The name change announcement came during Sheinbaum’s work tour of Puebla, where she also signed a decree establishing the second Sunday of August each year as National Reforestation Day. (Gabriel Monroy/Presidencia)
Speaking at the mountain pass during the launch of the 2026 National Reforestation Campaign, Sheinbaum recalled that it was named after Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés, who passed through the volcanoes on his way to Tenochtitlan (today Mexico City) following the Cholula massacre in 1519.
The Paso de los Pueblos Indígenas (Pass of the Indigenous Peoples), which runs between the Popocatéptl and Iztaccíhuatl volcanoes, was formerly transited and inhabited by the Mexica peoples, who referred to the area as Cuauhíchcac. (José Luis Conde/Presidencia)
Sheinbaum said the current name overlooks the history of the Indigenous peoples who knew, inhabited and traversed the territory prior to the arrival of the conquistadores. She added that it was “no coincidence” the reforestation event coincided with the International Day of the World’s Indigenous Peoples.
“Today, on the International Day of the World’s Indigenous Peoples, let’s call this pass the Pass of the Indigenous Peoples,” she said.
The name change joins Sheinbaum’s previous efforts to reframe historical narratives around Indigenous communities. For instance, in 2021, while serving as Mayor of Mexico City, Sheinbaum championed renaming Puente de Alvarado Avenue, after the Spanish conquistador Pedro de Alvarado, to Calzada México-Tenochtitlan.
The name change announcement came during Sheinbaum’s work tour of Puebla, where she also signed a decree establishing the second Sunday of August each year as National Reforestation Day in a move to turn the restoration of forests, mountains, rivers and other natural areas into a permanent, nationwide activity.
En el Día Internacional de los Pueblos Indígenas, propusimos, por justicia, cambiar el nombre de Paso de Cortés por Paso de los Pueblos Indígenas, origen y fuente de nuestros valores.
Hoy también realizamos la Jornada Nacional de Reforestación. Recordamos que honrar nuestras… pic.twitter.com/ZjUrsbhGJ4
— Claudia Sheinbaum Pardo (@Claudiashein) August 9, 2026
Agriculture and Rural Development Minister Columba López Gutiérrez said that the initiative saw the participation of 241,000 people on Sunday alone, who planted over six million trees and 1.7 million seeds across 32,000 hectares throughout the country.
Moreover, 500,000 seeds were dispersed via drones in hard-to-reach areas. These drones were also exhibited during Sunday’s presidential event.
Overall, Sheinbaum’s goal is to plant 1.5 billion plants, trees and seeds during the four years remaining in her administration.
Goals by Alfaro secured Mexico's victory over the USA. (Edgar Negrete/Cuartoscuro)
Mexico’s Under-20 men’s team topped off a sparkling tournament run by defeating Team USA 2-0 on Sunday in front of 50,000 fans at Mexico City’s Estadio Banorte (formerly Azteca) to claim the Concacaf championship in that category.
Defender Cristóbal Alfaro scored twice off set pieces — once in each half — as El Tri collected its 15th U-20 confederation title, by far the most among the 41 Concacaf nations. The U.S. is second with three U-20 trophies.
“It’s a dream come true,” Alfaro told ESPN. “Although I scored, this is a collective achievement. I thank the fans for their unconditional support. It was an incredible experience to win at home.”
El Tri finished the tournament with a perfect 6-0-0 record, scoring 17 goals and allowing just 1.
Mexico opened the scoring in minute 28 off a free kick from the left flank about 35 meters from goal.
By reaching — and winning — Sunday’s final, Mexico’s U-20 team has proven itself to be a strong Olympic contender. (Edgar Negrete/Cuartoscuro)
Samir Inda lofted a cross to the back post where captain Carlos Hernández rose above his marker and headed it over the pack to the opposite side where Alfaro powered it into a scrum at the goal line.
The ball deflected off the leg and arm of U.S. midfielder Colin Guske, but appeared to cross the line and Mexico led 1-0. Had the goal not been awarded, a penalty would have been called on Guske.
Just before halftime, the Stars and Stripes were reduced to 10 men thanks to a questionable red card issued by Dominican referee Adonis Carrasco.
U.S. defender Chris Applewhite coughed up the ball to Hugo Camberos and tackled him as the Mexico winger raced toward the box. Carrasco whistled the foul and showed a yellow card to Applewhite, but a summons from the Video Assistant Referee convinced the ref to upgrade the call to an ejection.
El Tri controlled possession thereafter, finally doubling the lead in minute 69 off a corner kick.
🚨🤯 DOBLETE DE CRISTOBAL ALFARO Y MEXICO GANA ANTE ESTADOS UNIDOS EN LA FINAL DEL CAMPEONATO SUB 20 DE CONCACAF!
U.S. goalie Kayne Rizanovich failed to control Inda’s cross, the ball slipping through his mitts and Alfaro reacted first, nodding the loose ball into the net, taking a boot to the face for his troubles.
Mexico was rarely troubled from then on (the U.S. did not manage a shot on goal all game), killing off the final 20+ minutes before hoisting the trophy in front of the raucous Estadio Banorte crowd.
The four semifinalists — El Tri, Team USA, Costa Rica and Canada — will represent Concacaf in the 2027 U-20 World Cup to be held in Azerbaijan and Uzbekistan.
"We don't yet have more information, but we're very attentive to our ambassador [in Colombia] and to the [Colombian] ambassador here," President Sheinbaum said on Monday morning. (Juan Carlos Ramos/Presidencia)
Sheinbaum’s mañanera in 60 seconds
🇨🇴Sheinbaum pledges support for Colombia: After a deadly 7.4-magnitude earthquake struck Colombia’s Chocó department, Sheinbaum said Mexico would provide “all the support” Colombia needs. She noted that her government was in close contact with Mexico’s ambassador in Colombia and Colombia’s ambassador here.
📱Social media regulation “up for debate”: Sheinbaum reiterated that platforms like Facebook, Instagram and TikTok need regulation, but stressed the government won’t decide unilaterally — the issue is being discussed nationally with teachers and parents ahead of the formulation of a bill.
🏫Education minister flags “digital immediacy”: Mario Delgado said teachers face major challenges holding students’ attention amid cell phone use, describing children’s desire for instant information without research as a growing classroom hurdle.
🏔️Sheinbaum proposes renaming Paso de Cortés: Marking International Day of the World’s Indigenous Peoples, Sheinbaum proposed renaming the mountain pass used by Hernán Cortés to “Paso de los Pueblos Indígenas,” saying place names reflect “who we venerate and who we don’t.”
Why today’s mañanera matters
At today’s mañanera, President Claudia Sheinbaum acknowledged that a powerful earthquake had struck Colombia on Monday morning. The quake, whose epicenter was in a department on Colombia’s Pacific coast, toppled buildings, including in the city of Cali, and claimed at least 47 lives, according to preliminary reports.
🔴 Manizales es una de las ciudades más afectadas por el sismo de magnitud 7.4 que sacudió este lunes a Colombia
On Monday morning, Sheinbaum said that Mexico would provide all the support Colombia needs.
Today’s mañanera was also significant as the president once again spoke about the need for children’s use of social media to be regulated.
It is not yet known whether the government will seek to ban young people under a certain age from using social media as part of a legislative proposal that could be submitted to Congress later this year. However, Education Minister Mario Delgado, who was at today’s mañanera, said earlier this year that the Mexican government was exploring the possibility of imposing age restrictions. The government is currently facilitating a national debate on social media and artificial intelligence ahead of the formulation of a draft law.
Sheinbaum pledges to support Colombia after powerful earthquake
“We don’t yet have more information, but we’re very attentive to our ambassador [in Colombia] and to the [Colombian] ambassador here,” she said.
“Of course, [we’ll provide] all the support that the people of Colombia need,” Sheinbaum said.
In a message posted to social media shortly after 8 a.m. Monday, the Mexican Ministry of Foreign Affairs (SRE) said it was monitoring the situation in Colombia.
La @SRE_mx da seguimiento al sismo registrado esta mañana en Colombia.
México expresa su solidaridad con el pueblo y el gobierno colombiano ante este lamentable suceso. Se ha establecido contacto con la Cancillería de Colombia, a quien se le reiteró la disposición de México de…
“Mexico expresses its solidarity with the people and government of Colombia in the face of this unfortunate event. Contact has been established with the Colombian Foreign Ministry, to whom Mexico reiterated its willingness to provide all the support required. To date, there is no knowledge of any Mexican nationals affected,” the SRE said.
Sheinbaum reiterates her support for regulation of social media
Amid the ongoing debate about children’s use of social media, Sheinbaum reiterated her view that “there has to be regulation of platforms,” such as Facebook, Instagram and TikTok.
“From my point of view, that’s what we have to discuss as a society,” she said, adding that the use of artificial intelligence platforms and tools should be part of the discussion.
“It’s not a situation in which the government decides what the regulation. Rather, we’re putting the issue up for debate with teachers, parents and everyone,” Sheinbaum said.
“It’s something that we face [together] that can have very serious impacts on the education of our children and on society in general,” she said.
Earlier in the press conference, Education Minister Delgado said that teachers face “very significant challenges” regarding students’ use of devices inside and outside the classroom.
“When a school, a classroom, has cell phones, or even when they don’t, the challenge is to hold children’s attention,” he said.
Delgado said that teachers also face “the challenge of digital immediacy.”
“Now children want everything very quickly, automatically, without researching, without spending time looking for the information,” he said.
Education Minister Delgado explained that after engaging in a digital distraction, it can take a student up to 20 minutes to refocus on a learning task. (Juan Carlos Ramos/Presidencia)
Sheinbaum proposes renaming Paso de Cortés as Pass of the Indigenous People
A reporter asked the president about her participation on Sunday in the 2026 National Reforestation Day, an initiative announced last week.
In the state of Puebla on Sunday, Sheinbaum “led the commencement of the 2026 National Reforestation Day, which aims to plant 6.6 million trees and plants and one million seeds across 32,184 hectares in the country’s 32 entities,” according to a statement issued by the president’s office.
Sheinbaum said that her participation in the initiative was “very nice,” and noted that “there is a video there” — i.e, on her social media accounts.
She also noted that Sunday was International Day of the World’s Indigenous Peoples and thus she “took the opportunity” to propose that the Paso de Cortés — a mountain pass between the Popocatépetl and Iztaccíhuatl volcanoes through which Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés and his men traveled in 1519 — be renamed Paso de los Pueblos Indígenas, or Pass of the Indigenous People.
“Some people got upset, some media commentators as well. But the names of streets, of monuments, the references we have speak about society,” Sheinbaum said.
“What is our reference? Long before Cortés — … who Carlos V … recognized as a savage for bringing about the massacres he caused — … Indigenous people obviously traveled through there,” she said.
Sheinbaum said that names of places reflect “who we venerate and who we don’t.”
“So [I made] a proposal. … It has to do with a vision and he or she who gets upset venerates Hernán Cortés, right?” she said.
You may be surprised to learn that even if you're not a citizen, you're protected by Mexico's renter-friendly laws — whether or not you signed a contract. (Moises Pablo Nava/Cuartoscuro)
The text came on a Sunday afternoon. Roma Norte’s Puebla Street was quiet but for the jacarandas rustling in the Mexico City breeze.
“We’re writing to let you know that, unfortunately, we won’t be able to extend your stay beyond the end of this month,” my landlord wrote. “With exactly two weeks left until what would have been the next payment cycle, we believe this gives you enough time to make the necessary arrangements.”
No rental contract? Mexican law still applies
In places like Mexico City, especially in neighborhoods popular with foreigners, rental transactions are often an informal matter, with a few texts exchanged, a bank transfer and no contract. (Camila Ayala Benabib/Cuartoscuro)
Two weeks. After months of paying rent on time, befriending neighbors and even investing in home improvements, I was being told to pack up and leave — with no explanation beyond “personal reasons” as “we have another person coming for a prolonged stay.”
Never mind that, a month earlier, I had extended my lease over WhatsApp — to my landlord’s apparent delight. Now those texts were being reframed.
“This has been an informal agreement from the beginning,” my landlord replied when I questioned my eviction.
Yet, this informality is how expat housing often works here: WhatsApp groups, a few texts, a bank transfer. No contract. Where I saw flexibility, my landlord saw a loophole; he thought he had total control.
Across Mexico, foreigners renting apartments face a troubling pattern: Landlords who believe that expats — often on tourist visas and unfamiliar with local laws — will simply comply when pushed out. Deposits vanish. Verbal agreements get “reinterpreted.”
But here is what I learned: Mexican tenant protections are remarkably strong, they apply to foreigners regardless of immigration status and many landlords do not actually know the law.
The other side of gentrification
Puebla 261, in the foreground, seen from the writer’s old terrace. (Logan J. Gardener)
By the time I moved in on Puebla Street, my block — unbeknownst to me — had become infamous. In February 2024, police and National Guard officers raided Puebla 261 — the building across from my terrace — evicting by force families who had lived there for decades.
Puebla Street, reporters at the online publication The Dial wrote, had become “a microcosm of the changing city center” — a place where trendy cafes replace family-owned torta shops, and digital nomads displace longtime residents.
Yet, here I was, a dollar-spending gringo, new to the neighborhood and facing an illegal eviction of my own.
The irony of gentrification is that it exploits everyone it touches. Profit-maximizing landlords push out locals to make room for foreigners — then push out the foreigners too, betting that they cannot fight back.
But in Mexico City, all tenants — be they citizens or tourists — have rights. The question is whether you know how to use them.
Your guide to rental disputes
Step 1: Ask why, document everything, and keep it in writing
When the text arrived, my first instinct was to ask for an explanation. The answer — “personal reasons” and wanting to accommodate another guest — was not a legal basis for ending a tenancy.
It pays to document everything with screenshots and downloads, especially in a transaction where little to nothing has been put down on paper. (RDNE/Pexels)
I took a screenshot — immediately — in case he deleted the message. WhatsApp allows “deleting for everyone” for two days after a message is sent. I then backed up our conversation — which contained crucial evidence of my rental agreement — by exporting the chat onto my computer. Lastly, I planned to keep all communications going forward in writing only to limit any risk of confusion.
Step 2: Research your rights
I spent the next few days digging through Mexico City’s civil code and housing law. What I found surprised me: Verbal and digital rental agreements are fully valid under Mexican law when there is mutual consent and continued payment.
Messages confirming the rental agreement, my bank transfers and even my landlord’s casual “Amazing! Received. Very glad to hear you’ve liked your stay so far,” when I asked to extend my lease, all constituted a binding agreement under Mexican law.
Here’s how I established my legal claim, in translated legal-speak:
First, I established that Article 4 of the Mexican Constitution guarantees the right to housing for all residents of Mexico, regardless of immigration status. Being on a tourist visa does not strip you of tenant protections.
Mexico City rentals are in such constant demand that some landlords may want to evict a renter to charge someone else more. (Moisés Pablo Nava/Cuartoscuro)
I then ensured that my rental contract is enforceable without signed paperwork by Articles 1796, 1803, 2398, and 2448-F of the Mexico City Civil Code. Note: State civil codes closely follow Mexico’s Federal Civil Code; however, the relevant state civil code will govern your rental situation.
Verbal agreements
Verbal agreements — though often opaque — are enshrined in Mexican law; written agreements without signatures are equally valid (and always clearer). By law, proof of payment and payment acceptance solidify any verbal agreement.
Next, I checked that tacit acceptance of my lease extension was legally binding — meaning that silence constituted agreement since my landlord did not object to my extension request within a reasonable amount of time — as per Article 2414 of the Civil Code.
I then ensured that, if for some reason the extension request was not valid, Article 2448-C of the Civil Code establishes that residential leases have a default minimum term of one year — meaning that if no rental term is clearly agreed upon, but rent is paid and accepted, the lease defaults to a one-year term.
Lastly, Articles 2431 and 2448-C of the Civil Code, as well as Article 60 of the Mexico City Law of Human Rights, make clear that any eviction requires a court order following due process; forcing a tenant out without that process is illegal. Unlawful evictions by force should be reported to the police immediately — landlords can be subject to criminal prosecution.
Though minimum notice periods vary, 30 days is typical for open-ended leases — for example, month-to-month rentals, as long as rent is paid monthly — as established by Article 2478 of the Civil Code; otherwise, the lease ends on the initially agreed-upon date.
Government entities in every major Mexican city, such as Mexico City’s Procuraduría Social (PROSOC), exist to help renters understand their rights. (PROSOC/X)
Finally, I will note that I am not a lawyer and, for legal purposes, this is not legal advice – just research.
Step 3: Contact PROSOC
PROSOC (the Procuraduría Social del Distrito Federal) is Mexico City’s tenant advocacy office. I called, explained my situation to their legal expert and received a free consultation that confirmed my reading of the law. No, I did not end up filing a formal case, but the consultation gave me confidence. More importantly, mentioning to my landlord that I engaged PROSOC lawyers proved decisive later on.
Step 4: Send the message
Armed with legal citations and PROSOC’s backing, I sent my landlords a detailed response laying out my rights, citing specific laws and provisions and noting that “personal reasons” are not legal grounds for eviction. I made clear that I had engaged with PROSOC and that escalating this case would be easy.
My landlord’s response came within minutes: “We are willing to respect your right to remain in the room until your lease ends.”
The twist is, however, that my landlord then tried to impose more rules on my stay.
Any unilateral changes in rental agreements are invalid and unenforceable. As such, these new rules my landlord tried to impose were illegal. Moreover, Article 2411 of the Civil Code expressly states that tenants have the right to use and enjoy the rented property — language that is interpreted broadly by the law. So, any unilateral rule changes imposed after the lease is signed are reportable to authorities and require due process for enforcement.
Step 5: Escalate, if needed.
Many landlords don’t pay the required taxes on rental income to Mexico’s tax collection agency, best known as the SAT. This can work in your favor. (Graciela López/Cuartoscuro)
Luckily for me, my threatening legal text scared off my landlord. However, I was prepared for multiple escalatory actions, if needed.
First: The easy escalation would be to ask my landlord for facturas (official tax invoices) for all my rent payments, then double-check that any facturas provided were valid by using the SAT’s free website.
The SAT is Mexico’s federal tax collection agency, like the IRS in the United States. If my landlord pushed back—or could not produce the facturas—this would imply that he was likely not reporting his rental income to SAT, Mexico’s tax agency, required by law.
Not reporting this sort of income is a common flouting of the law in Mexico because, until recently, it has been easy to get away with. But SAT is now actively seeking to uncover under-the-table landlords, especially in tourist zones.
Not reporting rental income can result in years of back payments and fines. Threatening to go to the SAT or PROFECO — Mexico’s consumer protection agency — in the absence of validated facturas often results in rapid landlord acquiescence.
Second: Get PROSOC further involved by opening a case and beginning any preliminary legal proceedings. While the case could end up in court, the likelier outcome is that PROSOC would have mediated with my landlord and we would have come to some sort of agreement.
A note on deposits
If you want to get your rental deposit back, it’s important to document everything. (Cuartoscuro)
The most common complaint I hear from foreigners is about not getting their deposit back. While this did not happen to me, the strategies to combat this are similar: Document everything in writing, photograph the apartment at move-in and move-out, and — critically — request facturas for your rent payments.
The pressure point is the same as the escalation tactics I advised above: Landlords who refuse to provide facturas may be evading taxes. You are entitled to request these invoices even as a tourist (using the generic RFC code). If they give you trouble, mentioning that you will report them to SAT or PROFECO tends to clarify the situation quickly. Landlords who are not paying taxes on rental income are often more willing to negotiate when the alternative is government scrutiny.
What landlords don’t know
Surprisingly, my landlord was not malicious. He was just wrong and genuinely seemed to believe that an “informal arrangement” meant he could end the tenancy whenever he wanted. What he did not know was that verbal agreements are binding, that the lack of a written contract is legally the landlord’s problem (not the tenant’s) or that Mexico City law requires proper notice periods for ending a rental agreement.
This is the pattern I’ve heard from other expats: landlords who change rules mid-lease, who demand extra payments, who withhold deposits because they think they’re entitled to or simply assume you will not fight back. They are not all bad actors. Many simply don’t know the law — and assume you don’t either.
The bottom line
If you are a foreigner renting in Mexico City and your landlord tries to push you out, remember: The law is on your side. Verbal agreements are binding. Proper notice is required. Eviction without a court order is illegal. And your rights do not disappear because you are a foreigner on a tourist visa.
Document everything. Know the relevant articles of law. Contact PROSOC, who can help you understand if you indeed have a case against your landlord. And do not assume that just because you are a guest in this beautiful country — for however short or long a time that may be — that you do not have the right to a home here.
Logan J Gardner is a Wharton-educated content strategist, writer, photographer and filmmaker based in Mexico City. Sign up to receive his newsletter, Half-Baked, peruse his blog or follow him on Instagram for more.
Life on the beach in Playa del Carmen draws an eclectic cast of characters, as Ethan Jacobs notes in his latest postcard from Mexico. (Rajiv Perera/Unsplash)
PLAYA DEL CARMEN, Quintana Roo, May 25, 2022 — Over coffee with a friend I’ll call Luisa, I’m given the rundown on some system we’re all complicit in. That there are dark forces in the world, shadowy figures that want us to be unwell, eat foods that make us sick, use devices that facilitate the tracking of our movements and submit to vaccinations that were hastily manufactured.
She offers no specifics but adds ominously that when the time comes, their identities will be revealed and their comeuppance will be swift.
There are dark forces at work in the world, although it’s sometimes hard to credit them when you’re spending life on a beach in Playa del Carmen. (Alisa Matthews/Unsplash)
“I’m manifesting it,” she says.
Somewhere off 10th Avenue in Playa del Carmen
Then, just as quickly, she shifts, raving about some cleansing ceremony she went to the previous weekend — cacao, Reiki, Rainbow Rhythms, I can’t keep track.
It’s a little past 6 p.m. on a Wednesday somewhere off 10th Avenue in Playa del Carmen, and had I known our catch-up session would go like this, I’d have proposed a happy hour instead. You can never quite tell what mood someone will be in at this time of day, though I’m sure Luisa could recommend a retreat in Tulum that, for a nominal fee, could empower me to do so with no more than someone’s birth information. A cheaper option can be found on nearby blocks.
A golden hour tug-of-war
On Playa’s busiest walking streets, you sense the tug-of-war of golden hour most acutely. On some stretches, house music throbs lazily from restaurants as the sun sinks beyond the shore and people make their way home from the beach. But elsewhere, an undercurrent of reggaetón simmers, gradually coming to a boil as bars brace for nighttime business.
Beach cruisers glide along bike lanes, and taxi drivers idle along Avenida Benito Juárez, impassive and happy to loiter, yet willing to take you where you want to go as long as it’s really close or really far, never anything in between.
A slog of traffic
Their colectivo-driving counterparts enjoy no such luxury. Along 30th Avenue, their vans stop incessantly, either at designated locations or at the requests of passengers. Each time they lurch forward, a plume of black smog seeps out, lingering momentarily before the sea breeze folds the smell of engine exhaust into the city’s default aroma of brine and sargassum.
Playa del Carmen’s Portal Maya sculpture represents the city’s embrace of both mundane and magical occurrences. (Sergio Sala/Unsplash)
On single-lane streets, their progress grinds to a crawl, each van inching its way forward, hoping for an opening amid dense pedestrian traffic. Rarely, they’ll honk, startling meandering tourists whose faces are either red from embarrassment or too much sun. If all goes well, a path will open, allowing the van to slip through. Yet strangely, at this hour, the road traffic still flows more smoothly than foot traffic on the congested Quinta Avenida.
From Avenida Fundadores to Avenida Constituyentes, every block feels like a slog. The tourists are leisurely, stopping here and there to gander at gewgaws from storefronts whose gaudy signs advertise cheap tequila, handicrafts, flavored rum and “cloting.” Along the way, they’ll be intercepted intermittently by salespeople calling out, “Hola, bienvenidos” to Mexican-looking passersby and “Shopping, guys?” to gringos. A few others suggest services I won’t mention.
‘An evening stroll becomes a sport’
Farther north, stocky, straight-haired women will woo them with offers of “massage information,” an invitation that usually goes unanswered. Yet, as I was reminded when I opted to take this scenic route to my coffee date, even the slightest pause from a pedestrian entertaining this option can jam everything up.
An evening stroll becomes a sport, slithering through a sea of semi-static bodies. Older men in white linen shirts and pants, with acoustic guitars slung over their shoulders, looking for someone to serenade. Mariachis in cream-colored jackets, red bow ties and black chaps lined with gold buttons that run the length of the leg. A handful of Hasidic Jews waving yellow flags with Hebrew lettering, blasting some house rendition of Marc Anthony’s “Vivir Mi Vida.” Slender Mexican women with hair wrapped in tightly braided buns dressed like catrinas. And for some reason, a woman using an unoccupied stroller to wheel her husband’s now-empty case of beer around.
What’s a local?
The thing is, in the midst of this morass, I’ve lost the ability to discern who’s who. The term “local” becomes increasingly ill-defined because the only real common denominator is transience: wellness babes and crypto bros brushing shoulders with tourists and Mexican transplants here for high season. Elderly couples escaping the snow back home for a few months, then gone again. But while they’re here, they all become something else. A self-contained version that affirms their unique worldview without ever needing to apologize to woke folk or curmudgeonly conservatives back home. They become Luisa.
There’s a mystique around the Riviera Maya that attracts a certain kind of person. To simply label them “snowbirds” or “digital nomads” wouldn’t do them justice. “Entrepreneurs” abound. Life coaches, spiritual healers, Reiki therapists, ayahuasca shamans. Their qualifications aren’t always clear or existent, but what do I know?
‘Free to be who you want’
Leisurely shopping is a time-honored pastime in Playa del Carmen, with vendors often offering bilingual sales pitches. (Yuta Koike/Unsplash)
Sometimes, you hear them lean on words synonymous with metamorphosis in casual conversation, especially when promoting their services. I have to think it’s the cyclical nature of this place that lures them. If you know that people are only going to be here for so long, yourself included, the person you were before doesn’t matter — you’re free to be who you want, who you wish you were.
With enough practice, you may even become that person, or at least convince everyone else that you have. Maybe that’s what Luisa means when she says she’s manifesting.
Ethan Jacobs is a freelance writer and writing coach based in Playa del Carmen. He has written extensively in narrative and short fiction formats, and his work has received recognition both domestically and internationally in microfiction, short fiction and narrative essay formats.
TULUM, Mexico — An exhaustive, algorithmically driven study conducted by an overseas travel insurance broker has officially designated Tulum as “the happiest place on Earth,” determining that visitors to the coastal town experience absolute human fulfillment — at least according to the keywords used in their online reviews.
Researchers at Dublin-based firm JustGoNow arrived at the score of 100 out of 100 after scanning more than 1 million online ratings for high-frequency terms like “euphoria,” “bliss” and “transformative,” while successfully filtering out secondary search terms such as “pothole,” “taxi union” and “sargassum.”
“Transformative” bike rides are one of the reasons Tulum has become associated with happiness, along with “blissful” beach days and “joyous” cenote swims. (Alex Azabache/Unsplash)
“The mathematical evidence is indisputable,” said Arthur Higgins, chief data analyst for JustGoNow, who conducted the global happiness assessment from an office park outside Dublin. “When a reviewer writes, ‘Swimming in an underground cenote makes me feel completely aligned with the universe,’ our software registers that as pure, unadulterated joy. We then tally these ‘happiness’ indicators compared to other destinations to come up with accurate rankings requiring no actual travel on our part.”
The study praised Tulum’s unique ecosystem, noting that tourists achieved peak tranquility through a balanced routine of eco-friendly boutique stays, jungle wellness retreats and online posts expressing how satisfied they are with the experience so far.
According to local tourism officials, the perfect score highlights a growing international demand for second-hand travel experiences recorded on high-end smartphones and immediately uploaded to social media.
“We are deeply honored to be declared the global capital of happiness by a company that sells emergency flight cancellation policies,” said Roberto Morales, a regional hospitality coordinator. “It proves that true inner peace is achievable for anyone willing to pay a US $200 day-bed minimum and disregard the sound of heavy construction equipment coming from behind the palm trees.”
The index placed Tulum ahead of other top-ranked joy centers, including Las Vegas and New York — two locations long celebrated by travel experts as global sanctuaries of unhurried, serene reflection.
This week, we take a look at a state that played host to several of Mexico's most important historic moments: Puebla.
Puebla is for you if you like: Colonial history, sweeping mountains, racing while holding tortillas
Mexico’s fourth-largest city, Puebla, has more going on beneath its colonial facades than most visitors realize. Its historic center, a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1987, holds 2,619 monuments — more than any other city in the Americas — plus the tallest cathedral bell towers in the country. The city’s well-preserved architecture has also made it a go-to filming location, standing in for 18th- and 19th-century Mexico and Spain in productions including “Frida” and “Man on Fire.”
All of this is before you get out into the wider state, where sweeping mountain ranges, active volcanoes and enormous cacti dot the landscape. The state is one of the last stops in southern Mexico before the jungle claims the country. We’ve collected some of our best pieces from the last few years, to help you experience one of Mexico’s most genuine — and stunning — regions.
Puebla’s capital — also, conveniently, called Puebla — is filled with the sort of magic that only Mexico’s oldest cities can really offer. Many of the nation’s most definining moments and people have filled these streets (and the tunnels underneath them).
Puebla’s identity is tied up in origin stories, although some more verifiable than others. Its early name, Puebla de los Ángeles, traces to a 1531 account of a bishop’s vision guiding Spanish settlers to the site. Its signature dish, mole poblano, is said to have been improvised by nuns at the Convent of Santa Rosa in 1680 when an archbishop arrived unannounced and the kitchen had little to offer but chilis, chocolate, nuts and stale bread. And on Nov. 18, 1910, the Serdán family home became the site of the first armed clash of the Mexican Revolution, two days before Francisco Madero formally launched the uprising; the bullet-scarred house is now a museum.
While its days of defining Mexico’s future are probably behind it, Puebla remains a fascinating destination for anyone who wants to understand how the modern country truly came to be.
While Oaxaca, Sonora and Yucatán often vie for the title of Mexico’s gastronomic heart, it’s really Puebla that deserves the credit for much of the nation’s great cuisine.
Puebla’s culinary reputation rests on three dishes with stories as rich as their flavors. Mole poblano, which rumour claims is a single flash of nun-driven inspiration, remains the most famous of Mexico’s 300-plus regional moles. Chiles en nogada, with its patriotic red, white and green color scheme, traces back to a 1821 feast honoring independence figure Agustín de Iturbide. Tacos árabes, born from Middle Eastern shawarma techniques brought by 1930s immigrants, is the progenitor of the iconic pastor.
The state is quite a bit more than just colonial architecture and great food, though. Just outside Tehuacán, Puebla’s second-largest city, sits a landscape that looks like it belongs on another planet.
The Tehuacán-Cuicatlán Biosphere sprawls across 145,255 hectares of protected desert, home to more than 2,500 species of cacti — tall and candle-thin, round as beach balls, or shaped like something out of a sci-fi set. A day inside it turns into a full sensory tour of the region: 2,000-year-old salt flats still worked by hand at Zapotitlán Salinas, a lunch built around cactus flowers and hibiscus water (with insects on offer for the adventurous) and a pottery workshop in Los Reyes Metzontla where clay deposits — leftovers from an ancient sea — get shaped into earthy, hand-thrown crockery.
In a small Puebla town two hours north of the city, an entire industry is built on Christmas spirit. Chignahuapan produces an estimated 70 million hand-blown ornaments a year, and inside the country’s largest esfera factory, the process starts with nothing more than a glowing-hot glass tube and a steady breath. From there, silver coatings, hand-mixed paint and careful dabs of glitter transform each piece into something ready for the tree — some ornaments even take a year to master.
Step inside the traditional workshop where trompos, Nativity scenes and piñata-shaped baubles come to life, one painstaking layer at a time.
In the days before Day of the Dead, the Puebla town of Huaquechula holds a tradition unlike anywhere else: the trueque, an ancient barter market where locals swap goods — peanuts, sugar cane, homemade bread — for everything needed to build their altars. Families trade for marigolds and cockscomb flowers, while vendors carry stacks of pan de muerto in its many forms, from bone-topped loaves to body-shaped muertitos dusted in red sugar.
Beyond the market, the town runs on hospitality: cooks prepare meals for hundreds of festival participants around the clock, and visitors are waved into strangers’ homes to see their altars up close. Huaquechula offers a rare, local variation on Mexico’s most iconic holiday — equal parts market day, family reunion and open-door celebration of the dead.
Our glimpse into Puebla ends on a unique note. The annual Carrera de la Tortilla, a 5-km race through Tehuacán that retraces the daily walk local women make to market, tortillas and all. Most runners came from Santa María Coapan, the self-proclaimed “Tortilla Capital” of Mexico, who run decked out in traditional Mixtec dress.
Part sporting event, part tribute to the women who keep the tradition alive, it’s one of Puebla’s more charming annual customs.
Puebla, Where Magic Lives in Every Journey / Sub English
How to get there
When it comes to arriving in Puebla, it really only makes sense to arrive from Mexico City.
By air
Puebla International Airport: 45 minutes from the city center, the airport offers connections to almost every major Mexican destination, plus Newark, Houston and Los Angeles.
Mexico City Benito Juarez (AICM): The big one. About 2 hours (traffic permitting) from central Puebal. Available from everywhere in Mexico, and almost every major global airport besides.
Felipe Ángeles International Airport (AIFA): The eternally troubled AIFA is finally beginning to come into it’s own. 2.5 hours away, it offers similar domestic connectivity to AICM and flights in from Colombia, Venezuela, the Dominican Republic and Cuba.
By road
MexicoCity: 135km (83 miles) somewhere between 90 minutes and 3 hours, depending on when you travel. National holidays often lead to enormous tailbacks, but tackling the drive early on a weekday often means you can get there in less than two hours.
One of the massive absorption towers destined for GPO-Proman’s ammonia plant sits beside the road at the entrance to the blockade in Topolobampo. For opponents, the towering equipment has become a stark symbol of the scale of the project they are fighting. (Tracy L. Barnett)
TOPOLOBAMPO, Mexico — When federal officials finally unveiled a plan last week to address the 12-year conflict over a nearly completed ammonia plant beside Ohuira Bay, Indigenous Yoreme activist, rural sociologist and law student Melina Maldonado did not feel relieved.
She felt crushed.
Melina Maldonado Sandoval, rural sociologist and law student, comes from a long line of Yoreme fisherfolk. (Tracy L. Barnett)
After six days of roundtable discussions, she had begun to feel hopeful; it seemed they were really taking in new information and seeing a different side to the debate. The proposal led her to believe otherwise.
“They didn’t listen to our reasons for saying no,” Maldonado said. “They listened for a way to make it a yes.”
The federal proposal promises environmental safeguards, community monitoring and public investment around the German-backed GPO-Proman plant in northern Sinaloa state. But it leaves the project’s operation largely intact — and that has exposed the fundamental divide at the heart of the conflict: The government is offering ways to make the plant safer, while the communities closest to the bay are still adamant that it should not operate at all.
Those communities must now take the proposal into their own assemblies and, using their traditional Indigenous consensus-based governance model, decide whether to accept it. Until then, the blockade outside the gate to the plant — now in its 72nd day — remains in place.
A proposal, not an agreement
The plan emerged after six days of talks involving federal and state officials, representatives of GPO-Proman and members of the ¡Aquí No! (Not Here!) collective, which is led by Yoreme-Mayo communities surrounding Ohuira Bay and has become the principal force opposing the plant.
Federal officials presented the proposal as a path toward resolving a conflict that has become one of Mexico’s longest-running and most contentious environmental battles. But movement leaders emphasized that no agreement has been reached and that they do not have the authority to accept the plan on behalf of their communities.
Car art has become part of the visual culture of the ¡Aquí No! movement, developing during the repeated vehicle caravans that have accompanied marches between Los Mochis and Topolobampo—a practical response to the long distances and Sinaloa’s extreme heat. The painted windows read, “For our bay” and “For them, we fight,” alongside the movement’s slogan, “The people say: Not here!” (Tracy L. Barnett)
The proposal must first be explained and discussed in assemblies in Ohuira, Paredones, Lázaro Cárdenas and Topolobampo. These communities surround the Santa María-Topolobampo-Ohuira lagoon system, a Ramsar wetland of international importance, and would bear the plant’s most direct impacts.
Community response to the proposal
“We have to hold our own internal assemblies,” said Claudia Susana Quintero, a Yoreme educator, resident of the village of Ohuira and one of the leaders of ¡Aquí No! “We have to explain it to the community, analyze it and decide how we are going to reach consensus.”
The representatives’ role is to take the proposal home and return with a decision reached collectively — not to accept it on their communities’ behalf.
The US $1.6 billion plant, designed to produce 2,200 metric tons (2,425 tons) of ammonia a day, is reportedly about 88% complete. Opposition began soon after the project was approved in 2014 and has centered on threats to fishing, the lagoon ecosystem, industrial safety and what Yoreme communities describe as a deeply flawed Indigenous consultation.
The current protest began in late May, when residents tried to block the movement of massive absorption towers from the port. Protesters later shifted their encampment to the plant entrance, where they have remained through extreme heat and intense storms.
A project the government considers strategic
President Claudia Sheinbaum has defended the plant as important to Mexico’s goal of achieving greater food sovereignty. Ammonia is a principal raw material in nitrogen fertilizers, and Sheinbaum has said Mexico currently imports nearly all the fertilizer it uses, apart from production by state-owned company Fertinal.
Melina Maldonado Sandoval, left, and Claudia Susana Quintero wear the red headscarves traditionally worn by Yoreme men and women. Along with Felipe Montaño, they have helped lead the ¡Aquí No! movement through years of intimidation and threats against their lives. (Tracy L. Barnett)
She has also emphasized that the plant is nearly finished, and that it underwent an environmental review and received majority support in the government-led Indigenous consultation — a process the four communities closest to Ohuira Bay continue to dispute.
The Economy Ministry says the GPO plant could reduce Mexico’s fertilizer imports by as much as 70% and keep approximately US $500 million now spent on imports within the Mexican economy.
For the federal government, the plant is part of a broader strategy to reduce dependence on imported agricultural inputs. Opponents say that national goal does not justify concentrating the risks in their communities.
What the government put on the table
The proposal leaves the ammonia plant in place, but would significantly alter how it operates. Among its most significant provisions, the plan calls for GPO-Proman to stop drawing water directly from Ohuira Bay and instead use water discharged through a nearby Federal Electricity Commission canal.
Opponents have long warned that the plant’s authorized system would pull large volumes of seawater from the lagoon and return warmer, saltier water, potentially disrupting fish and shrimp nurseries. Under the new plan, wastewater would instead be carried offshore rather than released back into the lagoon system.
The plan also proposes a new environmental baseline study, continuous water-quality monitoring and an oversight body made up of community members, scientists, government officials and company representatives. Additional measures would address sewage and agricultural runoff already entering the bay, as well as emergency preparedness and civil protection.
Mexican and Yoreme flags, along with banners bearing the movement’s slogan, “¡Aquí No!” (“Not Here!”), define the protest encampment outside the GPO-Proman ammonia plant in Topolobampo. (Tracy L. Barnett)
Other commitments focus on longstanding community needs, including housing, education, fishing infrastructure and assistance in certifying local shrimp and crab products so they can command higher prices.
Economic development plans in Topolobampo
Federal commissioner Mauricio Rodríguez Alonso, who has led the talks, stressed at a Tuesday news conference that the plan grew out of dialogue among the communities, GPO-Proman and government agencies. He said the company had agreed in principle to its commitments.
Ulises Pinzón, Topolobampo’s municipal representative, said the package could bring meaningful benefits. He was particularly encouraged by provisions giving communities a voice over future petrochemical development.
That is especially significant in Topolobampo, which the federal government has designated as an economic development hub where chemical and petrochemical industries are among the priority sectors. The plan would also keep proposed methanol and urea plants and a port terminal on hold unless the communities agree to them.
But Pinzón noted that many of the promises involve responsibilities the government should already be fulfilling, rather than concessions from GPO-Proman itself.
“On paper, honestly, I see an attractive proposal,” he said. “The question is how we can ensure that these commitments are actually fulfilled.”
Felipe Montaño, traditional governor of the Yoreme village of Ohuira, left, works with Ohuira resident and Yoreme language teacher Carlos Valenzuela to prepare a ceremonial structure for the Virgen del Carmen celebration, the community’s largest annual ceremony, which drew about 500 people. (Tracy L. Barnett)
That distinction — between a promising announcement and a binding, enforceable agreement — is now one of the central questions confronting the communities.
The risk that remains
For opponents of the plant, the most troubling unresolved issue is the danger of a catastrophic ammonia release. The government proposal does include new safeguards: an emergency-response center, joint industrial-risk monitoring, water curtains around pipelines and storage tanks, and a regional civil-protection plan — something Rodríguez acknowledged does not currently exist.
But movement leaders say emergency planning and mitigation cannot eliminate the underlying danger documented in the company’s own risk assessment.
According to that assessment, a five-minute leak could create a high-impact zone extending roughly 15 kilometers (9 miles) from the plant, encompassing Topolobampo and nearby Yoreme communities. A broader impact zone could extend as far as 45 kilometers (28 miles), reaching toward Los Mochis and other surrounding communities.
“That risk is still there, and it is still not clear to us,” Pinzón said. “The first people affected would be those of us who live in Topolobampo.”
Loss of life is not remediable
Company project documents show the plant is designed to store up to 75,000 metric tons (82,670 tons) of anhydrous ammonia near populated communities. Quintero said the proposal may reduce certain environmental impacts, but it cannot eliminate the consequences of a major industrial accident.
Carlos Valenzuela, left, sits with women who help sustain the blockade outside the GPO-Proman ammonia plant. Women have been central to daily life at the encampment, preparing three meals a day for protesters and visitors; some of its most steadfast residents are elder women who have remained through weeks of heat, rain and storms. (Tracy L. Barnett)
“You can remediate many things,” she said. “What you cannot remediate is the loss of life.”
For Maldonado, this is where the government’s proposal misses the point. Her own community, the Yoreme fishing village of Lázaro Cárdenas, looks across the bay at the plant every day.
The communities’ opposition has never been limited to the plant’s effects on water quality or fisheries, she said. It is rooted in the belief that a facility carrying such risks should not operate near people’s homes. She pointed to the company’s brightly colored risk map.
“This is the risk zone the company itself identified,” she said. “And now they are minimizing it or pushing it into the background.”
A decision made under threat
The communities will not consider the proposal in a political vacuum. Several of the movement’s most visible leaders have received threats related to their opposition to the plant and now live under government protection measures.
Four of ¡Aquí No!’s most visible leaders, including Maldonado, Quintero and Ohuira traditional governor Felipe Montaño, have been enrolled in Mexico’s federal protection mechanism for human rights defenders and journalists. Protection measures can include bulletproof vests and government-issued panic buttons intended to summon help in an emergency.
But Quintero said such equipment offers little comfort as the communities prepare to deliver an answer that government officials and project supporters may not want to hear.
“I know my community is going to say no,” she said. “But now the government is putting us in the line of fire against the rest of society that says yes.”
She worries that the plan could recast defenders as obstacles to jobs and economic development, increasing the pressure on people who have already spent years facing intimidation for speaking publicly.
“A bulletproof vest and a panic button are not going to help me much if someone decides to act tomorrow,” Quintero said.
The experience, she added, has gradually consumed the rest of their identities.
“We are no longer mothers, daughters or sisters,” she said. “We are nothing more than defenders.”
From shock to strategy
Pelicans often circle local fisherfolk in Ohuira Bay, watching for discarded bycatch. Their abundance is one small sign of the bay’s extraordinary biodiversity and productivity as a nursery and feeding ground for marine life. These birds got lucky, swooping in for an easy meal beside the fishing boat. (Tracy L. Barnett)
By Thursday evening, the mood inside the movement had begun to shift.
Enrique Ayala, a longtime activist staying at the blockade, said movement leaders spent six hours Thursday with scientists and lawyers analyzing the proposal and plotting their next steps.
“The government proposal is one-sided,” Ayala said. “They are pushing ahead with their project.”
But after years of being ignored, Ayala sees the government’s willingness to sit down with them as progress.
“We have to get up, keep going and make proposals of our own,” he said. “After 12 years when they paid us no attention, now we have them sitting at the table.”
And despite the government’s apparent intention to move the plant toward operation, Ayala said the movement has not abandoned its original goal.
“We still believe we can get the company to leave,” he said. “Sometimes you have to dream.”
Tracy L. Barnett is a Guadalajara-based freelance writer and the founder of The Esperanza Project.
Lucifer is not a pejorative nickname in Mexico; assuming your given name is Lucía Fernanda, that is. (Los Muertos Crew/Pexels)
The goal of our “From the Archive” series is to revisit popular stories that capture the unique history and culture of life in Mexico. This Sarah DeVries article — originally published in February 2025 — is a perfect example, offering humorous insight into the fine art of giving nicknames in Mexico.
If you’ve spent much time among Mexicans, you’ve probably realized something. They love to give each other — and consistently use — nicknames.
I’m not just talking about diminutives of names, though these are also popular. Guillermo, for example, is Memo for short, the same way Bob is a diminutive of Robert.
How nicknames work in Mexico
Many Mexican nicknames are simply shortened versions of given names, although nicknames based on physical or personality traits are also common. (Mexico News Daily)
There’s Alex for both Alejandro and Alejandra, Chio for Rocío, Lalo for Eduardo, Lola for Dolores and Chava for Salvador. There’s also short versions of double names, like Mafer for María Fernanda, Majo for María José and my favorite, Lucifer for Lucía Fernanda, a name most people do not give their kids. And of course, the classic “-ito” and “-ita” can go at the end of many names. So sometimes people call me Sarita, and my partner Juanito. Careful with using these, though, as they’re often infantilizing, and as you very likely know, some people do not like being infantilized.
So you get the idea: most names here have a shortened version. But Mexicans don’t stop there!
My nicknames
I’ll admit that this makes me very happy. As a kid, I never had a nickname, and I was jealous that I didn’t. Thinking back, it’s probably better; it wouldn’t have necessarily been a nice one, as I was both a crybaby and a showoff. Come to think of it, I might still be both of those things. Thankfully, I don’t currently have any nicknames related to either of those characteristics. Yet.
I do have some other fun ones though. “Sirena polar” — polar mermaid — might be the most creative, given to me by a friend of my ex-husband who was amazed that I insisted on swimming in ice-cold water after a hike. For reasons unknown to me, this same friend also often called me “cara de nutria”: otter face. Maybe because otters swim in cold water, too? Another friend, not quite as creative, simply calls me “mi gringa favorita.” I’d be more flattered if I weren’t one of the only gringos she knows.
The futility of protesting against your nickname
Many nicknames are purposefully funny, and sometimes shocking. And from what I can tell, people don’t seem to be insulted by them. Sometimes I wonder if they actually are bothered but know that trying to fight back against the Mexican urge to make fun of everything is futile.
So when you get a name like “El Frijol” because you’re very dark-skinned, you just go along with it, I guess?
Should you be offended if an ex-spouse is nicknamed “El bello camello,” or “the beautiful camel”? It’s best not to take these nicknames too seriously. (Hongbin/Unsplash)
In the particular case of another acquaintance, the guy was tall and good-looking. He was married, but seemed to have no shortage of women interested in him, or of self-esteem.
I always wanted to ask him if the nickname bothered him, but we were never close, so the opportunity was lost. But I did get to ask my ex-husband, who his friends had nicknamed “el bello camello” — the beautiful camel — supposedly because they thought he looked Arab.
The new generation of nicknames
Could this be one of those cultural things that’s dying out with more socially conscious and sensitive younger generations? I don’t think it is, as my daughter, age 11, has several nicknames herself. At school, her friends sometimes call her Plana, which means flat. It’s a synonym of her name, Lisa, which means “smooth” in Spanish and is often featured on hair conditioner bottles. And in her Scout troop, every kid has a nickname, each one the name of a bird. She’ll also respond to “Mona,” which is kind of nice. “Mona” is more of a Spanish-from-Spain word for “pretty,” but in this case, of course it’s about the Mona Lisa.
So perhaps the tradition will continue?
Don’t take yourself too seriously
After several years of watching the issue of how people address them being taken very, very seriously north of Mexico, I’ll admit that I find the ability to joke around with silly nicknames refreshing. Like all humor, though,it’s very culturally specific; there are plenty of unspoken rules regarding when it’s funny and good-humored and when it’s not.
It’s not that I want the freedom to be gratuitously mean, which is something very different. But I do think that it’s always worth it to not take ourselves so seriously all the time, something most of us can agree makes us generally unlikable.
Even if you don’t love your Mexican nickname, the good news is that it means you’re part of a group. (Rodrigo Morelos Oseguera/Pexels)
So if you get a nickname here, try to go with it. Because people don’t get nicknames when they’re not being included in a group. Even if it’s not one you’d have chosen for yourself, it’s a signal that you are part of a community; people know you.
They might be making fun, but it’s affectionate fun. Try to take it that way.
