Laguna de la María
"The water was the color of dark jade and completely still — not a ripple — and I sat there for two hours without once checking my phone."
I came up from Comala on a road that stopped being paved about three kilometers before the lake did. The rental car — a small Nissan borrowed from a friend’s cousin in Colima city — scraped its undercarriage on a hidden rock, then again on the way back. I considered turning around both times. Both times I kept going. It was a clear Tuesday in November, maybe eleven in the morning, and when the forest thinned and the water appeared through the pines below me, I stopped in the middle of the road and got out without quite deciding to.
A Lake That Does Not Ask Anything of You
Laguna de la María sits inside the remains of an ancient volcanic crater, which accounts for its near-perfect oval shape and the depth you can sense even from the bank. The water runs dark green — closer to jade, really — from the tannins of the surrounding pine-oak forest, and on a still morning it mirrors the treeline back so cleanly that the shoreline seems to hover. One of the weekend fishermen I exchanged a few words with told me it drops to about fifteen meters in the center. He said this with the mild indifference of a man who cares about what is on the end of his line, not about crater geology, and I respected that.
What strikes you most is the quality of the silence. Not the absence of sound — there are birds, wind, the occasional plunk of a fishing weight hitting the surface — but the absence of noise, the low ambient pressure that cities and highways generate without you ever noticing until it is gone. I sat on a flat rock near the southern edge for the better part of two hours. I did not once take out my phone. I am not entirely sure I have managed that since sometime in 2019.
Comala Before and After
Nobody arrives at Laguna de la María without passing through Comala, and Comala earns at least two hours on its own terms. The town sits eight kilometers north of Colima city, famous for its all-white buildings and for being among the places said to have shaped Juan Rulfo’s Pedro Páramo. The portales along the central plaza are lined with cantinas operating on a logic I find quietly civilizing: you order a drink, and the kitchen sends out food unbidden. Not a token nibble — real food. Tostadas de tinga, flautas with crema and salsa verde, small clay bowls of pozole blanco with oregano and lime on the side.
I stopped at El Portal de las Candelas, which three separate people had recommended to me independently, which is usually a reliable signal. I ordered a michelada and received, across the next hour, four rounds of botanas I had not requested and could not stop eating. I drove the unpaved road to the lake afterward slightly uncertain whether I had eaten too much to manage it safely. I managed it fine.
What to Bring, What to Leave Behind
The lake has no infrastructure. I want to be precise: no toilets, no vendors, no shade structures, no signal. Bring water, bring food, bring something to sit on. The ground near the bank is soft pine duff and forgiving enough, but a small blanket makes the difference between comfortable and very comfortable. The fishermen who appear on weekends arrive self-sufficient and largely leave you alone, which is exactly what everyone wants.
The road requires some clearance — a standard sedan will manage it in dry conditions if you drive carefully and accept a few scrapes; after rain it becomes a different problem entirely. November through March is the realistic window, and the forest in November, cycling through its muted yellows and dry-season tawny, was worth the timing specifically.
Getting There
Comala is twenty minutes north of Colima city by car; colectivos leave regularly from the Colima bus terminal. From Comala, the lake is roughly eight kilometers by unpaved track — allow thirty minutes each way and bring a vehicle with decent clearance. There is no public transport to the lake itself. The dry season, November through April, is the only sensible window. Go on a weekday if you want the place to yourself.