Road to Veracruz

The bus out of Mexico City pressed through the kind of urban sprawl that is all Mexico’s own. The parking lots and outlet malls you might find on the outskirts of U.S. cities were here replaced by concrete houses; taco stands; market vendors trapping the crowds. It didn’t seem like we would ever see the end of this, but in time, the city disappeared into an arid valley. In the background, of course, were the volcanoes.

A pleasant ride through pine forests up and down a mountain pass brought us to Puebla, a city about two hours east of the capital. My original plan was to visit the pyramid at Cholula, until I decided that I wasn’t going to spend the whole trip looking at ruins. On a whim, I decided to go downtown instead. Puebla is a big city, but the fastest way from the bus station is apparently to floor it down residential streets only to get stuck in what seems like a chronic traffic jam in the center. Mexico’s second largest cathedral is here, though it’s only open at odd hours; and I should also note this city’s connection to the only Mexican holiday widely celebrated in the United States, as it was here that Mexican troops routed the French on May 5, 1862.

Continuing eastward, the scenery that followed was the first of many surprises that forced me to realize I had underestimated Mexico. At first I was just as I would have imagined: A plateau in browns, farmers working the stubborn dry fields under barren hills. In time, the road twisted over a canyon and began its descent to the ocean. There is a certain point where you round a bend and notice all manner of tropical plants flourishing on the hillside, even though it seemed like you were in the desert just a moment before. This marks the beginning of the oily, swampy Gulf Coast. A mist enters the air and you begin to hear new varieties of birds.

<< Previous: Mexico City: Roma and Condesa >> << Next: A Question of Likeness >>