Best Pyramids to Visit in Mexico: Explore the Ancient Ruins of Mesoamerica
You've likely heard of the Maya, who ruled and still reside in southern Mexico and Central America. You might even know a thing or two about the Aztecs, whose grand capital laid the foundation for today's Mexico City. Iconic archaeological sites like Chichen Itza and Teotihuacán are among the top attractions in Mexico, but the country is home to dozens of other remarkable civilizations — and incredible pyramids — that helped shape its ancient story.
'The Maya and the Aztecs are the two most people know about, but you can't ignore all these other wonderful cultures that existed and also built pyramids,' says Dr. Edwin Barnhart, director of the Maya Exploration Center and a veteran archaeologist with over 30 years of experience.
So let's dive into Mexico's deep cultural heritage and discover the top pyramids to visit in Mexico, from famous landmarks to hidden gems buried in the jungle.
Before we get to the travel bucket list, let's take a quick walk through history. The Olmecs are often considered the "mother culture" of Mesoamerica. They thrived between 1600 BCE and 350 BCE and were the first to build major ceremonial centers.
The Maya came next, settling as early as 1500 BCE and reaching their peak during the Classic Period (250 CE to 900 CE). In the southwest, the Zapotec civilization, based in modern-day Oaxaca, flourished from 700 BCE to 1521 CE. These civilizations — along with the Toltecs, Mixtecs, Totonacs, Huastecs, and many more — left behind monumental temples, ceremonial platforms, and pre-Hispanic pyramids.
Today, Mexico is home to over 16 million Indigenous people representing 68 different ethnolinguistic groups, and their cultural legacy lives on in these ancient structures.
No list of famous pyramids in Mexico is complete without El Castillo, or the Temple of Kukulcán. Located at the heart of Chichen Itza, this iconic Mayan pyramid is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and one of the New Seven Wonders of the World. It was built as a cosmic calendar, with 365 steps and a solar light show that reveals a serpent descending the staircase during the spring and autumn equinoxes.
How to get there: Drive from Cancun or Riviera Maya (2.5 hours). Tour operators offer full-day trips with guides.
Nestled in the jungle, Palenque is one of the most captivating yet under-visited Mayan ruins in Mexico. Its crown jewel is the Temple of the Inscriptions, home to the tomb of the great ruler Pakal.
'Pakal's tomb was a shot heard 'round the world,' says Barnhart. 'It transformed our understanding of Maya royalty and burial practices.'
How to get there: Now accessible via the new Tren Maya, or by long-distance bus (ADO) to Palenque town.
Just outside Mexico City, Teotihuacán is one of the most spectacular archaeological sites in Mexico. Its origins are still debated, but it was once one of the largest cities in the world. Climb the Pyramid of the Sun for sweeping views, then explore the Avenue of the Dead and Pyramid of the Moon.
How to get there: One-hour drive from Mexico City or book a guided day tour.
What looks like a hill crowned with a Spanish church is actually the largest pyramid in the world by volume. The Great Pyramid of Cholula has a base even wider than the Great Pyramid of Giza. Beneath the Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de los Remedios, layers of Aztec and pre-Aztec history lie hidden.
How to get there: Two-hour drive from Mexico City or 20 minutes from Puebla.
Uxmal is one of the most architecturally unique Mayan cities, famous for its Pyramid of the Magician. Its smooth, rounded design is unlike the stepped terraces of other sites. According to legend, it was built overnight by a magical dwarf.
How to get there: 1-hour drive from Mérida; available via tour or self-drive.
Hidden deep in the Calakmul Biosphere Reserve, this massive pyramid rivals the largest in the Maya world. Few tourists make the journey, but those who do are rewarded with an immersive jungle experience and a chance to climb Structure 2, one of the tallest Mayan pyramids in Mexico.
How to get there: Long drive through Campeche + 43-mile dirt road. Locals may offer guided transport across ejido land.
On your way to Chichen Itza, make time for Ek Balam, one of the best lesser-known pyramids in the Yucatán. The main pyramid, El Torre, features stunning stucco art and is still climbable — a rarity these days.
'The doorway is carved like the mouth of a monster, with figures in the eyes. It's probably one of the best pieces of Mayan art in the entire world,' says Barnhart.
How to get there: 2 hours from Cancun; 30 minutes from Valladolid.
Overlooking Oaxaca City, the Monte Albán pyramids offer history with a view. The site was a major Zapotec capital for over 1,300 years and is filled with stepped pyramids, plazas, and panoramic vistas.
How to get there: 10 minutes by taxi or bus from downtown Oaxaca.
A UNESCO World Heritage Site, El Tajín is known for its unusual Pyramid of the Niches, believed to be used as a calendar. The site feels truly untouched, with relatively few visitors and a mystical atmosphere.
How to get there: Four-hour drive from Veracruz City. Day tours available.
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National Geographic
3 days ago
- National Geographic
Find a new reverence for Rome on a thousand-year-old pilgrimage to the capital
This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK). It's holy week and music is rising from the Chiesa di Santa Maria. First comes the slow sigh of baroque strings, then a wash of operatic harmony as a soprano and alto plunge into the opening lines of Pergolesi's Stabat Mater. Outside, a blood-orange sun is slipping behind the sage hills surrounding Vetrella, throwing a square of sunlight onto the church's frescoed walls: a honeyed beam that writes life into the eyes of every painted saint and martyr. I'm coming to the end of my first day on the Via Francigena and already I'm getting a sense of the trail's strange power — though I'm 12 miles closer to Rome than I was this morning, I appear to have stepped further back in time. In many ways, it stands to reason. After all, I've spent the morning tracing one of Lazio's ancient holloways — the sunken roads etched by the Etruscans sometime between 800 and 300 BCE and deepened over the centuries by the footfall of Roman legions, Frankish knights and modern-day pilgrims. After the concert, the congregation spills onto the lawn, where I get talking to blue-eyed Tiziano, who's travelled from the nearby town of Bracciano to be here. 'The springs surrounding this place made it a site of pilgrimage long before the church was built,' he explains, 'and yet most people pass it by without even noticing. For me, it's an overlooked masterpiece.' The same could be said of the Via Francigena itself — a quiet backroad compared to the bustling pilgrim highway that's Spain's Camino de Santiago. The key difference is that the former didn't begin life as a pilgrimage trail, but rather evolved into one, its network of roads originally serving as arteries between the Roman Empire and northern territories like Britannia. The sunken roads etched by the Etruscans sometime between 800 and 300 BCE were deepened over the centuries by the footfall of Roman legions, Frankish knights and modern-day pilgrims. Photograph by Gilda Bruno By the Middle Ages, any pellegrino (pilgrim) worth their communion wafer could be found traipsing towards Rome, where the spirit of St Peter was said to suffuse every root and rock. For the next few days, I'll be following in the footsteps of one such wayfarer: 10th-century archbishop Sigeric the Serious, no doubt a notorious party animal. In 990 CE, he travelled some 1,200 miles from Canterbury Cathedral to St Peter's Basilica — by way of France and Switzerland — to collect his official garment from the Pope. Handily, he documented his return trip, providing a blueprint for today's official Via Francigena route. Tackled in full it's a mammoth 100-day trek, so many pilgrims choose to walk key stages. My own journey takes in the last 60 or so miles to Rome, a five-day hike through cavernous valleys, emerald forests and rarely visited hilltop towns. The route is liberating in its simplicity — so long as I make it to my B&B each night, I should reach the Eternal City just in time for Good Friday. The wandering monk Spring is a good time to be on the open road. Lazio is in the midst of a great transformation, the region's cobbled towns brimming with early artichokes, its boulder-strewn woodlands carpeted with anemone and pink cyclamen. Striking out towards the hilltop town of Sutri the following morning, I pass a gaunt, olive-wreathed farmhouse. The year's first swallows glide in and out, their long migration finally at an end. It's here I meet Brother Ambrose Okema, a Benedictine monk undertaking the Via Francigena by bike. For him, there's little difference between we pilgrims and the birds dancing above our heads, for we're all stirred to wander by the same invisible force. 'It's a call from within,' he says, beating a pulse on his chest. Dressed in Lycra and sat astride a gravel bike, he's a far cry from your stereotypical wandering monk: the solitary, staff-bearing pilgrim whose effigy graces every waymark along the Via Francigena. His companion Victor Hernandez, a stubbled Puerto Rican, shows me footage from morning Mass on his phone; a priest in Tyrian purple robes using a garden spray pump to douse the congregation with holy water. 'You've gotta love Italy,' Victor says, beaming. The last 60 or so miles to Rome are a five-day hike through cavernous valleys, emerald forests and rarely visited hilltop towns. Photograph by Gilda Bruno Tackled in full the Via Francigena is a mammoth 100-day trek, so many pilgrims choose to walk key stages. Photograph by Gilda Bruno We walk together for some time, descending into the Valle di Tinozza, where a jade stream guides us past rockfaces honeycombed with Etruscan tombs. Conversation flows easily on the road, and soon Ambrose is recounting his life story: the childhood in war-torn Uganda, his move to a monastery in America. I get the sense that this pair's pilgrimage is as much an act of friendship as it is of faith. 'I did the Camino de Santiago solo,' Victor tells me, 'so I knew I didn't want to do this trip alone. After meeting Ambrose at his monastery, it made sense to do it together.' That evening, with 14 miles under my belt, I drink a Campari in Sutri's main square, its baroque fountain trickling sapphire. Beside me, an elderly man with thick-framed spectacles is filling his pipe, eyes cast skyward as the rain clouds part. A passing friend berates him for staying out in such conditions. 'La pioggia lava tutto,' the smoker replies — rain cleans everything. His words are still with me two days later. They echo something Sigeric and his fellow medieval pilgrims must also have felt to be true — that in enduring the elements they were somehow cleansing themselves. Call it purification by suffering. From their howls of laughter, it's clear English pilgrims Maris Waterhouse and Sarah Thompson have no intention of suffering their way to Rome. 'We're not religious at all,' Maris tells me as we fall into step entering Insugherata Natural Reserve, a 1,800-acre patchwork of forest and farmland bordering Rome. 'Most of our lives are spent in the same routine — but this is something different.' With comically good timing, at that moment, a very large, very hairy wild boar emerges from the forest. I fleetingly wonder if he's here to enact revenge for last night's dinner, pappardelle pasta served with ragù di cinghiale, but he simply raises his snout, sniffs the air and trots off. Our friend's habitat slowly recedes, giving way to glimmering shopfronts and warm-lit cafes — every table adorned with some limp-limbed pilgrim unable to move another inch. Their reluctance is understandable, as the Via Francigena has one more challenge in store: Monte Mario, Rome's tallest hill. Praying for divine intervention, I crawl up its cobbled back; past silvery olives and flat-topped pines swaying in the afternoon breeze. I spot two peregrine falcons circling overhead, and then, quite without warning, catch sight of something I'd nearly forgotten: St Peter's Basilica, its gilded dome a second sun above the city's sweep of ancient spires. The final approach is like a dream, baroque avenues heavy with orange blossom giving way to the Renaissance splendour of St Peter's Square. Photograph by Gilda Bruno The final approach is like a dream, baroque avenues heavy with orange blossom giving way to the Renaissance splendour of St Peter's Square. At this point, Sigeric would likely have commenced the obligatory circuit of Rome's other holy places — a pilgrimage within a pilgrimage. But after a few moments of gazing at the basilica's gold-encrusted interior, Sarah's earlier words start ringing in my ears like a command: 'All I want from a trip like this is a long walk and a good meal at the end of it.' Within the hour I'm sat outside La Quercia, an osteria in Monteforte, stretching my legs beneath a table set with a bowl of smoky, parmesan-dusted pasta amatriciana. Dinner and a well-deserved rest. Some pleasures truly are eternal. UTracks' 10-day, self-guided Orvieto to Rome tour costs £950 per person, including B&B accommodation, meals and luggage transfers. This story was created with the support of UTracks. Published in the September 2025 issue of National Geographic Traveller (UK). To subscribe to National Geographic Traveller (UK) magazine click here. (Available in select countries only).
National Geographic
09-08-2025
- National Geographic
Hike the ancient route to Delphi once believed to be the center of the world
This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK). According to Greek mythology, long ago, Zeus, king of the gods, sent two eagles around the world: one east, one west. The place where they met was the omphalos — the 'navel' of the world, a point of connection between divine and mortal planes. Zeus marked it with a sacred stone and a temple was built over it, guarded by his son Apollo. The place was called 'Delphi' — and it was here that a priestess known as the Oracle was said to deliver prophecies from the gods. 'People often think the Oracle foretold the future,' explains archaeological guide Penny Kolomvotsou, when I meet her outside the gates of the Athena Pronaia, a sanctuary where pilgrims would once have entered Delphi's holy complex. Penny — her eyes shielded under a sun visor, hair pulled back into a tight ponytail — is a Delphi regular; the site attendants greet her with a wave and a smile. 'In fact, her prophecies were deliberately cryptic, open to interpretation. Really, Delphi was a place of dialogue. We could use more of that nowadays, I think.' In the ancient world, she explains, Delphi was where Greek's fractious city states settled disputes without resorting to conflict. Ambassadors came here to resolve their differences peacefully, while ordinary pilgrims — at least those who could afford it — sought spiritual guidance or the blessing of the gods for important life decisions. Most of them would have arrived on foot, trekking up to the temple eyrie from the surrounding villages of the Amfissa Valley or nearby Mount Parnassos. Delphi was where Greek's fractious city states settled disputes without resorting to conflict. Photograph by Oliver Berry At the heart of the complex was the Oracle — otherwise known as the high priestess Pythia — who was believed to be able to commune directly with the gods through a form of divine possession known as enthusiasmos. Mentions of the Oracle date back right to the temple's earliest origins in the sixth century BCE, but much about her role remains shrouded in mystery. It's autumn but still blazingly hot, breezeless and searingly blue. Despite the heat, Delphi's packed. Coaches chug up the mountain road, grinding gears as their drivers hunt for parking spots. Delphi would have been no stranger to crowds, Penny says, especially during the Pythian Games. Held every four years as a display of athleticism and physical prowess, they were the most important games after the Olympics. We walk past the abandoned stadium, and I imagine crowds seated on the stone rows, snacking on olives and figs as they cheered on their favourite competitors. Held every four years as a display of athleticism and physical prowess, the Pythian Games were the most important games after the Olympics. Photograph by Oliver Berry In ancient Greece, temples were built high up to be near the gods. Delphi teeters on the slopes of Mount Parnassus, guarded by twin cliffs called the Phaidriades, or the Shining Rocks, a poetic reference to the limestone's glare. We trudge up a path worn smooth by thousands of feet — the ascent was a test of pilgrims' stamina as much as their piety. Step by step, Delphi's tumbledown landscape emerges: stone blocks, crumbling altars, empty plinths and shattered columns. 'Archaeology has revealed so much,' explains Penny. 'But there are still many mysteries.' The Oracle's prophecies were often more like riddles than rulings; the gnomic maxim 'know thyself', carved at the entrance to the complex, is perhaps the best example of all. Equally mysterious is how the Oracle physically received and dispensed her prophecies. Some archaeologists believe she entered her trance through prayer or meditation; others say her revelations came after inhaling narcotic fumes, perhaps even gases emanating from geological faults under the mountain. Like so much about Delphi, it's a conundrum that could only be solved with the help of a time machine. In ancient Greece, temples were built high up to be near the gods. Delphi teeters on the slopes of Mount Parnassus, guarded by twin cliffs called the Phaidriades. Photograph by Oliver Berry Lost in time The next day, I set out along the Archaio Monopati, the millennia-old footpath pilgrims would have followed up to the temple from Delphi's ancient port, Kirra. En route, they'd have crossed the grey-green ocean of the Amfissa Valley, one of Greece's oldest olive groves. Cultivated since before the time of Christ, it's home to more than a million trees. Today, I'm alone on the path, save for an ill-tempered goat and an olive-farmer tending his trees. Joining me is Hilda Giannopolou, a hiking guide and ski instructor from the mountain town of Livadi. 'I love Delphi because you can feel the history,' she says. 'We're walking in a landscape that hasn't changed in 2,000 years. You don't have to believe in gods to feel its power.' The grey-green ocean of the Amfissa Valley, one of Greece's oldest olive groves. Cultivated since before the time of Christ, it's home to more than a million trees. Photograph by Oliver Berry (Top) (Left) and Photograph by Oliver Berry (Bottom) (Right) We hike up to a ridge, and sit beside a whitewashed chapel overlooking the plain, with Delphi's ruins glinting on the mountainside above us. Under the shadow of the bell tower, we picnic on bread, tomatoes and cheese, sprinkled with sage, thyme and lavender gathered from the valley. It's exactly the sort of lunch pilgrims might have munched on 2,000 years ago. The most remarkable thing about Delphi is the fact it still exists at all. After the fall of two empires — first Greek, then Roman — Delphi and its Oracle was forgotten, and the location of Apollo's holy sanctuary was lost. It was rediscovered by French archaeologists in the 19th century, buried underneath the village of Kastri, whose foundations were fashioned from its ruins. The villagers were relocated to a nearby site — present-day Delphi — and the painstaking, decades-long excavation of the temple began. Sadly, by then, many of its secrets had already been lost in time. After the fall of two empires, Delphi and its Oracle was forgotten. It was rediscovered by French archaeologists in the 19th century, buried underneath the village of Kastri. The villagers were relocated to a nearby site — present-day Delphi. Photograph by Oliver Berry One man doing his best to rediscover them is Aristotelis Zisimou, who's devoted his life to relearning the art of Delphic pottery. I meet him at his studio in Delphi, on a quiet backstreet shaded by bougainvillea and jasmine trees. Here he runs pottery classes and makes his pieces — hand-mixing his own clay, etching designs and, finally, firing them using a special technique to create the orange-and-black finish characteristic of classical Greek pottery. It's a complicated process requiring precisely the right combination of heat, materials and carbonation. Some techniques Aristotelis learned from other like-minded potters, but much he gleaned through trial and error, just as Delphi's own potters likely did nearly 1,500 years ago. Aristotelis shows me around his workshop, where classically shaped amphoras, dishes, plates and bowls sit alongside more experimental modern designs. Many depict scenes from myth and legend and are often startlingly explicit — a reminder of the close link between sex and the sacred in the ancient world. 'My work connects me to the artists of the past,' he says, gazing at me over his glasses as he puffs on a battered cigarette, etching a figure into the clay with a fine needle pick. 'Sometimes, I can almost feel them guiding my hand.' Aristotelis Zisimou has devoted his life to relearning the art of Delphic pottery. Photograph by Oliver Berry Zisimou hand-mixes his own clay, etches designs and, finally, fires them using a special technique to create the orange-and-black finish characteristic of classical Greek pottery. Photograph by Oliver Berry The following morning, I follow a tip from Aristotelis and set out to find the Corycian Cave, Delphi's oracular antecedent. Long before the Oracle existed, Aristotelis had told me, worshippers of Gaia, the mother goddess, held sacred rites in the mountains. The Corycian Cave is thought to have been used since Neolithic times. It appears in many myths — a place of Dionysian rituals, dedicated to Corycian nature nymphs and to Pan, god of the wild, it's also where Zeus was believed to have been imprisoned by the giant Typhon. It's almost certainly the oldest Delphi shrine of all. Just after sunrise, I drive up from Delphi onto a plateau under Mount Parnassus, following a rocky road up through a pine forest. Here, at the end of a short, stony trail through the trees, I find a cleft in the mountainside, black as night. Warily, I inch inside, and find myself inside a great, high-ceilinged cavern, festooned with stalagmites and stalactites. It's so deep the other side is lost in the gloom. On the floor, someone has built a labyrinth out of stones. There are embers from a fire, offerings of wine, water, bracelets, money. Those pilgrims who couldn't afford to consult the Oracle — or who perhaps preferred the advice of even older gods — are said to have come to the Corycian Cave instead to ask for divine guidance. More than two millennia later, it seems, people are still doing the same. I send my own prayer echoing into the darkness and wait for the gods to answer. Delphi is 2.5 hours from Athens. Audley Travel's luxury 11-day Mainland Greece trip includes four days exploring Delphi and the Amfissa Valley, with a base in the seaside town of Galaxidi. The tour starts from £4,780 per person and includes all flights, accommodation, guides, transfers and excursions. This story was created with the support of Audley Travel. Published in the April 2025 issue of National Geographic Traveller (UK). To subscribe to National Geographic Traveller (UK) magazine click here. (Available in select countries only).
Business Insider
31-07-2025
- Business Insider
I planned a dream vacation for me and my partner — then we broke up and canceled the trip. Years later, I took it solo.
I planned a trip to El Salvador for me and my partner, but we broke up and cancelled it. Two years later, I dug up my itinerary and just went on the trip by myself. Adjusting the plans were easy, and the experience reminded me how much I enjoy solo travel. Two years ago, I planned a trip to El Salvador for my then-boyfriend and me to celebrate both of our birthdays. I poured my heart into arranging every detail of the holiday. After all, this was one of the few destinations neither of us had visited before, which is rare because we're both well-traveled. I booked flights and hotels, reserved a rental car, and meticulously crafted an itinerary that covered Mayan archaeological sites, volcano hikes, and cultural heritage museums while giving us ample time to relax along El Salvador's volcanic black-sand coast. But two weeks before the trip, our relationship ended. I canceled the bookings and forgot about visiting El Salvador … until I decided to visit my 95th country earlier this year. At first, I wasn't sure where to go — I mostly wanted to visit a country that wouldn't be too expensive to get to from Uruguay, where I'm currently based. Once I realized I had enough travel points to cover a flight to El Salvador, I booked my ticket. It felt empowering to reimagine a couple's getaway as a solo travel adventure Ecstatic that I'd selected a destination I'd already researched, I revisited the itinerary I'd carefully arranged two years before. It felt empowering to book my "revenge vacation" as it was a destination I had once dreamed of visiting with my ex-boyfriend. Now, it would be a place I'd get to explore on my own terms. I needed to tweak the itinerary a bit now that I was traveling solo, but I was relieved that I'd already done the bulk of the planning beforehand. Throughout the trip, I found ways to troubleshoot and adjust my plans without sacrificing what I wanted. The hotels I had previously selected were now out of the question on my one-person budget, so I rented more affordable Airbnbs operated by locals. I liked being able to support the tourism economy — and, luckily, my rentals were quite nice. I no longer felt comfortable renting and driving a car, but navigating local transportation between the destinations I wanted to visit in El Salvador seemed like a headache, and Uber availability was limited. So, I booked transfers on the Daytrip app, which connects travelers with local drivers. While heading from the coast to the city, I was able to add sightseeing stops, including one at a series of natural spring water pools. I also served spots on group experiences to more easily visit the sites I wanted to see. I was worried I'd have to pay for a minimum of two guests, which I've seen many tour operators require, but I was able to find tons of single tickets on travel marketplace GetYourGuide. So, without paying fees for being solo, I joined a tour of Mayan archaeological sites and a guided hike up El Salvador's tallest volcano, Santa Ana. This trip helped me fall back in love with traveling by myself Going alone on a trip I'd initially planned as a romantic vacation helped me fall back in love with solo travel. It reminded me of my tenacity to immerse myself in a destination. I enjoyed the freedom to plan my days as I desired and make last-minute changes, such as quickly leaving a so-called "artisanal" market when I realized it was an overpriced tourist trap. I spent lazy days on the coast, reading for hours, swimming in the Pacific Ocean, and grounding myself in the pitch-black sand. Solo travel has always been my modus operandi. I'm glad a breakup didn't stop me from eventually visiting another of my dream destinations.
