Yuriria, I knew, was a gamble. I’d seen it listed as one of the Pueblos Magicos (Magic Towns) of Mexico, but I knew not all those towns belonged on the list. It was also one of those places that all the pictures I saw online seemed to be of the same single building, which always makes me suspicious of that being the only thing to see. It was located on the shore of a lake, and I even saw something labeled Malecon, which means boardwalk, and there appeared to be a second smaller lake in the middle of the town.
My first challenge was getting there. Nowhere could I find information on getting a bus directly from Guadalajara. The best option was to catch a bus to the large city of Morelia, 2 hours to the south and hope for a bus running north. I also knew that Uber operated in Morelia so that was a backup option.
It was frustrating because the bus from Guadalajara passed just one hour south of Yuriria on its way to Morelia. From past experience, I knew that it was often possible to transfer buses at major interchanges, but a Google earth view of the intersection showed nothing resembling a bus stop. In fact, based on the cloverleaf pattern of the highway, buses would not likely slow down, so I booked my ticket for Morelia and decided I could figure out the rest when I got there.
Another consideration was where to stay. I originally planned to stay in Yuriria, but could find no listings on Booking.com. I’d done a Google search for hotels, but only a couple blue dots showed on the map. Clicking on these provided very little information, although one had a Facebook website which I tried to contact them through with no response.
I’d been to Morelia before and knew it was a beautiful city so I could have just spent a couple nights there and done a day trip to Yuriria, but reviews I read about the town made it sound like a place worth spending a couple nights. At least one person mentioned they’d extended their stay to two weeks. I later had some serious questions for that person.
I was eventually able to find an accommodation through AirBnB. It was more expensive than expected, but I guess there was little competition so I booked a single night. It seemed to be a practical compromise. If the town was nice, I’d have two half days there, if not, I only lost a few hours.
I woke up Sunday morning and begrudgingly left my cliffside hotel in Guadalajara. The walk to the bus stop took only five minutes, and I arrived fairly early, both because I’d awoken before my alarm and because I wasn’t sure of the schedule.
I planned to take the express bus line from near my hotel to downtown Guadalajara. This is a bus line that is kind of like a Metro light. It has a dedicated lane on a three lane highway where cars are not permitted. The stops are built up platforms in the center of the highway so the bus isn’t interrupted by turning vehicles. Aside from the stoplights that it must obey, it pretty much acts as a metro line on tires instead of rails.
During the week, the bus runs every five minutes, and there’s even a super express version that skips some of the platforms. I was informed that the express wasn’t running, but it still only took 25 minutes to reach downtown, where I transfered to the actual subsurface metro to get to the main bus terminal.
I had a long wait since I’d alloted myself about twice the time it took to get there. I was surprised, but I guess between Covid and it being Sunday, there were not many people moving about. I took advantage of the extra time to enjoy a coffee and an apple while I waited for my bus.
I was looking forward to the ride since I’d booked a trip on Mexico’s most exclusive carrier, ETN. Bus service in Mexico is the one thing that always runs on time, and departures in every direction are frequent. I had more than one choice for getting to Morelia, but for $3 more, I got to enjoy first class service.
The seats are huge and the legroom is enough that even if you slouched, you could not get your feet on the seat in front of you. Every seat has a TV monitor, there are separate male and female restrooms in the back and a coffee machine between the two of them. Only in the first class cabin of an aircraft have I experienced such luxurious seating.
Additionally, there were only four of us on the bus. I had counted on this. Being enclosed in a bus for four hours, I thought it best to reduce the number of people I shared the space with, and I knew the premium cost meant the minimum number of passengers. We glided down the highway while I worked on my laptop, enjoying the free WiFi.
I was able to visually confirm as we cruised through that cloverleaf intersection I’d seen earlier, that there were no places to change buses, and an hour later, we arrived in Morelia. I had to determine two things while there. The first was how to get to Yuriria and the second was how to get to my destination of Zitacuaro the following day since I figured I’d have to return to the same terminal.
I found out there was regular service to Zitacuaro and that the bus directly to Yuriria left in 30 minutes. Pretty good fortune but also typical of my experience using the Mexican bus system. To clarify, all the bus lines are private companies, and they all compete along similar routes so the prices are reasonable and the frequency constant.
On occasion, as was the case for the bus to Yuriria, there is only one line, and I am always impressed when you ask at any counter, they can direct you to the bus line providing service there. I used the bathroom, which cost me 6 pesos, but you never know whether the bus will have a functioning bathroom, and I still had a two hour trip ahead of me.
The bus took twice the time it would have taken in a car, but that’s the nature of a regional bus. I’d looked at Uber prices before I left Morelia, but they were eight times the price of the bus, so I decided to save my money for other pleasures.
Even as I entered Yuriria, I was beginning to suspect this was a wasted diversion. The main highway was filled with nothing but cheap clothing stores with exotic names, like Taj Mahal. The storefronts were lined with mannequins facing inward to show off the giant butts that could be squeezed into the jeans they sold. The song, “I like big butts and I cannot lie” played in my head and I thought that the video for the song would be best shot driving down this street with a camera out the window.
The bus stopped in the very center of town, which is not usually the case, but made it ideal for me as the AirBnB was right across the street. Despite its location, it wasn’t easy to find as there was no signage. In fact, the location indicated on Google was not actually correct, so it was fortunate that I’d confirmed ahead of time with the proprietor where it was located.
I walked into a large open courtyard with rooms on the second floor overlooking the space below. In the center was a fountain, and along all of the columns supporting the balcony were floral trees growing from large ceramic pots. It was a welcome as lovely as the friendly host who greeted me at the front desk.
She asked if I would like to see the room first, which I thought to be an odd question until I squeezed through the tiny door to a spartan room with only a bed and a long dresser that appeared to be at least 40 years old by its condition. With rapidly diminishing expectations, I peeked into the bathroom which had a shower spout sticking out of the wall, a sink suspended from the same wall using metal rebar, and a toilet without a seat.
The walls had no decoration save the pattern left by the peeling paint and missing pieces of concrete. It reminded me of the first hotel I’d stayed at in India. I couldn’t believe I was paying more for this dump than the 5 star place I’d had the night before.
Being an experienced traveler, I accepted the reality of the situation and told her the room would be fine. I dropped my things and headed out, wanting to make the most of the rest of the day since I had already begun mentally moving up my departure time for the next day.
The proprietor suggested I go to the crater and the lake, in addition to the signature attraction of the church across the street. I chose the crater first as I figured the lake would be the better location to catch the sunset. My arrival at the crater confirmed it to be the right sequential order. The crater was just a big open field of dirt. I think it’s funny that Google maps shows it as a lake, and perhaps it is during the rainy season.
The many Mexican families picnicking around the large dirt hole seemed undeterred by the lack of water. Nor did the ice cream man driving around the lake in an old VW van blaring music typically reserved for night club raves. I felt obligated to snap a couple pictures to document that I’d been there and then moved onto the real lake.
The route took me through narrow streets of colorfully painted houses. There were no sidewalks, and I frequently had to squeeze against a building so that the constant cascade of cars could pass on their way to the same. I found an opportunity to get away from the cars when I chose a street that was closed for a funeral. They’d simply erected a tent in the middle of the street, effectively preventing cars from taking the direct route.
I passed by the funeral and made my way to the lake. I have to mention at this point that the people of this town did not seem as friendly as in other parts of Mexico. Few greeted me as I passed by, and I noticed a number of the cars that passed were of the type prefered by gangsters. I’d heard that the state of Guanajuato, where Yuriria is located, had seen a spike in gang activity recently and was now considered the most volatile state in the region.
The tattoos, the clothing, and the headgear seemed to indicate that I was in Tijuana and not deep in the heart of Mexico. The people here looked more to me like the Mexicans of Los Angeles. This perception continued when I reached the lake, and there was a group of young guys drinking beer at the beginning of the Malecon. I was starting to think I should have done my cash withdrawal on my way to the hotel instead of on my way to the boardwalk!
My level of concern dropped a bit when I saw a policeman holding a machine gun in front of a portable state police trailer near the entrance to the Malecon, and I headed out on the pier overlooking the lake. It wasn’t the magical view I’d imagined, but I snapped a couple of pictures, being quick so as not to bring attention to my phone.
I returned quickly to the central plaza of the town. It had a much better feel, being filled with families enjoying a Sunday afternoon, and there was a restaurant I’d wanted to try. In an attempt to get some vegetables in my food, I did a search for vegetarian restaurants. Of course, there’s no such thing in most parts of Mexico, but I did find one with a promising overall menu. The problem was that they closed at 5:30 on Sunday.
Fortunately my disappointing visits to the crater and the lake brought me back in town in plenty of time to get seated at the aforementioned restaurant. Though the one next door was open later, all the tables were empty; whereas the tables at El Monasterio were full, and I could smell deliciously seasoned meat on the grill of the kitchen inside.
I took my seat and struggled to select something from the menu. I asked the guy next to me what he had ordered since his plate was filled with yellow peppers and onions. The funny thing is that I noticed the vegetables because he had just eaten the meat and discarded all his veggies as if they were a garnish. I ordered the same thing and even considered asking if I could eat his leftover veggies. It is that hard to get vegetables in Mexico, especially in a smaller town!
I was impressed with the quality of food that came out of the simple kitchen. I ordered a soup to accompany my meal, and though I’d never tried it before, I found it to be exceptional. Naturally, they dropped a basket of tortillas in front of me to wrap up all my food. A meal without tortillas in Mexico is like a meal without rice in Asia. It’s just unheard of. I neglected the unnecessary carbs and delighted in my grilled beef with vegetables.
They were out of dessert so I had to go searching for a convenience store to satisfy my sugar craving. About a month before, I’d settled on cereal to satisfy me. My go to in the states is chocolate chip cookies, but those don’t really exist in Mexico, and when I do find them, the dough to chocolate ratio is way out of balance in favor of the dough. Cereal gives me the sugar satisfaction and, as it turns out, it has less sugar than the commercially available cookies.
I took my milk and cereal to my hotel, and answered yes to all of the inquiries the host made of me as to what I had seen. There was one exception. She asked if I’d been to the belltower of the church. I hadn’t, so she gave me very specific instructions, only some of which I understood.
To be polite, I headed back out and in search of “the big door on the side of the church”. The directions after that got a little fuzzy due to my lack of fluency in Spanish, but I did remember the instructions to knock on a door and a woman would let me in. It sounded more like the directions to a brothel or speakeasy, but when I arrived at the big door to the church, I looked to my left and saw a woman sitting in a tiny doorway.
I asked her about access to the tower, and she called on her husband to escort me up. The spiral staircase climbed several stories, and I found myself getting dizzy towards the top. It was a good thing I slowed down because the man was struggling to keep up with me. When we got to the top, he opened his arms as if to invite me to explore wherever I wanted.
I had to cross over the vault to get to the portals with the bells suspended from them. As I looked out over the city, the bells began to ring, I assume courtesy of the wife below. It was such a magical experience, being in the bell tower with the bells ringing and the sun setting over the town. For a moment, I stopped plotting how quickly I could leave the place.
After about 30 minutes of picture taking, we headed down to the level where the ropes to the bells terminated. The wife was there, as I expected, but I didn’t know enough Spanish to inquire as to why one of the ropes ended in a noose. Being a tour guide, I know that we are prone to embellish, and I figured any story she told me would start with, “it’s been rumored…”
We returned to the small opening in which I’d entered, and I tipped the man for his kindness. I returned to the hotel this time being able to confirm that I had indeed had done everything the town had to offer in the five hours I’d been there. As a result, I didn’t feel so bad about telling her I planned to catch the first bus out of town in the morning.
I headed up to the second floor and enjoyed my cereal with a great view of the church bell tower across the street before heading into my room for my shower. Yes, this story is not over yet. It was Sunday, which meant it was time for my haircut. I’d brought electric shears to save money on weekly haircuts though I did miss the variety of experiences I’d had in the past finding a barber, at times even in someone’s garage.
With my freshly shorn head, I stepped over to the shower and turned the knob. A short trickle came forth and quickly stopped. I tried the other knob with no response. I then went to the sink and tried both knobs but neither brought forth any water.
Like a tenant from some old movie I’d seen before, I leaned over the railing from my balcony and yelled down to the proprietor about the water. She interrupted her TV show to respond to me, though all I was able to understand is that there was no water upstairs and that I would have to come downstairs to take a shower.
Undeterred, I padded down stairs in nothing but a towel wrapped around my waist and a bar of soap in my hand. The downstairs shower had only cold water, but I expected nothing more and was able to lather up and rinse off in less than two minutes.
I was surprised after this little ordeal, then when I got into bed, I experienced one of the most comfortable mattresses I’ve ever slept in. It seemed an anomaly, and I struggled in my head with the review I would give the place with its beautiful courtyard, kind landlady, and comfortable mattress but no water and a complete absence of bedroom decor.
It didn’t really matter much as I was leaving first thing in the morning, and I knew that this was the kind of adversity that lends itself to a good travel story.