Post 16 - Five months on the road
- Efrat abramson
- Feb 14
- 6 min read
Feb. 13, 2026
Finca Castel de Oro
Next to the warm turquoise stream from the previous post, in a hot, dry valley in the state of Hidalgo, we found a small family farm that lived at a different pace. It was less than an hour's drive, which was just right for us because neither of us was yet healthy enough. But of course, it's impossible without the tricks of Google Maps, which took us down a road we couldn't take. We turned around and found an alternative route.
The bear still carries a few branches on her from these futile attempts, but just so you know, as far as the Map Lady is concerned, this is a trespassing path for all intents and purposes.
Gregory, the owner of the farm, happily hosted us and gave us a fascinating tour of his farm, where large solar installations are scattered, generating electricity for home use and for the production of special spirits in the family brewery. We learned about another type of agave cactus that lives for 15 years, then its characteristic flower emerges, the wind scatters the seeds, and the cactus dies. Not before it leaves behind offspring that must be nurtured - that is, moved to a sheltered place, and later to a spacious place that will allow them to grow. This specific agave is called the "cow of Mexico" by Mexicans, because they milk its liquid from the center of the plant twice a day, in the morning and evening. This is the agave juice. In the past, they would milk it and sell the drink in nearby villages, since it can only be drunk fresh. And they would make beer from it.
Above the brewery, the agave in the yard, Gregory holding the gourd - with which the agave juice is extracted or milked from the cactus, and the brewery's alcoholic product.
Today, the farm does not milk the cactus; instead, it purchases the liquid and uses it to make alcoholic beverages, including spirits, honey, and various concoctions.
We camp in the yard, with the chickens, the sheep, the dogs, the cacti. It's quiet and pleasant here, and we can rest after a day in the hot springs down by the stream.
Gregory has an interesting story of his own. He came here in the late 1990s as a volunteer from Germany. In Germany, military service can be converted into voluntary service, and he chose to come to this remote place and join the small church here in the village. Here, he learned that in all of vast, sunny Mexico, there was no use of solar energy at all. And he began developing various devices to absorb sunlight and generate electricity.
He developed huge mirrors that focus the sun's rays onto a single point, producing intense heat.
It uses energy in two ways: heating and boiling water to produce the alcoholic beverage, and storing electricity.
He married a Mexican woman whose family had lived here for many years, and he followed in her father's footsteps: he milked the agave morning and evening for decades and developed his own unique drinks. Thus, Gregory combines the two worlds: a solar system and local agriculture that preserve centuries-old traditions and knowledge passed down through the family.
The next morning, we bid him farewell warmly and received a glass of fresh, sage-flavored agave juice before we left.
The yard is full of giant solar panels, agave cacti, the brewery, the family home, and we're on the sidelines.
Crazy heat is produced by this spear; it holds a cactus leaf that burns in a second
Pictures before farewell
From the farm, we travel not far and arrive at the outskirts of Mexico City, to an area of ancient pyramids called...
Teotihuacan
This is an enormous ancient city dating roughly from around 100 BCE to 550 CE. More than 100,000 inhabitants lived here. To this day, it is not known with certainty who built it. It was not a Maya or Aztec site - the Aztecs arrived much later and gave the place its name. We enter on foot and walk along.
We enter on foot and walk along a broad, long avenue called the Avenue of the Dead (Avenida de los Muertos), which connects the complexes and served as a public-spiritual space.
On one side of the avenue stands the Pyramid of the Sun - one of the largest pyramids in the world (by volume!), aligned on a precise astronomical axis. In the past, it was attributed ritual-cosmic significance, perhaps connected to solar cycles and to birth, death, and renewal. It is not entirely known.
On the other side stands the Pyramid of the Moon — smaller and facing a nearby mountain. It is difficult not to see the overall design that connects nature, the sky, the earth, and the human being.
The city is planned on a largely modern scale – neighborhoods, murals, drainage system, and social divisions. You can walk around and imagine the hustle and bustle of the city.
We walk around quietly, feeling the strong energy flowing here.
From the pyramid site, we continue to a city called Cholula
The city is close to Puebla, which we actually wanted to visit, but there was no overnight parking lot there that suited us. So we parked here, and in the end, we didn't even get to Puebla. Cholula turned out to be a very, very cute city. We found a spacious parking lot with full hookups. The guard at the gate manages the parking lot, offers us laundry services, which we happily accept, and we discover that it is actually a small residential neighborhood with apartments and a trailer parking lot. We find a nice corner and park for a few nights until we completely recover from the flu. We take our bikes for a ride around town, discovering that it is connected by neat bike paths and that signs ask drivers to give bikes the right of way. What a joy. We discover colorful streets, street art, markets, small shops, and restaurants. It is less touristy than Puebla, so we settled there for the next few days.
Street stalls with all kinds of chips, excellent hibiscus juice, the colorful sign posted in the center of every city, a great market, we found Guy a cafe so he could stock up on beans, and yes, there are places in Mexico where they separate trash.
We arrived at a magnificent church perched on a hill above the city and discovered that it was built, of course, by the Spanish, without their knowing they had built it on the ruins of a very ancient pyramid.
It turns out this is the largest pyramid in the world by volume (even larger than the Great Pyramid of Giza). Today, it looks like a green hill with a church on top.
The church on the pyramid is called:
Nuestra Señora de los Remedios
And we climb up to it. I'm at the last bit of strength because I'm still recovering from the flu, but it's worth making it to the top for a stunning view of the city and the volcanoes.
We meet on the roads and in the campgrounds with other nomads like us. Mostly from Canada, Germany, and the US. On the last evening, a young French-Canadian couple arrived, with a trailer just like ours. They parked next to us, and pretty quickly our conversation flowed as we compared and exchanged experiences about life in their red bear and our white one.
We've been on the road for five months
Sometimes I find it hard to believe how much time has passed since we closed the door behind us at 24 Eshkolot Street and set out into the unknown. The landscapes change -
vast deserts, green mountains, colorful villages, pulsating cities, and each day brings another layer of culture, flavors, and stories. We meet people from all over the world, exchange smiles, languages, travel stories, and dreams. And amidst all of this are the challenges: mishaps, fatigue, illness, moments of uncertainty that remind us we are truly living the road, not just photographing it, and that it passes through a third-world country. Every time we hit the road here, it brings with it surprises and challenges. We are in the midst of an internal journey, both of us, a journey that allows us to shed the unnecessary, even in terms of equipment. Again and again, we realize how little equipment is needed to get by in life here. But not just on a physical level; this journey allows us to be more precise with ourselves and our priorities. Time and nomadism clearly show us what is important in this life, and what is less so.
Our partnership is strengthened in these spaces, within this unconventional routine, as we choose again and again to be a team that collaborates. We have a division of roles, and within it, there is a dance of balance, of space, of choosing anew every single day.
Five months of moving in and out, and I feel like we're only now really starting to live this nomadic life with all that it brings.
The food is so photogenic, I have to share.
On Guy's plate on the right, you can see chopped, cooked cactus leaves, which are great. It's interesting that in Israel, they don't use them for cooking, and there is so much of it.
I'm adding a link to our route if you would like to see it on a map:
As always, we are happy to hear from you,
comments, clarifications, corrections, happy to receive gifts from you,
We miss and love you very much
Guy, Efrat, and the bear
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