After five weeks, our time in San Miguel de Allende came to an end. The bags were packed, the fridge was emptied of anything that could possibly be eaten on the journey (a surprisingly important travel ritual), and we made our way to the bus station for the trip back to Mexico City.

San Miguel had been a pleasant stop. The house was comfortable, the town was undeniably pretty, and there was plenty to like about the place. The colourful colonial buildings, cobbled streets and beautifully restored facades make it easy to see why so many people fall in love with San Miguel. It has charm, history and that picture-perfect colonial atmosphere that attracts visitors from all over the world.

But… and there is always a but.

Somewhere along the way San Miguel has become a little too polished for our taste. When a Starbucks occupies a prime position on the main square, proudly sitting amongst centuries-old buildings like it has always belonged there, it tells you something about the direction a place has taken.

Now, there is nothing particularly wrong with Starbucks (apart from the fact that Mexico has some excellent coffee and far more interesting little cafés where you can drink it), and plenty of travellers love the comfort of something familiar. After all, when you are tired, jet-lagged and desperate for caffeine, a predictable coffee can feel like a small miracle.

But for us, part of the joy of travel is discovering somewhere different, not finding the same familiar brands and experiences waiting for us on the other side of the world. We like places where you turn down a random side street and stumble across a tiny café, where the menu is only in Spanish, where ordering breakfast involves a little guesswork, and where the best meal of the day comes from somewhere you almost walked straight past.

San Miguel was lovely, but it felt a little too curated, a little too designed around visitors rather than shaped by everyday local life. Perhaps that is exactly what many people are looking for — a beautiful, comfortable place with all the conveniences of home — but for us, it lacked a little of the rough edge and unpredictability that makes travelling so rewarding.

Our journey back to Mexico City was thankfully a much more civilised affair than our previous bus adventure. We travelled on one of Mexico’s rather impressive VIP buses, complete with enormous reclining seats, plenty of legroom and enough space to make you wonder why airlines still insist on treating passengers like badly packed luggage.

After our last long-distance bus experience, we were more than happy to have a quiet, uneventful journey. A month or so earlier, travelling from San Cristóbal de las Casas, we had made the questionable decision to ignore one of the golden rules of Mexican travel — never catch an overnight local bus. Naturally, being experienced travellers who should know better, we promptly ignored that advice and climbed aboard.

It turned into one of those travel stories that is funny afterwards but considerably less amusing while it is happening. We were stopped so many times by border police and immigration officials that I eventually lost count. Each time there was a serious discussion, a careful inspection of our passports and an explanation that never quite made sense. Eventually, after enough confusion and crossed conversations, we found ourselves paying a “fine” for reasons that remained unclear. Was it legitimate? Was it not? We still have absolutely no idea. Welcome to overland travel in Mexico.

(Read all about that adventure in our San Cristóbal to Mexico City bus story.)

Thankfully, this route was a completely different experience. It is well travelled by tourists, expats and locals, and the VIP buses are generally left alone by the immigration police. We could sit back, enjoy the scenery and relax rather than wondering if our next stop would involve another unexpected conversation with someone carrying a clipboard.

Sometimes travel teaches you valuable lessons. Sometimes it teaches you the same lesson twice. Apparently, ours was: perhaps listen when people tell you not to take the overnight local bus in Mexico.

Back in Mexico City, we headed straight to the Hotel Parque México Boutique, the same quirky little hotel where we had stayed when we first arrived in Mexico four months earlier. It felt a bit like returning to an old friend — slightly eccentric, comfortable and in a fantastic location in Condesa.

We liked this hotel from the moment we arrived. It has character, which is becoming increasingly rare in a world of identical hotels designed by someone who clearly believes grey walls and identical furniture equal sophistication. The rooms are comfortable, the building has a certain charm, and stepping outside puts you right in the middle of one of Mexico City’s best neighbourhoods.

With only a couple of nights left, we kept things simple. We ate some excellent food, enjoyed a few well-earned margaritas, completed the dreaded COVID test required for entry into Spain (because apparently travelling in those days needed one more bureaucratic hurdle), and prepared for the final leg of the journey.

Then, bags once again packed, we headed to the airport and boarded our flight to Madrid.

Leaving Mexico was bittersweet. Four months had taken us through deserts, mountains, colonial towns, chaotic bus journeys and more than a few moments where we wondered exactly what we had got ourselves into. It had been frustrating at times, fascinating almost always, and unforgettable throughout.

As always happens when a journey ends, there was a mixture of sadness and excitement — sadness to be leaving, excitement for what came next.

Because for travellers like us, the question is never really “are we going somewhere next?”