Letting Go in Valle de Bravo, Mexico

The rooftops of Valle and San Francisco de Asis Church seen from La Casa Rodavento, a boutique hotel that was once a grand single-family home.
Camera RollChloe Scheffe

Valle de Bravo is a gem of a town. Though largely unknown to the world, it’s an important player within Mexico, frequented and beloved by those in the know. It’s located on the shores of Lake Avandaro, in the hills of central Mexico, about two hours west of Mexico City (apparently, Valle de Bravo is to Mexico City what the Hamptons are to NYC).

This is a Mexico I’ve never seen before. Valle de Bravo—locals simply call it “Valle”—was founded in the 16th century and looks it. The cobblestone streets and plazas of Valle have the same patented European charm as Positano or Lisbon but with a specific blend of warmth and vitality that is unique to Mexico. 

I’m cautious by nature, but in Valle I find myself changing. I’m warming up, instinctively matching the openness I sense all around me. To start, I tackle two things everybody loves that I have never been able to even like: mezcal and ceviche. (I know, I know.) And it turns out that, well, I am capable of loving them, too. Smoky liquor? It works. Raw fish? Delicious! Valle converts me—this is no small thing. 

I also try ziplining through a forest of fresh-smelling pines (a gaggle of adventurous preschoolers, ahead of me on the course, put me to shame with their confidence and grace). I learn how to shoot a bow and arrow (I make up for my lack of zipline prowess by having decent—even good!—aim). And I attempt, shyly, to put my lapsed Spanish to use. 

But Valle gets gem status not because it changed my mind about mezcal or challenged me to take on the outdoors, nor because of its architectural charm, natural beauty, or incredible produce (the avocadoes!). Though those are all great, it’s the people. They’re authentic small-town folks—all heart.

A traditional breakfast of chilaquiles: tortillas, salsa, chicken, crema, avocado, and pickled red onion, a twist by the chef at Nuestro, an open-air restaurant offering contemporary Mexican fare.
A monstera plant drying in the sun. During the rainy season, which lasts from June to September, it storms every afternoon.
A street near the town center. Looming clouds mean the daily downpour isn’t far off.
Grilled corn, a street food staple, is available at stands all over Valle. Day or night, it comes piping hot, topped with crema and served with lime.
Valle de Bravo is a colonial town, established in 1530—all of its historic buildings are protected from redevelopment by the government, as are the cobblestone streets. The same can’t be said for the cars: I spot 70s and 80s-era Volkswagen Beetles absolutely everywhere I go.
A platter of miniature appetizers from Nuestro, including an excellent ceviche, top center.
Near the entrance of El Pino, a well-kept park that is home to a locally revered 600-year-old ahuehuete tree.
Lake Avandaro, complete with private boats and a floating restaurant. Valle de Bravo is a well-known parasailing destination—nobody is out today because of the weather.
Stalls along the shore tempt potential swimmers.
The plant life here is a dynamic mix of tropical (palms) and evergreen (pines).
Open doors at the Temple of Santa María Ahuacatlán.
An abundance of fresh flowers at a roadside stand.
Another Beetle; another rainstorm.
Sunshine triumphs on my last day in Valle. This is the view from my room at Hotel Rodavento, a sprawling haven located on one of the hills surrounding Lake Avandaro.