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From the textile villages, I went west to Angahuan, the jumping-off point for full-day hikes to �ʲ��������ܳ�í��’s otherworldly crater, spending the night at the spartan, community-run Centro Turístico Angahuan.

The best option for visits to �ʲ��������ܳ�í�� is an overnight stay at the community-run Centro Turístico Angahuan, where a simple cabin with a working fireplace starts at 500 Mexican pesos.

Clambering down into the half-buried ruins of San Juan Paringuricutiro, past stone archways subsumed in lava less than 80 years ago, I glanced up over jagged spires of black basalt to the ash cone of �ʲ��������ܳ�í��, one of the world’s youngest volcano, hovering like a specter on the horizon.

While urban Mexicans and foreigners often treat those traditions as static relics, in the region, they’re dynamic and ever changing, producing new icons with the same spontaneous creative energy that forced �ʲ��������ܳ�í�� up through the earth’s crust.

Two mornings later, after a day hike to �ʲ��������ܳ�í��’s summit through the ruins of San Juan Parangaricutiro, its lava-choked chapel the only surviving remnant of the village, I drove north to the ceramics towns near the border with Jalisco.