Mexico: Enjoy a butterfly bonanza

Standing in a hazy swirl of smoke by her wooden hut, Maria Domitila pauses from arranging her kaleidoscopically bright rugs and looks pensive. "Eu-ro-pa?" she says. "Europa. No." Suddenly a wide smile spreads across her sun-weathered face. "Ah! Uruapan, si." For residents of the dusty huts of Sierra Chincua, in the central highlands of Mexico, Europe is clearly a million miles away and it matters little that Maria decides I hail from the nearby city of Uruapan as opposed to a faraway continent. Her comments reflect the isolation of our location. We are in a remote corner of the mother of Mexico's mountain range, the Sierra Madre, in order to witness the annual migration of hundreds of millions of flame-coloured monarch butterflies.

Their odyssey has baffled and entranced spectators for decades. As many as 250 million butterflies travel from North America every year to spend their winter months in central Mexico's temperate, fir-topped mountains. Those that arrive in November are generally the great-grandchildren of those that left the previous March, given that it takes several generations of butterflies to complete the 4,000km commute.

Locals have long hailed the creatures as souls of the dead returning to the sacred mountains, their arrival serendipitously coinciding with the most famous of national festivals, Los Dias de Muertos (The Days of the Dead, on 1 and 2 November). Scientists are more pragmatic, attributing the annual pilgrimage to the less romantic concept of magnetic fields. Either way, the sight of millions of what are arguably the most attractive members of the insect world has been widely deemed a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

After rising early at a rural hacienda in the heart of the state of Michoacan, west of Mexico City, we drive past rippling lakes and sweeping mountains towards the easternmost edge of the region. Upon arrival at Sierra Chincua, one of two butterfly sanctuaries open to the public, a gaggle of sparkly-eyed young children clutching boxes of sweets and butterfly-adorned trinkets run up to greet us, crying, "mariposa, mariposa". There is not a tourism booth, information kiosk or ticket office in sight. Instead, a row of ramshackle single-storey wooden huts, their bright paint faded and peeling, with plumes of smoke rising from chimneys, paves the way to the start of the butterfly hike.

Alfredo Valdez Cruz gravely steps forward to greet us. With a gravitas as discernible as the bright green waistcoat stretched across his rotund torso, Alfredo holds the respected status of former head of the local ejido - the communal agricultural cooperatives that cover the region. After donning the blue ER-style mouth masks for protection against the dust on the route, we follow Cruz as he begins huffing his way up the steep path on foot, shunning the easier option of taking a horse along the 2.5km track. Our early morning ascent is sharp, steep and - perched at least 3,500m above sea level - quite literally breathtaking. In between puffing inelegantly amid the plumes of dust raised by the stream of passing horses, we listen to Cruz.

The indigenous communities, which are as remote as they are poor, share a complex relationship with the butterflies. Locals may well have known about the butterflies for centuries, but their existence was only shared with the outside world in 1975, when the zoologist Fred Urquhart ended his 37-year search for the winter resting place of the elusive monarchs when he stumbled across their Mexican hideaway.

While conservationists have successfully battled to preserve the area, which is now a government-protected reserve, locals have found it harder to adapt. Farmers have traditionally cleared areas of woodland for farming, and illegal logging has affected 60 per cent of the area, prompting high penalties, guard patrols and frayed tempers all round.

Pausing to inspect the pointed leaves of an oyamel fir tree - and catch his breath - Cruz says: "Things have changed for people in the last 20 years since the area was discovered by the biologist. We have had to change our ways. Five months ago, 250 guards were sent to the area to patrol for illegal logging. Unfortunately, this is the only solution to protect our future."

We reach a clearing that gives way to a sweeping vista of jagged mountains, their silhouettes layered in a pale pink haze. A flame-coloured flicker catches my eye and vanishes through the trees. We are approaching the Holy Grail of our journey. Another pair of orange butterflies dances across the path, guiding us towards the nucleo of the butterfly gathering. Standing rooted to the ground, surrounded by millions of butterflies is an overwhelming sensation. Although they each weigh less than a gram, it becomes clear how their collective weight can snap branches of trees.

Orange flickers fill the sky as far as the eye can see. Tree-trunks are cloaked in layered clusters of what appear to be dense orange flowers. When the sun emerges from behind the clouds, thousands more butterflies spring to life, joining the whirling blizzard of amber confetti. The only sound, aside from the gasps of tourists and the click of their cameras, is an otherworldly, gentle pulse, the collective beat of the wings of millions of butterflies.

Eventually, reluctantly, we return to reality. Cruz, who had sat quietly amid the butterflies with a serene expression on his face, puts us to shame by marching down on foot while we opt to descend on horseback. Back at the huts, the hospitality of the residents is heart-warming. We eat piles of blue maize tortillas cooked on a makeshift stove along with fried cactus-flower nopalitos (pads), and cecina (smoked meat) washed down with pink bottles of flavoured soda called "Boing" and thick coffee. Maria Domitila smilingly sells us her hand-made rugs. Children sell postcards and trinkets adorned with butterflies. It is clear that, despite the tensions in the area, communities are starting to adapt to a presence that is guaranteed to pull in more and more visitors every year.

The butterflies, which visit between November and March, are only one of a number of attractions in the state of Michoacan, however. Amid its strikingly rugged terrain lie hidden colonial cities, lush avocado plantations and a string of colourful villages. Evidence of the Purepecha culture among the indigenous communities of Michoacan, descendants of the pre-Hispanic Tarascos, is highly visible throughout the state, in language and costume to cuisine and artefacts.

The village of Tlalpujahua has a tiny Christmas-bauble factory, Guanajo thrives on its wooden artefacts, Patzcuaro is famed for its lake and Day of the Dead celebrations, and the rolling beaches of the Pacific are only hours away via modern highways that slice through the mountainous terrain.

We had awoken that morning at the Hacienda Cantalagua, a beautiful, sprawling 18th-century estate in Contepec. Before the sun broke over the jagged horizon, we were riding horses across the expansive flatlands of the estate, as Juan, a dark-haired, moustachioed stable-master filled the chill morning air with his mournful, melodic songs about the difficult nature of women.

Post-butterflies, we later drive, exhausted, dusty but elated to Morelia, the state capital of Michoacan, 315km west of Mexico City. One of the first cities of Neuva España, Morelia is the prototype of the colonial dream town. Small but perfectly formed and charmingly preserved, it is filled with low-rise colonial buildings, baroque façades and pink-hued walls. There is a sensation of being in Europe as opposed to Mexico - aside from the tell-tale grid-mapped streets. Cafés of students sipping coffee fill the colonnades lining the streets of the historic centre, which is home to the grand cathedral, and a Unesco World Heritage Site.

We head towards Villa Montana, a beautiful antique-filled hotel that sprawls over plant- and sculpture-covered terraced gardens. Perched on the hilltops overlooking Morelia, almost every room provides postcard-perfect vistas of the city.

Hours later, we sit on the rooftop terrace of a bar in town sipping fine tequila as we await Morelia's Saturday night highlight. Every week at 8pm, the grandiose cathedral, the heart and soul of the city, becomes even more magnetic as its lights are turned on.

The event attracts hordes of over-excited children clutching balloons and dribbling ice-cream alongside their well-dressed and chattering parents. It is one of the social highlights of daily life in Morelia.

After a suspenseful delay (or perhaps just normal life in this part of Mexico), a grand overture of classical music fills the night sky before dramatic lighting slowly inches its way up the majestic edifice, culminating in a noisy firework display.

As I survey the pomp and ceremony around me, I recall the butterfly show. It becomes clear that the most fancy of human fanfares may never be able to compete with nature, but they can at least give it a good shot.

TRAVELLER'S GUIDE

GETTING THERE

Danielle Demetriou travelled to Mexico City with British Airways (0870 850 9850; www.ba.com), which flies from Heathrow four times a week. Flights are also available on a variety of US airlines via the United States, as well as European carriers such as Iberia and Air France/KLM via their hub cities. Connecting flights to Morelia take 45 minutes with Mexicana (020-8492 0000; www.mexicana.com), leaving six times a day, with returns starting at around £100. Alternatively, buses leave Mexico City hourly and take around four hours, from 195 Pesos (£10) each way.

BUTTERFLY VISITING

Between November and March, Sierra Chincua and San Rosario, both in eastern Michoacan near Angangueo, are the only two "Santuario Mariposa Monarca" open to the public. Drive directly to the sites or travel by bus to Angungueo and complete the journey by hiring a camioneta (truck) for up to 12 people. For information about the butterflies and the local communities, visit www.michoacanmonarchs.org.

STAYING THERE

Villa Montana, Morelia (00 52 443 314 0179; www.villamontana.com.mx). Doubles start at US$212 (£118), room only. Hacienda Cantalagua, Contepec, Michoacan (00 52 447 478 5353; www.haciendacantalagua.com). Doubles start at £99, including breakfast.

MORE INFORMATION

Mexico Tourism Board (00 800 1111 2266; www.visitmexico.com); Michoacan tourism (00 52 443 312 8081; www.turismo.michoacan.gob.mx); Latin American Travel Assn (020-8715 2913; www.lata.org).