and last a long time. Drivers exit their cars and talk with other folks stuck in line. While meeting people, one guy said he knew the old road around the blockage and did anyone want to go with him? I was the only one who decided to follow.

We backtracked about fifteen miles to an Indian town and turned off the highway riding through the pueblo. The road was primitive, without guardrails. In some places half a lane had crumbled and fallen thousands of feet below. We passed rushing waterfall after waterfall and climbed ever higher. I was back on the original 1971 road, perhaps 9,000 feet above sea level at times. The views were spectacular and beat anything I’ve enjoyed in the Sierra Madres or Rockies. I split from my companion and the roads became confusing. Signs indicated pueblos I’d never heard of down steep exit roads. At each choice I took the road that seemed most likely to go northwest. After half an hour of worried travel I reached the main road.

The sudden side trip was a great and unexpected present. I’ll return to that old forgotten road in the near future. For most it would be just an exciting and beautiful ride. However, I’ll need a day or two. I want to photograph the vistas and the villages that remain undisturbed by the modern world and take me back to the primitive Mexico I first knew from the back of a motorcycle.

The author’s book, Mexico by Motorcycle: An Adventure Story and Guide, has garnered numerous five-star reviews, been covered in several magazines, and recommended by expats who have resided in Mexico for years. Perhaps, the top compliment was from a reviewer who wrote, “This reads like a novel.”

The post Mexico by Motorcycle: The Avalanche appeared first on MexConnect.

When you say the word Mexico, something odd happens to the anglophone ear. The M leans in. The E lingers. Pressure builds. Anticipation hums, then release. To most, it’s just a word. To a neurodivergent nervous system, it’s the waiting before the jump.

Arriving in Mexico can feel like a sensory freefall. It is a salad of colors, music, crowds and a soundtrack that seems legally required to be played at full volume, at all times.

Obvious assumptions kick in: if you are autistic, ADHD or otherwise neurodivergent, this is a place to endure briefly or avoid entirely. It’s like a habanero for the uninitiated: impressive but best admired from a distance.

However, that stereotype misses something essential and counter-intuitive. Once the initial drop passes, Mexico doesn’t keep throwing surprises at you. Sure, the place is loud. At times blindingly bright. But it is also patterned, rhythmic and crucially, socially forgiving.

For my partner Paolo and many other neurodivergent travelers like him, the greatest source of exhaustion isn’t the noise; it’s the masking. It is the constant, low-level anxiety of trying to fit into a rigid social grid, worrying that a stim or a sudden moment of visible dysregulation will draw stares.

In Mexico, that pressure evaporates. Public life here is expressive and largely unpoliced. Singing, sneezing loudly, gesticulating mid-story or stopping abruptly in the street? None of it registers as a breach of etiquette.

Upon landing, Paolo became overwhelmed. The lights and the queue closed in at once. In London, the air would have stiffened with subtle judgment. Here? Nothing. There was no pressure to ‘pull it together.’ Just space. Time. The unspoken message from the locals was simple: go easy. Be yourself.

And this is the superpower of Mexico’s landscape. Because the environment is already loud, a neurodivergent traveler doesn’t stick out. You are camouflaged by the vibrancy around you.

Once we realized we didn’t have to waste energy on social masking, we could focus on navigation. We found that Puerto Vallarta, much like other parts of the country, delivers its intensity in manageable layers. If you treat the city not as a chaotic mess but as a system of patterns, it becomes a playground rather than a prison. Here is how we learned to navigate the rhythm of the Pacific coast.

The Malecón: Finding the Logic in the Crowd

The Malecón, Puerto Vallarta’s seaside boardwalk, is often the first point of contact and understandably, the first to be written off. Street performers, vendors, Voladores spinning from poles and cruise-ship crowds create a wall of sound. It is about as relaxing as being trapped at a mariachi convention during a maracas team-building exercise.

However, spend time here and its internal logic reveals itself. The noise isn’t the jarring, unpredictable siren-wail of a northern city; it is a constant, rhythmic drone like white noise with Latin charm.

The place operates on a strict schedule. Early mornings are expansive and calm, perfect for processing the day ahead. Midday heat thins the crowds entirely. Evenings concentrate activity into predictable pockets.

Over time, we developed a reliable rule of thumb: distrust wherever the largest group has unanimously decided ‘This Is The Spot.’ People are natural followers. If you step just ten meters away from the tightest cluster of tourists, you find pockets of total peace and convenience.

Free public Wi-Fi appears near cafes and seating areas along the central plaza and the boardwalk. With a little patience plus a strategically chosen bench, it’s entirely possible to work quietly while pelicans skim the water below. What looks like mayhem from a distance resolves, up close, into a manageable rhythm.

Just inland, the town plazas follow a similar logic. People gather and disperse in recognizable cycles. Benches are plentiful. Behavior is readable. Public life unfolds openly rather than ambiguously which is a small but meaningful comfort for autistic travelers who often struggle to read the ‘hidden rules’ of social spaces. Here, the rules are clear: sit, watch, eat an elote, leave when you’re ready.

For a sensory reset away from the bustle, Planeta Vegetariano sits on a notably quiet street just behind the church. It is family-run, budget-friendly and blissfully crowd-free. Inside, there is generous space, natural light by day and warm lamps by night. There is no pressure to perform or converse with hovering waiters.

Climb the small stairs outside the restaurant and you’ll find seating overlooking the sea. It is ideal for post-dinner sunsets or quietly reflecting on how a country famed for bedlam keeps producing moments of unexpected calm.

El Mirador: Order From Above

Nothing pairs better with a Jaliscan vegetarian buffet than the following morning’s hike up to El Mirador de la Cruz. For the neurodivergent brain that loves to systematize and map, getting high above the noise is pleasantly soothing. Perched atop Cerro de la Cruz, this lookout offers sweeping views over Puerto Vallarta, Banderas Bay and the Sierra Madre.

The climb is just demanding enough to feel virtuous yet grounding without triggering an orthopedic referral.

From above, the city’s apparent disorder becomes legible. You can see the grid. You can track the traffic flow. The noise becomes distant and movement slows into something almost poetic. Benches, ledges and informal seating make it easy to find a spot that feels private without being isolated. You arrive. You sit. You look and take your time. Mother Nature handles the rest.

The Marina: Rhythmic Stimming

Feeling a little Captain Sparrow, minus the eyeliner and the fiery temperament? Head to the Marina.

The volume here drops immediately. Wide walkways, gently bobbing yachts and a sense of space that lowers the nervous system by a notch. Think luxury boats owned by someone named Charles, who owns multiple editions of the same Penguin Classic for ‘comparison, darling’ and insists, ‘This isn’t really a yacht.’

The area is excellent for auditory sensitivity. While the town center has brass bands and traffic, the Marina is the sound of rigging tapping against masts. It is a repetitive, mechanical clink-clink sound that acts as a natural auditory stim, predictable and soothing.

The marina boardwalk meanwhile, offers several flavors of tranquility: shaded benches where conversation dissolves into a background hum; paved paths where movement feels slow and purposeful. Keep an eye out for iguanas stretched out in the sun with the quiet satisfaction of an accountant admiring a perfectly balanced spreadsheet.

Puerto Vallarta Botanical Garden: The Hyper-Focus Sanctuary

For people like my partner Paolo, environmental variety matters. Quiet doesn’t have to mean empty; sometimes it simply means rich in detail but free of sudden demands.

For the quietly obsessive and the budding botanist, the Puerto Vallarta Botanical Garden is a delightful sanctuary. A non-profit devoted to native plants, biodiversity and research, it does far more good than anyone wearing Teva sandals strictly needs to comprehend.

Secluded pockets along the Los Horcones River offer crystalline calm, while over 230 bird species and Mexico’s largest public orchid collection provide gentle focal points.

This is where the hyper-focus ability of ASD becomes a joy rather than a burden. Birdwatching and orchid-ogling may not sound thrilling on paper, but they are remarkably effective at slowing the mind. The complexity of the orchids invites deep, singular attention. It’s hard to feel overstimulated by the world when you are squinting at a leaf whispering, ‘Is that geometry real?’

The Verdict

Puerto Vallarta, like Sayulita, Mascota or Mazatlán, is full of places like this. Calm isn’t rare here; it’s selective. It appears when you plan ahead and resist the urge to de-risk everything.

Mexico’s landscape isn’t your enemy. It is an ally, once you learn its rhythm. By embracing the ‘predictable chaos’ you stop trying to block out the world and start moving with it.

So breathe. Sit near the water. Let the Great-tailed Grackle chirp manically so you don’t have to. And remember that in a country this loud, you are finally free to be exactly who you are.

Published or Updated on: February 7, 2026 by Florence Voller & Paolo Ferrari © 2026.

The post Vibrant Puerto Vallarta didn’t overwhelm my autistic partner, it set him free. appeared first on MexConnect.

More than a deep dive into cool waters, cenotes (sinkholes) are portals to the past, conjuring up the history and lore of the Yucatán Peninsula, where they were thought to be passageways to the underworld or Xibalba: the place where the dead met the most powerful of gods and underwent trials and challenges.

But who is going to dive that deep to get even close to Xibalba? Certainly not me. Instead, I enjoy the beauty of cenotes, pools of water often hidden deep in the jungle, accessible by following narrow, well-trodden paths lined by thickets of ceiba trees, beach cabbage, wild tamarind, Spanish cedar, gumbo-limbo and Spanish elm. Formed when the permeable limestone covering much of the Yucatán collapsed due to wind and rain, revealing the water beneath, there are several distinct types of cenotes or sinkholes.

Types of cenotes (sinkholes)

Ancient or open cenotes are so called because the ceiling has completely gone, resulting in a look similar to a lagoon or large pond. These are typically the most easily accessible because little if any climbing is involved. Semi-open cenotes, with their partly collapsed ceilings, offer a more adventuresome blend of shadows and sun, often requiring climbing down ladders or stairways. Cave cenotes are still almost completely enclosed, their limestone ceilings still mostly intact, seemingly like sanctuaries under the earth.

Caves and underground water systems have always lured me, having gone to school in Southern Indiana, a place that is a spelunker’s dream due to its numerous caves carved out of limestone though we don’t call the underground lakes cenotes in the Midwest. We call  them sinkholes, a much less glamorous name.

But there’s more difference than just a name. Indiana was so wild 200-plus years ago that even Daniel Boone, the famed woodsman got lost and had to be saved by his brother, while what makes the Yucatán so fascinating—beyond its sandy beaches and bustling cities and towns like Cancún, Tulum, and Playa del Carmen—is its historic resonance dating back more than a millennium to when the once-great Mayan empire designed cities based on engineering feats that are still mystifyingly complex.

Multiple uses: from mundane to sacred

It’s this sense of history that adds to the beauty of what the Mayans called dzonots, meaning water wells, as they were often used for drinking water. But that wasn’t always their only use. Some, like the Cenote Sagrado (Sacred Cenote), a vast sinkhole in Chichén Itzá some 20 yards deep and just under 80 yards wide, were the sites of ceremonial sacrifices with people, gold, ceramics, jewels and even what is thought to be an altar tossed into the waters to appease the gods.

Declared a UNESCO Patrimony of Humanity, you can’t swim—and who would want to—in the Sacred Cenote. But with 6000 to 10,000 cenotes dotting the Yucatán landscape (more than any other place in the world) to choose from, many of them accessible through curated tours, there’s a variety of experiences to choose from. Let me share some of my favorites.

So, grab your snorkeling gear, water shoes, and underwater cameras (check to see if they’re allowed, as each cenote tour has different rules) and decide what type of cenote adventure best suits you.

• Interactive map of Quintana Roo

World’s largest underwater cave system

The aquamarine blue waters of Gran Cenote, near Tulum, are easily accessible by a stone path leading down into calm and shallow waters.  A snowy white-sand bottom is a good place to start for those who don’t want to get too adventuresome. But there’s more to this cenote if you wish to explore. It is part of the 350-kilometer-long (217-mile-long), 130-meter-deep (420-foot-deep) Sistema Sac Aktun—the largest known underwater cave system in the world—and one of a series of cenotes connected by wood walkways.

Venture further underwater here for views of fish, and towering stalactites and stalagmites. The water is slightly cooler as the ceiling lowers as you travel further into the cave. As a safety precaution when snorkeling, don’t come to the surface without first raising your hand to see how close you are to the rock roof of this part of the cave to avoid hitting your head.

Leap into the underworld

Cenote Calavera is also part of the Sistema Sac Aktun. Calavera means ‘skull’ and that name, in part, refers to the shape of the entrance with a large mouth-like cavity and two smaller openings in the limestone, all of which are entrances. Enter by descending a wooden ladder, or by leaping more than two meters (eight feet) into the water. The cenote is 15 meters (50 feet) deep, so it’s a safe drop.

The nearby Cenote Zacil-Ha looks like a giant round swimming pool carved out of stone with wooden stairs (watch out, they can get slippery) leading down from surrounding platform. For a little added zest, there’s a zipline running close to the water’s edge. 

The waters of Cenote Sac Actun, translating to white cave, are crystal clear in this cave cenote lit by pinpricks of light coming from the opening in the ceiling. Dos Ojos (Two Eyes) is also a cave cenote with deep waters so clear that visibility is 300 feet or more. Only open for certified divers, the waters team with fish as well as the more exotic freshwater jellyfish and cave shrimp. There are bats here and for the most part, they’re not bothersome but keep in mind that many cave cenotes have bat colonies as well.

Follow in the footsteps of Mayan Royalty

Just eight minutes by car from Chichen Itza and once restricted to Mayan Royalty, Cenote Ik Kil is a variation of an open air cenote, called a deep open or deep open air cenote, where the roof has fallen in to expose the walls and the water far below. Here, the opening to the water below is ringed by hanging vines, exposed tree roots and thick layers of foliage clinging to the rocky sides. A staircase hacked out of limestone provides access to the 200-foot-wide and 85-foot-deep cenote.

In Akumal, a small beach resort south of Playa del Carmen, take one of the organized excursions to Yal-Ku Lagoon, the name comes from the Mayan term for Nest of Fish. There are open swimming areas, an underground river, and caves, artificially lit, that showcase blue waters. Don’t be alarmed by the large iguanas. They’re friendly.

Adventure parks and cenote tours

Xplor por Xcaret, an adventure park in Riviera Maya, offers several soft watery adventures including the 437-yard Stalactite River Swim, an underground swim past rock formations and through small caves. Life jackets and helmets are provided but keep in mind the river can be a bit chilly at a constant 75 degrees Fahrenheit (24 degrees Celsius).

The tour of the four cenotes at Xenotes Xcaret, another eco-park from the privately owned Grupo Xcaret, covers the spectrum from open air to underground lagoons. Known for its blue waters, Cenote Azul, teems with abundant marine life including turtles. Also on the Xenotes Xcaret tour is Lu-um is Lu-um, a cave cenote described as ‘only’ eight million years old, making it the newest cenote in the region. For the daring, there’s assisted rappelling down the cenote walls.

While many cenote tours start at a pick up at the hotel, some are found just by driving along the highway looking for signs. So, it is with Cenote Cristalino. A faded roadside sign announces the entrance, and the fee to swim when I was last there was under $10. Like most cenotes, it gets crowded quickly, so go early.  The waters of this long cenote, with its wide open areas and hidden rocky areas, are pretty patches of deep greens and blues edged by large boulders for sunning, a swing, and swimming platform. For convenience, there are restrooms and vendors selling food.

Route of the cenotes (Ruta de los Cenotes)

North of Playa del Carmen, near Puerto Morales, the Ruta de los Cenotes (Cenotes Route) is a trail connecting eight cenotes ranging from the open air Las Mojarras with its ziplines and jumping platform to the Cenote Kin Ha, one of the largest cenotes in the region, with its clear open waters and cave systems for exploring. Other cenotes on the route worth checking out include Cenote Zapote, which is easily accessible by stairs carved out of rock and is surrounded by foliage. Cenote Chilam Balam is both a cavern and a sinkhole, the latter with both a 36-foot and 54-foot diving platforms.

For those who want easy access to ten distinctive cenotes, a stay at the all-inclusive Hacienda Tres Ríos Resort provides easy access to its 326-acre Tres Ríos Natural Park. It’s a day-long adventure or more to explore all of them, though currently the natural park is open only to guests at the resort.

Cenotes are time capsules, reflecting a way of Yucatán life that’s existed for millennia; they connect history, nature, and adventure for all to enjoy.

Related articles on MexConnect

• Cenote daydreams, Yucatan, Mexico 
• Diving in Cancun
• Interactive map of the Yucatan Peninsula

Published or Updated on: August 31, 2025 by Jane Ammeson © 2025

The post Exploring Mexico’s Cenotes: underground portals to Mayan past appeared first on MexConnect.

From Urban Solution to Panoramic Adventure

In 2021, Mexico City unveiled its innovative Cablebús system, a network of gondola lifts intended to revolutionize urban mobility. The project aimed to integrate historically under-served neighborhoods with the city’s sprawling public transportation network, providing a much-needed lifeline for its residents. What began as a practical solution to a logistical challenge, however, has become one of Mexico City’s most intriguing and accessible tourist attractions. The Cablebús now serves a remarkable dual purpose, not only easing daily commutes but also offering locals and visitors a unique perspective of the city via an alluring sky-high experience.

The story of Mexico City’s Cablebús begins not with grand tourist visions, but with a pragmatic need to improve the lives of its citizens. Conceived and implemented as a vital component of the city’s integrated transportation strategy, the Cablebús aimed to connect marginalized communities, often perched on steep hillsides, to the wider urban core and its economic opportunities. Its primary function was to provide a safe, efficient, and affordable means of commuting for residents who had previously faced long and difficult journeys.

Reception among locals has been positive, with many praising the significant reduction in travel time and improved accessibility to jobs, education, and essential services. While ridership consists primarily of daily commuters, a curious phenomenon has begun to unfold. Tourists, initially drawn by word-of-mouth, started to discover the Cablebús for themselves. Soon, the aerial cable cars began appearing in travel blogs and social media feeds, showcasing breathtaking panoramic views of the sprawling metropolis and the surrounding mountains. As the attention continues to grow, the Cablebús system is gradually transforming from a purely practical solution into an unlikely attraction for tourists.

The Network: Cablebús Line 1

“I’ve never ridden these gondolas before. This is so cool!” exclaimed Amaya, her excitement matching that of a child discovering an amusement park ride. I invited a friend, a Mexico City native, to accompany me. We embarked onto Line 1, traveling from Indios Verdes to the terminus and back. While commuters around us displayed the weary expressions of routine travel, we experienced the pure joy of discovery. The Sierra de Guadalupe mountains provided a stunning contrast to the vibrant, densely packed homes that appeared so captivating from our elevated vantage point. After disembarking, we celebrated with tacos, still buzzing with the thrill of having accessed a magnificent hidden spectacle hiding in the open skies.

The Cablebús system has grown significantly since its inception, with multiple lines connecting various parts of Mexico City. Line 1 serves the northernmost area of Gustavo A. Madero. It runs from Indios Verdes to Cuautepec, passing through the Sierra de Guadalupe, a mountain range in the state of Mexico. The line includes six stations: Indios Verdes, Ticomán, La Pastora, Campos Revolución, Cuautepec, and Tlalpexco.

Prior to the Cablebús, community members faced challenging commutes across steep terrain between these stations, depending on overcrowded buses and cars that resulted in unpredictable travel times and severe traffic congestion. The aerial system delivers a swift and dependable solution that has dramatically improved mobility. Beyond passenger benefits, Line 1 has contributed to environmental improvements by reducing vehicular emissions and easing traffic bottlenecks, enhancing the area’s sustainability and livability.

Cablebús Line 2

Fernando Gabriel, our Airbnb tour guide with a passion for sharing Mexico City’s hidden gems, began offering Cablebús Line 2 tours in June 2022. Fernando quickly recognized that the aerial gondolas could serve as both essential transportation for locals and a spectacular viewpoint for visitors. His tour business provides illuminating experiences that showcase the history, culture, and neighborhood development initiatives along the Cablebús route. Says Fernando about his intentions, “One of my goals is to spread the offer of tourism to the areas that need it more. I love sharing it with people who want to get deep insights about Mexico City because it’s a big, complex city. It’s a good pretext to talk about Mexican culture and history.”

The Mexico City Cablebús Line 2 serves the greater area of Iztapalapa to the edges of the State of Mexico, and holds the Guinness World Record for being the longest cable car system in the world at 10.6 kilometers. Iztapalapa, with a population of almost 2 million, is the most populous borough in Mexico City. It is located on the eastern side of the city and has experienced significant urbanization and population growth since the 1970s. The Cablebús network is part of a broader strategy to combat social inequality by improving access to opportunities for those living in marginalized neighborhoods.

Similar to Line 1, Line 2 was implemented to improve connectivity in this densely populated area by linking residents to metro stations, thereby enhancing access to central areas of Mexico City. This line runs from Constitución de 1917 to Santa Marta Acatitla, passing through several neighborhoods in these boroughs. The line includes six stations: Constitución de 1917, Quetzalcóatl, Las Torres Buenavista, Xalpa, Lomas de la Estancia, San Miguel Teotongo, and Santa Marta.

For us visitors, the Cablebús journey is a step-by-step adventure that culminated with anticipation as we ascended into the sky. “Look below here and you will see murals on the roof,” Fernando instructs. In Iztapalapa, the Cablebús system has become a canvas for urban art, thanks to a project involving around 40 artists who painted approximately 100 murals on rooftops and facades along the route. These murals feature themes such as female empowerment, traditional crafts, and migration, reflecting the cultural identity of the community.

The ride offers breathtaking views of the city, with numerous photo opportunities that showcase the vibrant urban landscape. The Cablebús is cost-effective compared to traditional tours, offering an authentic experience that immerses visitors in local life. Unlike conventional city tours, the Cablebús provides unique perspectives of the city unavailable elsewhere. “My typical customers are people who want to get off the beaten path and also people who have an interest in a city’s transportation systems,” Fernando reflected thoughtfully.

The tour combines a complete overview of Mexico City’s transit systems with Iztapalapa’s highlights: vibrant murals, local market tacos, an airplane-turned-library from the Utopias Program, and a traditional pulquería stop. Packed with facts, yet accessible to both international and Mexican visitors, this information-rich, four-hour experience serves as the perfect introduction to the city.

Cablebús Line 3

I embarked onto Line 3 alone, comfortable with my knowledge of Chapultepec Park and confident in my navigation abilities. Sure enough, I was met with hundreds of locals also experiencing the gondolas for the first time—these weren’t daily commuters but excited explorers. Adults and children alike bubbled with anticipation over their city’s newest attraction. After queuing with other eager riders, ten of us were ushered into a cabin, collectively holding our breath as we were lifted high into the air.

As we glided over the Panteón de Dolores, I was treated to a unique perspective on Mexico’s largest and most historic cemetery. From above, the sprawling expanse of mausoleums stretches out like an intricate tapestry, with paths weaving through the meticulously arranged plots.

The latest addition, Line 3, has been particularly noteworthy after being inaugurated in 2024. It connects the bustling business district of Santa Fe with the iconic Chapultepec Park, enhancing mobility and tourism in the area. This line spans approximately 5.42 kilometers and includes six stations: Los Pinos / Constituyentes, Panteón Dolores, Charrería, PARCUR / Colegio de Arquitectos, Cineteca Nacional / Bodega de Arte, and Vasco de Quiroga.

By reducing travel times from 40 to 20 minutes, Cablebús Line 3 significantly improves connectivity for commuters, making it a vital part of the Chapultepec: Nature and Culture project.

Economic and Social Impact

The Cablebús has profoundly transformed previously overlooked neighborhoods by integrating them into the city’s economic fabric. Local businesses near the stations have seen a surge in foot traffic, leading to increased economic activity. Community perspectives on the system’s impact are largely positive, with residents appreciating the enhanced connectivity and economic opportunities.

“The locals are proud and excited that international visitors are coming to see their neighborhood and learn about their culture because that’s never happened before,” gleams Fernando. “Before this tour, this community didn’t even know what a tourist was. Now they’re used to seeing me pass through with my groups.” Fernando has developed strong relationships with the locals of Iztapalapa as well as local businesses.

Just a few years after its implementation, the Cablebús system is already demonstrating measurable benefits. Lines 1 and 2 now serve over 100,000 passengers daily, with Line 1 achieving an impressive 45 percent reduction in travel times. Additionally, many users report experiencing modest decreases in their transportation expenses, adding financial relief to the system’s time-saving advantages.

The Cablebús has achieved remarkable success as a commuter solution and as a budding tourist attraction, demonstrating how practical infrastructure can enhance urban tourism.

Overall, the Cablebús system has been instrumental in boosting economic activity, creating jobs, and improving the quality of life for residents in Mexico City’s peripheral neighborhoods.

Travel Tips

For First-Timers

• • Take line 1 with a local if you can’t find a tour.
  • Take line 2 with a tour, such as the amazing Airbnb tour that I took.
  • Line 3 can be taken without a guide. Check the Cablebús map to plan your route in advance, especially if you’re new to the area. See the two entrance points below in How To Get There.
  • Avoid riding the Cablebús on weekdays between the hours of 7:00am to 10:00am and 5:00pm to 8:00pm out of respect for commuters and for a better ride.
  • Respect local customs and the neighborhoods you pass through.
  • Cost (Feb 2025): $7 Pesos. You can use your Metrocard for the Cablebús.
  • As with any tour or outing, keep a close eye on your belongings, especially in crowded areas.

How to Get There & What to See

Cablebús Line 1: Indios Verdes to Cuautepec

• Starting Point: Indios Verdes.
• The Indios Verdes Cablebús station is located near the Indios Verdes Metro station, which is on Metro Line 3. To get to the Cablebús entrance, exit the Metro at the southernmost exit (Exit J) and follow the signs. You will need to make a quick U-turn at the top of the stairs and walk through the market to reach the Cablebús entrance.
• Start your journey at Indios Verdes, where you can see the iconic bronze statues of Mexica Tlatoani (Kings) Itzcóatl and Ahuizotl in Mestizaje Park. The nearby market offers a vibrant atmosphere and local shopping.

Cablebús Line 2: Constitución de 1917 to Santa Marta Acatitla

• Starting Point: Constitución de 1917.
• The Constitución de 1917 Cablebús station is accessible via Metro Line 8, which takes you directly to the station. From the Metro, follow the signs to the Cablebús entrance.
• Quetzalcoatl Station: Explore the Mercado D.U. Quetzalcoatl for local shopping and dining.

Cablebús Line 3, option One: Panteón de Dolores Station

• Panteón de Dolores is a direct entrance. You can reach it via ride-sharing or public transportation. The nearest Metro station is Chapultepec on Line 1, but it’s a bit of a walk.
• Advantages: Closer to the main road, making it easier to access without navigating the park.

Cablebús Line 3, option Two: Los Pinos/Constituyentes Station

• Situated in Chapultepec Park, near the former presidential residence of Los Pinos.
• Reach this station by walking through the park or taking a taxi/ride-sharing service. The nearest Metro station is Chapultepec on Line 1.
• Advantages: Offers scenic park views and is part of the “Chapultepec: Nature and Culture” project, featuring attractions like the new Cineteca Nacional.

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• Preview of updates to Mexico City’s historic Chapultepec Park

The post Mexico City’s CABLEBUS Connects Communities and Captivates Tourists appeared first on MexConnect.

In January 1975 my friend Linda drove me to the Mexican border where I took the train from Mexicali to Mexico City. It was my first trip out of the country alone and I was both nervous and excited. I booked a private compartment, inexpensive in those days, so I could relax and sleep in a bed for the long ride to the Capital. The train car was nearly empty and the journey was uneventful, except for the police coming in at one stop to search for drugs. They were looking for marijuana and, finding none, they left me alone for the rest of the trip.

When I got to Mexico City, I bought another ticket for the overnight train to Oaxaca. On that trip I sat next to a man on his way to Panama and we traveled together for six weeks through southern Mexico and Guatemala. But that’s another story.

I eventually made my way to Panajachel on the shores of Lake Atitlán in Guatemala and spent a month in a nearby village. My home was a tiny adobe hut with a thatched roof. Just one room with a dirt floor and a bed of straw on a wooden platform. I spent lazy days sitting outside looking at the lake, reading and listening to my neighbors laughing and talking in a lilting Kaqchikel. I didn’t understand a word. In the afternoons I walked to the communal water tap to fill my jug and tried to balance it on my head like the other women did so effortlessly. It was a skill I never learned, but I loved my time in that small village. And one day, after three months away, I knew it was time to return to California.

I got a ride with an American family from Panajachel to Oaxaca and from there I hitchhiked along the Pan American Highway to Mexico City. At the train station I bought a ticket back to the border. I was on my way home, ready for the long ride. Once on board, I spent a few of my remaining pesos to rent a pillow so the trip would be more comfortable. As the train pulled out of Buenavista Station, I settled into my seat and soon the rhythmic motion of the car lulled me to sleep.

Suddenly, in the middle of the night, I was jolted awake by the sound of brakes grinding the train to an abrupt stop. It was 4:00 a.m. and there was a problem. A train ahead had jumped the tracks and our train was blocked, unable to move. All the passengers, roughly roused from sleep, got up and slowly filed out into the dark. It was cold and quiet as we stood on the tracks waiting for buses to take us to Guadalajara, the nearest railway station.

There was another problem: the next train to the border wasn’t due to arrive until the following day and I didn’t have enough pesos left for a hotel room. No credit card in 1975. I only had my few belongings and a blanket I’d bought in Guatemala. I waited in the train station all day and when night fell, I made a bed on the floor with the other passengers who had no money for hotel rooms. I wrapped myself in the blanket and felt safe, protected by the bodies sleeping all around me.

The following day the train arrived and everyone got on to continue the journey through Jalisco, Nayarit, Sinaloa, Sonora, and Baja California. At every station, women and children carried baskets filled with tortillas, sandwiches, fruit and drinks to sell to the passengers. I had very little money for food and no pillow. It felt like a very long ride.

Things took a turn for the better when I met a couple on the train who were returning from vacation. They were crossing the border at Mexicali, picking up their car in Calexico, and planning to drive up the California coast. They generously offered me a ride back to Venice Beach. I don’t remember their names or even what they looked like, but a few days later they dropped me off a few steps from my door.

I sometimes think about that train accident and the delay in Guadalajara, my money nearly gone, the need to wait another day for the next train north. If it hadn’t been for the delay, I would never have met that couple who graciously drove me home. And, of course, you already know the moral of the story. When it comes to travel, or really anything else in life, it’s often more helpful to see ‘problems’ as opportunities to experience challenging situations in a different way. Eventually things will work out. They always do.

© Thea Evensen 2025.

The post Traveling through Mexico: On and off the rails appeared first on MexConnect.

When the Spaniards arrived in the region in west central Mexico that would become Aguascalientes, Caxcán farmers and nomadic Zacatecos Indians and other early indigenous people were already crafting wine by foraging and fermenting the grapes that grew wild in these high desert plains. But the Spaniards had brought with them cuttings of Vitis vinifera, the common grape that grew in their homeland and which flourished here as well.

That is until the King of Spain ordered the end of commercial wine making because it interfered with sales of Spanish wines. For the next 500 years or so, wine was mostly made at home or the grapes turned into brandy which was sold commercially. Also popular was a rum liqueur called chinguirito.

But now Aguascalientes (the name refers to the numerous natural hot springs found throughout the region), one of the smallest states in Mexico, has become the fifth largest producer of wine in the country. Overall, Mexican wine production and consumption has increased dramatically over the last few decades.

In 1969 there were only seven commercial wineries in the country, including Casa Madera, founded in 1597 in Parras de la Fuente, and the oldest in North America. Last year there were more than 400 spread across 16 regions. According to Meininger’s International, which bills itself as essential reading for the wine and drinks industry, wine consumption in Mexico grew from less than 0.5 pints (about 240 cc) per capita in 2003 to 2.8 pints per capita 20 years later; it is predicted to increase to about 4.2 pints per capita by 2030.

With an increase in wine consumption, there’s been a rise in wine tourism, often with the advent of wine trails including Ruta del Vino, the wine trail of Aguascalientes. Winding its way along country narrow roads lined with cacti, flowering trees and through Pueblos Mágicos, the Magic Towns chosen for their cultural and historical heritage, Ruta del Vino connects 24 wineries.

Set amidst 3200 acres of vineyards, many of the wineries offer tours and tastings. But it’s not all just about grapes. There’s entertainment, food and often live music as well. The selection of wines varies. At an altitude of 6000-feet and higher, the hot days and cool nights make Aguascalientes ideal to grow grapes like Nebbiolo, Tempranillo, Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Cabernet Franc, Syrah, Garnacha Blanca, Malbec, Chenin Blanc, and Viognier. Reds predominate but there are some excellent whites as well.

As unique as the wines can so be the wineries. Since I couldn’t visit all of them, here are my three suggestions that are well worth the trip.

Vinícola El Secreto

Stands of pomegranate and tejocote trees, each ripe with crimson and yellow fruit ripening among glossy green leaves, flank the entrance to Vinícola El Secreto, located in the Valle de las Delicias in Cosío, a small town about 35 miles north of the city of Aguascalientes, the state capitol. Though the road was dusty and narrow the last few miles or so and the walkway leading to a plain stone entranceway with little decor, the interior is stunning–swank and sleek with burnished wood, lustrous stone, and large sheets of glass. An award-winning winery, El Secreto’s Vina Secreta Syrah Reserva 2021 and Vina Secreta Syrah 2021 won gold medals this year at the prestigious Concours Mondial de Bruxelles, aninternational wine competition held annually in Brussels. They also won three silver medals including one for my favorite, the crisp and refreshing 2022 Alessandrina Rose.

But it isn’t only the wine that attracts visitors. The indoor restaurant is upscale Italian and outside, connected by a long walkway that edges a large pond, is a covered outdoor patio edged by a long stretch of vineyards where on weekends and other occasions there’s live music and entertainment and culinary delights.

Today it’s paella simmering in large metal cauldrons set over wood fires.

“Keeping the fire at just the right temperature is one of the most important parts,” Froilán Mujica, a master paella maker, tells me as he stirs a seafood-laden paella that I immediately want to eat whether it’s completely ready or not. It’s not, I’ll have to wait. But in the meantime, I chat with Mujica, who along with Rogelio Castañón, Alfonso Ovalle and their staff won first-place at the 2022 International Valencian Paella Competition in Sueca, Spain, part of the Valencian community.

Making paella is an art, and the team spent years perfecting these saffron-infused rice dishes. One cauldron holds their seafood paella, thick with shrimp, clams, mussels, fresh green beans, and fish cut into thick wedges and the other with chicken, chorizo, beans, and artichokes. That they won is impressive, but even more so because the team is from nearby Zacatecas and were competing in Valencia, ground zero for paella and famed for the rice grown there that is so important in making this ancient dish. And to make it even more notable, most of their competitors—30 out of 42 restaurants—were from Spain and had the home court advantage.

Vinícola Santa Elena

At Vinícola Santa Elena, in the municipality of Pabellón de Arteaga, we sample artistically shaped house-made chocolates paired with wine before heading to the large patio overlooking the vineyards and the flat top El Cerra de la Mesa beyond. A woman is singing and playing a variety of musical instruments, the music a nice accompaniment to the view and the food. Local cheeses and sausages are served on platters while the kitchen staff grill cuts of meat over high flames which are served with such winning choices as the winery’s Sophie Cabernet Franc Reserva 2019 and Sophie Blanco 2020, both of which won gold medals at last year’s Concours Mondial de Bruxelles.

Viñedo del Aguaje

The style of Viñedo del Aguaje, located in Pabellón de Arteaga about 19 miles northwest of Aguascalientes, the capitol city of Aguascalientes, is pleasingly rustic, the perfect country setting made of timber and stone that could have come from the fields nearby. Long wooden tables are set out on the patio abutting the vineyards, old trees shade with whispering leaves and umbrellas are raised overhead to provide some relief from the sun, tasting rooms are available as are tours.Large pots of blooms abound and there are rows of fruit trees leading up to the building where the wine is made. Visitors are welcome to explore the grounds or relax and enjoy the entertainment provided such as jazz performed by Marabunta Jazz, the fusion of Ray Raygoga’s pop and regional Mexican music, and Alex Guerra playing Mexican Ranchero music. Dancing is encouraged and no one seemed at all hesitant to join in.

Here big chunks of meat are cooked outdoors over wood burning fires, flames flaring, and side dishes include thick slabs of queso fonduta covered with sautéed red peppers, salads, and the Dessert of a Thousand Loves (sometimes Leaves), consisting of layers of puff pastry filled with cream and chocolate.

The transformation of the state of Aguascalientes into the wine powerhouse it is today is relatively new, so I imagine that, by the next time I return, there will be even more wineries on my list to visit.

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The post The Aguascalientes Wine Route: award-winning wines, great food and live music appeared first on MexConnect.

Javier Alvarado Saloma carefully cuts a piece of leather on which he’s traced an outline using a template. “I use either cow or pig skin,” he says, as he concentrates. Cutting the leather is the first step of several needed to make a mask. Two weeks after cutting the leather, he’ll have a finished mask, one that will eventually be used during carnaval, in Huejotzingo (typically shortened to “Huejo”), a pueblo mágico in Puebla.

Masks have been used in many cultures and countries, including Mexico, for millennia. The oldest masks discovered to date were found in the hills and deserts within 20 miles of Jerusalem and are about 9000 years old. They are all made of stone and depict human faces. Wood and leather were probably also used to make masks—and could have been in use long before those stone masks—but none that old have survived. Or been discovered yet. The oldest wooden mask found so far dates from around 900 CE and was found in Angola.

Masks were, and are, used for a variety of reasons and in a variety of rituals or ceremonies. They’re used to change the person wearing it, to allow them to enter an altered state or to come into contact with the supernatural. They may also be used during fiestas, carnavals, ceremonies and rituals. In almost all of these events, people will dance for hours, something that also puts them in an altered state. In Mexico, virtually all pre-Hispanic cultures used masks. They were used during funerals, fertility rituals, ceremonies and celebrations. Their use continues today. One of the best examples of contemporary use has to be carnaval, an event that takes place around Holy Week. And one of the most dramatic examples I’ve experienced is carnaval in Huejo. “Huejo is the cradle of carnaval,” Javier stated.

Huejo’s carnaval lasts four days, beginning the Saturday before Ash Wednesday, with parades that can have as many as 25,000 participants. And just about everyone is wearing a mask. That’s a lot of masks and although masks made in Huejo can last 70 or 80 years, new ones are needed every year. “We prepare for [carnaval] all year,” Javier said.

Javier is the fourth generation of mascareros (mask-makers) in his family. He learned from his brother and mother when he was ten. “Little by little, I understood the method and the creativity and eventually developed my own style,” he said. “It takes at least two years to learn the basic techniques and with time one becomes adept. To be considered a master takes at least seven years of experience. Everything is done by hand. You have to have the knowledge but the details are in the practice.”

After cutting the leather, which has been moistened, Javier sews the two sides together. With a small hammer, he gently taps the leather to fit a solid wooden mold that’s shaped like a face and then connects it to the back with small nails. “We use tools that we make ourselves,” he said. Next, he uses a pen to sketch in the eyes, nostrils and mouth and then cuts them out with a small blade. “Everything is done with exact measurements,” he explained. Using sandpaper, he scrapes away the outer surface of the leather, leaving it smooth and ready to paint. “The paint is enamel,” he said. “I give it four or five coats.” This leaves the mask hard and looking shiny. So hard and shiny, in fact, that I thought the ones he showed me were ceramic. The final steps for most involve adding eyebrows, a moustache and beard. These may be made from human or animal hair or synthetic wool.

Graciela Linares Jiménez, Javier’s wife and co-worker, listed seven different groups that parade during Huejo’s carnaval while another person told me there are eight. Whatever the exact number, it’s certain that each group has its characteristic mask, each with different facial hair.

Despite the need for masks, Javier figured there were only ten mascareros in Huejo. Raúl Linares Valdivia is another one I visited.

As soon as I entered his home, Raúl launched into an explanation of Huejo’s carnaval. “Carnaval in Huejo started about 150 years ago,” he told me. “The mask represents the battle of Cinco de Mayo. Our carnaval represents the invasion of the Spanish and French.”

Like Javier, Raúl learned to make masks from a family member. In this case, his father, who was the first in the family to make them. “In the beginning, his masks were very basic,” he said, “but eventually became more complex.” When asked how long it takes to learn how to make masks, he told me, “I believe it really takes one’s whole life. My father started to make them and with time he perfected them. The mask is perfected all the time. One needs to make corrections because every person has specific features and the mask must be adjusted to them. As artisans, we make the corrections.”

Raúl’s masks are similar to Javier’s but there are differences. While it takes Javier two weeks to complete one, Raúl can finish one in four days. “It depends on the weather being good (that is, dry),” he said, “and sunny. The work is done by the whole family. The women make the beards.” He also uses leather made from bulls, rather than cow or pig. His more complex masks have moveable eyelids and eyes, which—at least for me—give the mask a slightly unsettling effect. He also makes miniature masks that he sells for souvenirs.

Raúl also makes another one of the important items used in carnaval: mosquetones, the huge rifles carried—and fired (loudly)—by many.

“The rifles are made from walnut,” he said. “The best rifles are walnut because they are stronger. Before, the rifles did not have figures but with time, that changed.” He carves elaborate figures on the rifle’s stock and then paints them with vibrant colors. The figures are extremely detailed, including one to which he attached miniature eyeglasses. It takes him about three months to make one rifle.

Both Javier and Raúl estimate they can make 50 to 60 masks a year, with Javier’s costing $3,500 pesos (just under $200 USD) and Raúl’s ranging from $1,200 (around $70 USD) to $1,800 ($100 USD). Raúl’s miniatures go for $200 pesos (around $10 USD). One of his smaller, basic rifles runs $4,500 pesos ($250 USD) with larger, more elaborate ones costing $7,000 (almost $400 USD).

I’ve read about what wearing a mask can do to a person, but I wanted a first-person account. David Quechol Deolarte, who accompanied me to both Javier and Raúl’s, is a member of Turco, a group that marches during carnaval. So I asked him what happens when he dons a mask. “It is a transformation when I put on a mask,” he said. “You stop being yourself and start a process of metamorphosis. You become a different person. You enter a different world.”

If you’re interested in buying one of Javier’s masks, call Graciela at: (227) 113-1877. For Raúl’s masks or rifles, (227) 153-4198. From the US, first dial 011-52 and then the rest of the number. Please be aware that they only speak Spanish.

Related articles on MexConnect

• World class mask museum in the city of Zacatecas
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• Masks of Mexico – Mascaras de Mexico
• Masks and feather headdresses: Mexicans celebrate danzas

Joseph Sorrentino is a journalist, photographer and playwright. His website is www.sorrentinophotography.com. His book  Stinky Island Tales: Some Stories From An Italian-American Childhood (Amazon) is a collection of four stories in English and Spanish with 26 drawings. It’s available as both a paperback and Kindle version.

Published or Updated on: August 6, 2024 by Joseph Sorrentino © 2024

The post Mask making in the Magic Town of Huejotzingo, Puebla appeared first on MexConnect.

It would be hard to overstate the symbolic importance of Chapultepec Park, not only to Mexico City, but to the country as well. It has played a key role in Mexico’s history since the Mesoamerican era, with emperors and presidents eager to leave their mark on it. But its recent history also includes neglect. To his credit, President Andrés Manuel López Obrador (AMLO) has tried to address this, but not without some controversy.

A little history

Chapultepec’s special status began with the Aztec Empire. Surrounded by the brackish waters of Lake Texcoco, the island capital Tenochtitlan depended on the springs of this forest for potable water. As a reserve, it became exclusive to emperors, who used it as a getaway.

This dual role would continue through the colonial period, with the first “castle” built here in the sixteenth century. Later, it was replaced by Chapultepec Castle, which still sits atop “grasshopper hill,” which gives the green space its Nahuatl name.

Chapultepec remained closed off to the public through most of the nineteenth century, despite the disappearance of Lake Texcoco and the growth of the city towards it. This changed when Porfirio Díaz decided to open it to Mexico City residents as a premier recreational area, following the lead of European cities; he added walking paths and an artificial lake in what is now known as the park’s first section.

In 1882, Chapultepec Castle became the residence of Mexico’s executive and remained so until the 1930s, when President Lázaro Cárdenas, who refused to live there, opened it to the public as a history museum, which it remains today.

Expansion and modifications

This “loss” of exclusivity did not lessen Chapultepec’s prestige, but rather modernized it. During the twentieth century, various administrations looked to make their mark with many additions, most notably a zoo, the Museum of Anthropology, the Museum of Modern Art and the Papalote Children’s Museum. The park was also expanded twice: the second section was added in 1964 and the third in 1974 to conserve green space in a rapidly-growing metro area. All of it was open to the public with the notable exception of Los Pinos, the presidential residence after Chapultepec Castle.

Today, Chapultepec is a favorite weekend spot of Mexico City residents, and one of the capital’s major tourist attractions. It receives more than 15 million visits a year, but the vast majority of visitors visit only the first section and part of the second. The other areas have been relatively inaccessible, due both to the lack of public transportation and the ravines that criss-cross them. Most fell into neglect and were all but given over to crime and even feral dogs.

López Obrador’s project

Andrés Manuel López Obrador was mayor of Mexico City in the early 2000s, when there were some efforts to rehabilitate these sections of the park, but with limited success. This may be one reason why, as president, he has given the park special attention. On the campaign trail, he promised to open Los Pinos to the public as a cultural center—a highly symbolic act which rejected the precedent of the 14 presidents before him. As president in 2019, he announced plans to convert the entire park into “the largest and most important artistic and cultural space in the world.”

A huge project named “Chapultepec: Nature and Culture” has been working over the past five years (six if you count Los Pinos) to revitalize and to add a new fourth section to the park.

New and renovated installations

The project’s vision for sections 1-3 is mostly to rehabilitate and upgrade the often deteriorated environments and installations, and make the sections more accessible both from the outside and from within. One important work toward this end is the “The Floating Walkway” (Calzada Flotante), a huge pedestrian bridge that is almost a park in itself, connecting the first and second sections divided by the Anillo Periférico ring road. The other is the construction (still in progress) of a “cablebus,” a ski-lift like public transportation with stops in all three sections and a terminus in the new fourth.

Many of the cultural institutions in the park received long-delayed maintenance and overhauls, including the Natural History Museum, the Modern Art Museum, the Zoo and the Museum of Anthropology. One outwardly-impressive construction is the new facilities of the Dolores Cemetery, the final resting place of icons such as Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo. Still a working cemetery, its chapel and other ceremonial areas received tremendous upgrades readily visible from Constituyentes Avenue.

The focus in the remainder of section 2 and in section 3 has been on cleaning up the environmental damage and resolving security issues to make people want to visit. The area is now patrolled by the federal National Guard, and the feral dog population has been removed. There are also ongoing efforts to reforest more than 1,400 hectares and clean up the ravines and springs.

To make it easier to wander this area, paths and a series of bridges will eventually connect with the Dolores Cemetery in the second section. One “addition” is the Urban Culture Park, which took the old pools and other installations of the El Rollo and Atlantis water attractions and turned them into spaces for skateboarding and street art.

The major additions are in the new fourth section, now slated to open to the public by July 2024. The old munitions factory and an early colonial religious hermitage are being renovated into cultural spaces, but the main projects are related to the visual arts and cinema.

The National Art Warehouse (Bodega National de Arte) aims to house much of the Mexican’s huge collection of art in optimal conditions, and will have facilities for conservation, restoration and the training of experts in these fields. Both this and the Chapultepec Film Library (Cineteca) are designed by renowned architect Mauricio Rocha. The Cineteca will complement the national film facilities in various parts of the city, and will also have some production capability.

Why so much focus on Chapultepec?

Chapultepec has been a priority project for this administration and its ally, Mayor Claudia Sheinbaum, who is running to succeed López Obrador as president.

Chapultepec: Nature and Culture is a logical extension of work done to the park since the time of Porfirio Díaz, transforming it from an exclusive area for the elite into a world-class public facility. Following various delays, the push is now on to complete as much construction as possible before the end of the administration.

Is this gargantuan project a “vanity” project? López Obrador has long called his quest for the presidency, and his term in office, as Mexico’s “Fourth Transformation,” and Chapultepec project is a monument to that. With so much change over so much of the park, the whole thing now serves as a reminder of “transformation.”

But not everyone has been impressed with this huge undertaking. Calling the project a “white elephant,” journalist and art critic Edgar Alejandro Hernández complained about the cost in an op-ed for the respected magazine Gatopardo. For each year of the administration, Chapultepec: Nature and Culture has taken between 20 and 30% of the entire federal cultural budget, leaving many activities and projects in the nation without resources, he says.

I must also note my doubts about the National Art Warehouse and Film Library’s public value. I was invited to see them: they are still in progress, but I was struck by how isolated they are. Secretary Frausto emphasized what kinds of public events both will have, but their main function is the safeguarding of federally-owned art as well as the training of experts in their handling. In addition, a second warehouse will rent space to private art collectors, many of whom live in the highly exclusive areas northwest of the park.

Leigh Thelmadatter is a freelance writer whose first book, Mexican Cartonería: Paper, Paste and Fiesta, was published by Schiffer in 2019.

Related articles on MexConnect

• Chapultepec: Mexico City’s urban forest (Allan Wall)
• Child heroes and Mexican myths (Marvin West)

The post Sneak preview of updates to Mexico City’s historic Chapultepec Park appeared first on MexConnect.

The foods of the Pacific coast resort Puerto Vallarta can be as simple—and delicious—as those sold by vendors who stroll the beach hawking skewers of fire-roasted shrimp and trays of freshly shucked oysters or the street vendors like Caesar who, wielding a machete, sells fresh coconuts at his stand on Aquiles Serdán to a long line of waiting cars and pedestrians.

I’ve only had tuba—a drink made from coconut palm juice, walnuts, apples, sugar, and several other “secret” ingredients all marinated overnight—from one source: a man all dressed in white including a white hat, who stands on the Malecón, the lively walkway lined with public art, restaurants, a fishery, and stalls. He arrives early each morning and stays late into the night only to be back in the same place the next day. Tuba seems to be a specialty of Puerto Vallarta and the beach villages to the north and south.

Pull up a stool at the outdoor counter of La Burrita Marinera, and choose among offerings such as enchiladas, tacos, and tostadas, made with shrimp, octopus, marlin, and other fish caught that morning in Banderas Bay.

Or indulge in Pescado Zarandeado, grilled red snapper with garlic and achiote, a pre-Hispanic dish said to have originated from the nearby State of Nayarit and the house specialty at Mariscos Tinos Puerto Vallarta. The food and ambiance of this second-floor restaurant located in the city’s Centro zone, near the water, so impressed Mexican food authority, cookbook author, and restaurateur Rick Bayless that he featured their recipe on his TV food show “One Plate at a Time.”

These are heritage foods passed down through the centuries, making them part of the reason that Mexican food earned a place on the very short list of cuisines protected by UNESCO as an “intangible cultural heritage of mankind.”

My introduction to these dishes came about when I joined Vallarta Food Tours’ “Original Downtown Tour,” a 3.5-hour, 1.5-mile walking tour with eight food stops—yes, I know it’s a lot of food, but I like to eat. The tour, voted #4 food experience in the world by Trip Advisor in 2020, as well as #5 tour in Latin America for 2023, began at the corner of Vallarta and Aquiles Serdán streets in the city’s Romantic Zone where our guide presented each of us with a list of the eateries we’d be visiting. As we walked, he provided an overview of the history and culture of the foods we’d be tasting, and of the sights we’d be passing, such as Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, the beautiful central church with Renaissance-styled towers and magnificent views of the city and water.

But street food wasn’t my only gastronomic experience in Puerto Vallarta, one of the most popular tourist destinations in Mexico and one that has also maintained its colonial charm. I also received an invitation to the annual Festival Gourmet International which bills itself as Puerto Vallarta’s greatest culinary tradition with more than three dozen participating restaurants and wineries and over 75 chefs from around the world. Founded in 1995 by Thierry Blouet, Heinz Reize and Roland Menetrey, chefs/restauranteurs with long-established roots in the city, who are known as the “Three Musketeers.”

With more than 1000 restaurants, tours and festivals help give visitors a taste (excuse the pun) of what this city on Banderas Bay has to offer.

If you’re old enough to remember the movie “Cleopatra” starring Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, and their torrid love affair which led each to leave their spouses, divorce, marry, and then divorce again, you might be interested in knowing that during the height of their passion, Burton purchased a home in Puerto Vallarta for Taylor. That home is now Casa Kimberly, a nine-room boutique hotel,and The Iguana & Tequila Bar because, after all, “Night of the Iguana” was the movie Burton was filming here. Those spending the night might want to opt for the Elizabeth Taylor suite with its pink, heart-shaped marble bathtub made to Taylor’s specifications. As for the food, suggestions include sea bass with hibiscus and chipotle and grilled salmon with huitlacoche (corn fungus). As for the bar, expect local and hard-to-find tequilas and mezcals.

When La Palapa opened 65 years ago, it was on the southern edge of Puerto Vallarta, and the only way across the Río Cuale, which separated the town from the open-air thatched roof restaurant on Playa Los Muertos or Beach of the Dead, was on foot or by car if the water wasn’t too high. The beach is a lively place with strolling musicians and a long pier where pangas line up, ready to take passengers to several beach villages further south that are unreachable by road. The food at La Playa is Asian and French-influenced tropical classic Mexican—tortilla soup, octopus tacos, Punta de Res, Mexican-style beef tips con carne with corn tortillas, and huevos rancheros. Next door, with seating on the beach, is their sister restaurant, the open-air El Dorado.

Creativity in both cuisine and design are the hallmarks of such restaurants as Trio, located on Guerrero, the oldest street in Puerto Vallarta. Trio is an elegantly cosmopolitan restaurant with statuary, gardens, elaborately tiled floors, local art, and a menu featuring both a fusion of Mediterranean and Mexican along with a homage to traditional Mexican dishes like roasted chicken with a chile-lime rub, and chile-roasted red snapper fillet with a lime cilantro sauce.

Theirry Blouet’s restaurant, Café Des Artistes, which opened more than three decades ago, is both a visual and culinary delight. Each level of this terraced restaurant opens up to a different scene—a terraced lush garden space that’s all blooms and foliage, a Huichol artisan-designed piano bar, and—because gardens and the lushness of Puerto Vallarta are so special—another garden room overlooking the exterior gardens. Though the menu changes frequently, dishes include Chili with Passion Fruit Mousse, Marinated Broiled Octopus with Chicatanas, and Roasted Sea Bass with Beurre Blanc and Chipotle. In keeping with the traditional cuisine, there’s also Zarandeado red snapper on the menu as well.

Probably the most unique of the restaurants in the city—and that’s saying a lot as creativity is a byword for design here—is La Leche. The name means milk and the concept is taken to the max. Almost everything is a pristine white, both inside and out, and the menu—well, as you would expect, milk is a common ingredient in such offerings as Duck’s Milk (duck in a confit garlic sauce with potato cakes) and Cottage Cheese Cake with Caramel Sauce, as well as El Chato, a horchata cocktail.

But not to worry. There are other colors on the spectrum such as the Chamorro Glazed Stew in Chili Sauce, duck in a sweet mole, a light blue Perla Negri, and their very pretty and pink-colored Grey Goose Cosmopolitan.

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As readers of MexConnect are no doubt aware, Mexico has a great variety of tourist attractions of various types. There are the pre-Hispanic ruins, Spanish colonial architecture, churches and cathedrals, government buildings, battlefields, fortresses, houses of famous people, museums, beaches, mountains and other types of natural scenery.

But what about industrial tourism? That’s one you don’t hear about as much.

Nevertheless, industrial development is and has been an important facet of Mexican society and history.

A notable example of such a tourist attraction, which I highly recommend, is found in the northern city of Monterrey at the Parque Fundidora.

Don’t read too fast – that’s F-U-N-D-I-D-O-R-A Park, not FUNDADOR or FUNDADORES.

Fundador means “founder.” So a park named for the fundadores honors the founders of a city. There are various parks in Mexico named after their fundadores, for example in Playa del Carmen, Torreón, Tijuana and others.

Fundidora, on the other hand, means “foundry,” a metallurgical plant which produces cast iron products. That’s the park under discussion in this article.

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An abandoned metallurgical plant might seem to be a strange type of park, but it all makes sense, really. The current park is the location of the metallurgical facilities operated from 1900 to 1986 by the Compañía Fundidora de Fierro y Acero de Monterrey, S.A., the Iron and Steel Foundry of Monterrey, Incorporated.

Formed in 1900, this company started the first iron and steel foundry in Latin America, right here in Monterrey. Its first blast furnace was the first in Latin America, and began operation in 1903.

The company was started by Vicente Ferrera, who had worked in steel foundries in the United States. Ferrera decided that Monterrey would be a good location for one, as there were deposits of iron and coal in the immediate region. Funds from Mexican, French, Spanish and American investors were obtained, and the company was off to a running start.

It was a highly successful company which manufactured iron and steel products, including structural steel, railways, wire rods, corrugated rods, train wheels and other products.

The Monterrey foundry produced steel used in various construction projects in Latin America, including the famous Torre Latinoamericana in Mexico City, which held up well against the 1985 earthquake in that city.

In 1977 the company was nationalized by the Mexican government, and it went bankrupt in 1986. After the company’s property was expropriated in 1988, a public/private partnership transformed it into a public park, opened in 2001 and called Parque Fundidora, “Foundry Park.”

The park comprises 360 acres, with plenty of green space, 23 fountains, two lakes, CINTERMEX (an exhibition hall/convention center), the Parque Fiesta Aventuras amusement park, the Arena Monterrey for concerts and indoor sports, and Auditorio Citibanamex (an indoor amphitheater).

The Paseo Santa Lucia, an artificial river and river walk, is part of the park, and it’s actually possible to walk (or travel by boat) from Parque Fundidora to the downtown Monterrey Macroplaza, or vice-versa.

At the heart of Parque Fundidora are the remains of the Monterrey Foundry. Chief among these attractions is an old blast furnace, “Blast Furnace #3”, where iron was smelted to prepare it for industrial processing. This abandoned facility was repurposed as a museum.

My wife Lilia, our son Raphael, and I visited this museum at the Parque Fundidora and it’s impressive.

It’s not just a museum about industrial metallurgy – it’s a metallurgical facility which became a museum!

In its time, Blast furnace #3 was a state of the art facility. Designed by Arthur G. McKee & Co. of Cleveland, Ohio, it began operation in 1968 and could produce 1500 to 2,000 tons of cast iron daily.

After the company closed down in 1986, Blast Furnace #3 was abandoned until 2005. By that time it was in a deteriorated and dangerous state, so they began a restoration project. In 2007, the restoration project was complete and the museum, known in Spanish as “horno³, ” was open for business. Various other features have been added since.

Blast Furnace #3 Museum contains exhibits about the Monterrey Foundry and metallurgical science in general.

In one part of the museum, visitors in a dark room are able to witness a live demonstration portraying the metallurgical process, which is quite impressive.

Visitors are also permitted to go to the top of the old blast furnace. But how do they get up there?

When the foundry was active there was an inclined conveyor system which would take the iron ore up to the top of the blast furnace. Now, rather than carrying iron ore, it takes tourists to the top.

Museum visitors get into the conveyor and are moved backwards up to the top of the blast furnace. (See photo to left).

When you get to the top, what a great view of the park and city of Monterrey you have!

Even after the museum closes, the elevator continues to function, taking people up to see the nighttime view until 10 p.m.

Monterrey’s Parque Fundidora is a great example of how an abandoned industrial area has been transformed into a multipurpose public park.

The blast furnace museum and other remains of the foundry facilities in the park have preserved part of the industrial heritage of this site which was so important in the history of Monterrey. It’s a splendid example of how this can be done.

If you’re in the city of Monterrey, don’t miss it!

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