Tlaxcala
And just like that, I’m off again.
Since settling in Tequisquiapan, I’ve explored the surrounding area with Frida (my motorcycle). Now, it’s time to broaden my horizons. The trickiest part? Choosing a destination. There are so many places calling my name…
In the end, the state of Oaxaca wins out. Before heading off, I mention it to the Mexicans around me. Their eyes instantly light up like circus spotlights, and they begin to salivate with an almost unsettling level of expertise.
Oaxaca boasts natural beauty and a culinary reputation that reaches well beyond the state’s borders—and stirs up appetites everywhere. Seriously: as my friends rattle off an incredibly long list of their favorite dishes and drinks, my own stomach starts to growl in response.
My first day is… tiring. A little over 300 km. In Quebec, that’s just a casual drive. In Mexico, it’s… a longer affair—especially when you avoid highways to travel at a slower pace and “fully take in the view.”
I set off through the morning mist. The sun slowly makes its way across the mountains of the Sierra Madre Oriental.
A brief stop in Portezuelo to admire the church currently under construction, situated right next to the existing church, which has become too small for the parishioners.
I cross the entire state of Hidalgo (which I promise myself I will visit again, as it deserves at least a week all on its own) and finally arrive in Tlaxcala, in the state of… Tlaxcala.
Three volcanoes welcome me with open arms: Popocatépetl, with its plume of smoke, and its gentle lady companion, Iztaccíhuatl,
credit: X @ClaraBrugadaM
and finally, The Malinche.
Did you know? La Malinche is a dormant volcano standing over 4.4 km tall. Its last major eruption occurred about 3,000 years ago—ever since, La Malinche has been taking a long nap. The volcano is named in honor of Malintzin, a polyglot Nahua woman from the 16th century who served as an interpreter, advisor, and key intermediary for Hernán Cortés during the conquest of Mexico. Sold into slavery and later "gifted" to the Spaniards following a battle, she spoke both Nahuatl and Mayan; she quickly learned Spanish and became indispensable for translating, negotiating, and—at times—defusing (or, conversely, fueling) explosive situations. A figure as essential as she is controversial, she literally bridged two worlds—Mexico and Spain—linguistically, politically, and even personally (she had a son with Cortés). To this day, she remains a polarizing figure: she is simultaneously viewed as a symbol of betrayal, a willing victim, and the symbolic mother of the modern Mexican people.
After a well-deserved rest at the Auberge de la Vierge, it’s time for an adventure in Tlaxcala.
First stop: the Basilica of Our Lady of Ocotlán, located very close to where I’m staying.
This magnificent church earned its title as a basilica thanks to:
* The apparition of the Virgin Mary to a young indigenous boy in 1541.
* Its status as a major pilgrimage site: Following this event, popular devotion continued to grow. Every year, millions of pilgrims from all over Mexico travel here to venerate Our Lady of Ocotlán.
* Its architectural mastery: Built between the 17th and 18th centuries, the structure is globally recognized as one of the pinnacles of Mexican Baroque art. Its white stucco façade—complemented by red brick—and its sumptuous, gold-leaf-adorned interior give it universal artistic significance.
From there, I make my way at a leisurely pace toward the *Centro* (the beating heart of any Mexican town or city). As I pass by a doorway, an enticing aroma draws me in. Santiago Aldana, with the help of his friend Abigail, is preparing to open a café—in two or three weeks’ time.
The setup isn’t quite finished, yet he’s happy to serve us a perfect cortado. We chat about Mexico and his new business venture. Encounters like this are the true joy of traveling: people who take the time to share what really matters to them with a stranger—and who offer a coffee that makes the detour well worth it.
I continue toward the Centro, only to be sidetracked once again. This time, it’s a police officer, Pablo Zempoalteca, who invites me to step inside the Tlaxcala Museum of Arts.
credit: Pablo Zempoalteca
The visit is interesting, but the conversation with Pablo is even more so. The love Mexicans have for their country is incomparable. He speaks passionately about everything I should see in the region, then sends me photos and links via WhatsApp (the true primary means of communication in Mexico).
As I walk along, I catch a glimpse of a magnificent stained-glass dome through a window. I go inside, where I am greeted by Hugo Medina, who explains that I am in the state parliament of Tlaxcala.
The stained-glass window is monumental. It towers over the central courtyard, linking Tlaxcalla’s indigenous past to its current political institution. It pays homage to the four founding lordships. The work also incorporates Mesoamerican cosmology, featuring the four elements—fire, air, water, and earth—with a powerful sun enthroned at the center.
I’m even granted a special favor: Hugo takes me on a tour of the parliamentary chamber.
Last stop... government offices. Well, put that way, it doesn’t sound particularly interesting—except that Mexican civil servants have a different relationship with their workplace. It’s the Day of the Dead, so they’re decorating.
I would have liked to have access to this break room...
To be continued… Oaxaca, get ready.
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