Mexico has a series of towns it has deemed Pueblos Magicos, which admittedly sounds like the kind of tourist bait we’d generally avoid. But because we know to trust local recommendations over our general aversion to schtick, three mentions of El Rosario in as many days has compelled us to see if one of these PMs lives up to its moniker.
Our first stop is the town church, La Señora del Rosario, but I’m more interested in what’s going on around it. A curious local stops to cheerily chat with me in Spanish, unbothered by the realization that I can scarcely understand him. A baby blue bike that looks like it was plucked from Amsterdam rests against the imposing stone facade of the church, its owner among the many filling the pews inside. And a young boy sweeping the cobblestone stops to read the plaque beneath the famous Lola Beltran statue, seemingly engrossed though he’s likely seen it countless times. I’m charmed by how much these people seem to be enjoying their town. There’s a subtle but unmistakable sense of pride.
And I get it: everywhere we go, the streets are immaculate. Though small, the lush town square is bustling with lunchtime energy, nearly every table filled with locals engaging each other in conversation. We wander around, happy to be in this tiny Mexican town that looks to be mostly unconcerned with tourism. Sure, this is a Pueblo Magico, but we seem to be the only gringos here. It’s a slice of real “Mexicana”, if that’s a thing. Magico, indeed.