Although as we’ve lived in Mexico for more than a year now, most of our experiences have been coastal. And while we love the coast—there is a different feeling to the country when you get up into the mountains. The sultry air gives way to a softer, less pungent breeze, the locals are less travelled and more curious about visitors. And the nostalgic things: the colonial churches, the haciendas, and the musical traditions are still current things--thanks to the slower pace.
I love Mexico. I deeply, deeply love it here. And leaving, before knowing it more fully, is occasionally heart breaking. So as our goodbye kiss from Mexico we decided to splurge on a minivan, scoop up the Hotspur family, and head inland to one of Mexico’s Magic Cities—Comala.
There is nothing flash about this little colonial city. It’s much like so many of the ones that dot Mexico’s interior. It’s a simple place where the focus is on family, friendship, faith and fiestas. It’s all painted white and in the afternoons mariachi bands stroll the square. We sat eating our tapas and listening to the old songs, drinking beer and talking about nothing in particular.
The sun was warm, but not too hot. Venders stopped by, chatting and showing their wares. Nothing dramatic occurred. But it was perfect: Simple and small, uncomplicated and colourful.