Volcanic Day Trips: Exploring Mexico City's Majestic Mountain Surroundings

My first volcanic conquest was Iztaccíhuatl (or Izta for those of us who butcher the pronunciation). At 5,230 meters, this dormant volcano isn't just a mountain – it's a legend shaped like a sleeping woman, complete with head, chest, knees, and feet visible in its silhouette.

The La Joya trailhead starts at a lung-squeezing 3,900 meters, where the air is already thin enough to make you question your life choices. I joined a group of international trekkers I'd met at my hostel, and we set off at dawn with our local guide, Miguel.

"Tranquilo, tranquilo," Miguel kept saying as we huffed our way up. Easy for him to say – the man practically floated up the mountain while I was breathing like I'd just run a marathon in the first kilometer.

The trail gets progressively steeper and rockier as you climb. By the time we reached the 'knees' at 4,600 meters, every step felt like a negotiation with gravity. But mate, the views! Popocatépetl (Izta's volatile volcanic partner) puffed away in the distance, sending occasional smoke signals into the crystal blue autumn sky.

My trekking poles were absolute lifesavers on the descent – trust me, your knees will thank you for the investment on these steep volcanic slopes.

After the quad-burning challenge of Izta, I was keen for something equally spectacular but slightly less brutal on the legs. Enter Nevado de Toluca, a 4,680-meter extinct volcano with a crater you can actually drive into. Yeah, you read that right – drive INTO a volcano. How sick is that?

The local name is Xinantécatl (another pronunciation challenge), and it's about a 2-hour drive southwest of Mexico City. I split the cost of a rental car with two Aussie backpackers I'd met, and we hit the road early to beat the crowds.

The paved road winds up to about 4,200 meters, where it transitions to a bumpy dirt track leading into the crater. Our little economy rental car struggled, but we nursed it up slowly. If you're doing this yourself, I'd recommend a 4WD rental if your budget allows.

The crater houses two stunning lakes – the Sun Lake (Laguna del Sol) and the Moon Lake (Laguna de la Luna). The water is this surreal turquoise color that looks Photoshopped but is 100% natural. The lakes sit at around 4,200 meters, and you can hike the entire crater rim if you're feeling energetic.

We tackled the climb to the summit (Pico del Águila), which involves some light scrambling but rewards you with views that'll make your Instagram followers sick with envy. The fall colors were in full display during my October visit, with the alpine grasses turned golden against the blue lakes.

This is where my mirrorless camera earned its keep – the lighting conditions change rapidly as clouds race across the crater, and being able to quickly adjust settings helped capture those fleeting perfect moments.

Before tackling the big boys, I spent a day on La Malinche (4,461m) – a perfect training ground if you're new to high-altitude hiking. Named after the indigenous translator who worked with Hernán Cortés (complicated historical figure alert), this dormant volcano offers a beautiful forest approach that gradually gives way to alpine terrain.

I stayed overnight at the Centro Vacacional IMSS Malintzi, a rustic mountain lodge at the trailhead. At about 500 pesos a night, it's a bargain and lets you start hiking at dawn. The rooms are basic but clean, with hot showers that feel heavenly after a day on the mountain.

The trail begins in pine forest that reminded me of New Mexico's mountains – a little taste of home in central Mexico. As you climb, the trees thin out and eventually give way to the volcanic sand and scree that makes every step feel like two steps back. It's a proper leg burner.

What made La Malinche special was the locals I met along the trail. Unlike the more famous volcanoes that attract international climbers, La Malinche is a favorite weekend outing for Mexican families and athletes training for bigger mountains. I shared trail mix with a group of university students from Puebla who were shocked to meet an Australian-based gringo who spoke decent Spanish (gracias, four semesters of university Spanish!).

The final push to the summit involves some fun scrambling over volcanic rock. Nothing technical, but enough to get the heart racing. The summit itself is surprisingly small – just a rocky outcrop with prayer flags and offerings left by local climbers.

My hiking daypack was the perfect size for this one-day adventure, with enough room for extra layers, 3 liters of water, and plenty of snacks without feeling bulky on the steeper sections.

Let's get one thing straight – you can't actually climb Popo these days. This 5,426-meter active volcano has been closed to hikers since 2000 due to its frequent tantrums. But that doesn't mean you can't get up close and personal with this temperamental giant.

I based myself in the colonial town of Cholula for two nights – home to the largest pyramid base in the world (hidden under what looks like a natural hill with a church on top) and spectacular views of Popocatépetl on clear mornings.

The best viewing spot is from the neighboring volcano Iztaccíhuatl, but for those wanting something less strenuous, I found a gem of a viewpoint near the town of Santiago Xalitzintla. This small farming community sits in the shadow of Popo and has an observation area where you can watch the volcano puff away while learning about evacuation procedures from informative (if slightly alarming) signage.

The locals have a fascinating relationship with what they call 'Don Goyo' – they see the volcano as a living entity that provides fertile soil but demands respect. An elderly farmer named Raúl told me stories of offerings made to keep the volcano happy, continuing traditions that predate the Spanish arrival.

For the best photos, I woke up at an ungodly hour to catch the first light hitting Popo's snow-capped peak. My travel tripod was essential for capturing those dawn shots without camera shake. The volcano is most active in the early morning, and I was rewarded with several ash puffs that made for dramatic photos.

While in Cholula, I stayed at Villas Arqueológicas Cholula, which has rooms with volcano views and a rooftop terrace perfect for morning coffee while watching Popo wake up and do its thing.

On my final day, with legs feeling like jelly from a week of volcanic adventures, I opted for something closer to the city. Ajusco is the highest peak in Mexico City's boundaries at 3,930 meters, offering a perfect half-day escape from urban chaos.

I joined a guided group through Aventureros Mexico City (1,200 pesos for the day trip with transport from Coyoacán), though the trail is well-marked enough to tackle independently if you have your own wheels.

What makes Ajusco unique is how quickly you transition from city to wilderness. One moment you're in traffic, the next you're surrounded by pine forests and volcanic rock formations that look like they belong on another planet.

The trail starts from Parque Nacional Cumbres del Ajusco and climbs steadily through forest before emerging into open terrain with expansive views of the Mexico City valley. On clear fall days, you can see the entire city sprawled out below – a concrete jungle surrounded by a ring of fire (volcanoes, that is).

The final section involves some fun rock scrambling to reach the summit cross. Nothing too technical, but enough to make you feel like you've earned the 360-degree panorama waiting at the top.

I met a group of local trail runners who come here weekly to train for ultramarathons – they were casually running up terrain I was laboriously hiking. One of them, Lucia, shared her homemade energy balls with me – a delicious mix of dates, nuts, and chocolate that I've been trying to recreate since returning to Australia.

For this shorter day hike, my hydration vest was perfect – enough room for essentials while allowing me to move quickly on the trail. The integrated water bottles kept me hydrated without the sloshing of a traditional reservoir.