Our trip began with a flight from Dulles to Mexico on a rainy Sunday in June. Suddenly, Bobby was in an exotic new world, and we hadn't even left the Mexico City airport yet. "I've never seen one of these before," said the neophyte traveler, inspecting the moving walkway with satisfaction.
After spending the night with friends, we set off in our rented car for Patzcuaro. The 240-mile route winds through a landscape of soft blue lakes and misty green fields, Mexico by way of Monet. Normally, it takes about five hours by car. But it had been years since I had driven in Mexico City traffic and my combat skills were rusty. We spent an hour trying to escape the city, then got lost again on the highway. Even taking advantage of the liberal Mexican attitude toward the law -- "Auntie Speed Demon!" my nephew crowed -- it was evening by the time we limped into our hotel.
A steep staircase wends through the shops and restaurants of Janitzio, an island village in Mexico.
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Fortunately, Hacienda Mariposas was a delightful place to limp in to. About 7,000 feet above sea level, the estate features upscale rustic cottages nestled in 18 acres of cool, quiet, pine-scented woods.
Ah, nature. Ah, nurture. A margarita instantly appeared at our cabin, courtesy of the house.
As night fell, we repaired to the beamed dining room and, in front of a roaring fire, feasted on that evening's offerings: calabaza soup, a salad with grapefruit and papaya, and chiles rellenos. To my delight, Bobby enjoyed everything -- even after learning that calabaza meant "squash." The Mexican-American owner, Rene Ocaña, joined us as we finished our apple crepes with caramel sauce, suggesting visits to the charming Purepecha Indian villages around Patzcuaro's lake, noted for their handicrafts.
But we were keen to explore the huge lake and its main island, Janitzio, which Bobby had discovered on the Internet. So the next morning we headed for the town docks and paid $3 to board a painted wooden launch (decorated with the requisite Virgin of Guadalupe) for the half-hour trip.
Janitzio is famous for its Day of the Dead festivities, which draw thousands of visitors each November. Little known by Americans, the picturesque fishing village lives off domestic tourism the rest of the year, as reflected in the profusion of shops and cafes.
And yet, we were enchanted by the place. With no roads, Janitzio is laced with stone staircases winding past simple, open-air restaurants ablaze with color: turquoise chairs, purple tablecloths, garlands of pink and yellow fabric flowers. Locals sit along the ascent, carving wooden boats or embroidering towels.
We worked our way up the stairs, giggling at vendors offering us plastic cups of fried eels, and arrived at a plaza with a giant statue of independence hero Jose Maria Morelos. Bobby eagerly climbed the 140 steps to the hero's raised fist, while I contented myself with the views of the crystalline lake.
We felt that we had stumbled into another world, and the spell held on during the boat trip back to Patzcuaro. Passengers offered us candied cactus, and two reedy-voiced mariachi musicians belted out songs of loss and longing. This was the Mexico I loved, a land of color and deep humanity, and I was so glad Bobby could know it, too.
