Road Tripping along the Michoacán Coast

By Craig Gibson

Another day passes as you flip methodically under the broiling sun in piña-colada-saturated Puerto Vallarta. A barrage of time-share pushers and a flock of cruise line victims stampede into your utopia. Don’t stress! A new utopia can be found just down the road.

Rent a car, hit the Wal-Mart in Vallarta, buy a cheap tent (or bring your own) and drive south down Highway 200 to the Michoacán Coast, undoubtedly one of the most spectacular and adrenaline-filled drives in Mexico. Escaping the tourist triangle, you embark on an adventure void of trampled paths trodden by the hoards of tourists that crowd the streets of Vallarta. Rewards await you: black sand beaches that burn like a hot coal walk, turtle sanctuaries, secret surf breaks and sunsets that you thought could only exist in artists’ renditions.

Beaches like La Ticla entice the surf junkies, while others cradle you in serenity as you soak in natural wave pools and shallow bays while watching the olive sun dip into the martini horizon.

Continue down the highway that chases the setting sun, bask your face in the lights of the heavens and watch in wonder as you pass lush rainforests, uninhabited white sand beaches protected by granite spire guardians and crystal clear waters that will lure seasoned divers.

Worth a sidetrack is Colima, one of the oldest cities in Mexico, founded in 1523 by the Spaniard Gonzalo de Sandoval. Colima rests lazily under a goliath, the Volcán de Fuego, some 30 km (20 miles) to the north. This enormous volcano spews and hisses like a dragon, warning of its volatility. If your timing is right you might be blessed by a display of its power, a spectacularly humbling sight.

At the end of the journey you will find Playa Maruata. Don’t blink, or it’s gone, and you will continue on a lengthy journey down a stretch of highway (which boasts more banditos per capita than the national average) ending in Zihuatanejo, a place made famous to moviegoers by Shawshank Redemption. In Maruata, approach one of the local palapas owners and slide them twenty pesos, then set up the tent and stretch out the hammock, crack open an ice-cold Corona, lie back and watch for whale spouts and dolphins jumping on the horizon. You are not on the gringo trail anymore: you have truly found paradise.

In some ancient Mexican civilizations, it was customary to bury the dog with his master because it was believed that the spirit of the dog could carry the spirit of the dead to paradise. Lucky for the dogs from this part of the world, it is a short walk.