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Tequila - thirty kilometres. As we drew closer to the town itself, I thought how the very word is enough to send shivers of gut-heaving dread through the most seasoned of drinkers. Carlos, my driver and guide, pointed at a train passing through the surrounding plantations of pale blue agave, the cactus which lies at the source of tequila's euphoric buzz.

"That's the Tequila Express. Every Saturday it takes people from Guadalajara to Tequila and back. It's like a fiesta - with tequila cocktails and mariachi music."

The mere thought of this off-the-rails "booze cruise" was enough to flash me back to the nightmare of student parties, of the battery acid burn that tequila leaves in its wake as people turn into catatonic maniacs. I had visions of a train carriage filled with tequila-crazed tourists, whirling like dervishes to the sound of mariachi. My worst memories of tequila came flooding back - of climbing up buildings in the middle of the night, of skateboarding down The Mound below Edinburgh Castle and wiping out, in a quite spectacular fashion, beside several stupefied tramps. I remembered how one friend had conducted a controlled experiment to assess the effect of eating the maggot-like worm inside bottles of Mescal. Having drained the tequila from ten miniatures, he ate ten worms and waited for the secrets of the universe to be unveiled before him. Nothing happened - until he drank the Mescal.

There is no doubt that tequila has a bad reputation. It always struck me as a very utilitarian drink, a sort of medicinal poison that had to be slammed and shot through the system to revive one's flagging energy during a party; the sort of drink that reminded me of the Monty Python sketch about Australian wines - of bottles like Hobart Muddy, Perth Pink and Chateau Wagga Wagga, best "for laying down and avoiding", or putting aside for "hand to hand combat".

However, as I was to discover, this is a very blinkered view of Mexico's national drink, a spirit surrounded by the same reverence as Scotch Whisky or fine wine. Rather like the difference between the blended mass-production of Bordeaux and the small producers of Burgundy, top quality tequila is made in limited amounts and by traditional methods. The eponymous international brands, like Sauza and Cuervo, produce vast quantities of bog standard tequila, often blended with cane spirit. It's rather like Beaujolais. People drink it - even though it's horrible. Cuervo and Sauza certainly dominate the local industry, and do produce several types of superior tequila, savoured by aficionados, sipped slowly from a small cognac balloon and chased with sangrita, a chilled mixture of tomato and orange juice, spiced with lime, tabasco and Worcester sauce, similar to a Virgin Mary.

The cobbled streets of the town are made from volcanic black rock, the by-product of an extinct volcano which dominates Tequila and turns blue in the late afternoon due to the regimented lines of agave which taper towards the summit. Battered old Buicks and Lincolns crawl through town, like the classic "yank-tank" pimpmobiles from seventies "blaxploitation" movies, while rugged plantation workers in sombreros bump into town with crumpled Chevy pick-ups. We wound our way round the peaceful main plaza, through the back-streets and into one of the factories. I was expecting to heave with terror at the first whiff of a tequila vat, but instead found the air to be infused with the sweet charred aroma of roasted agave.

There are over two hundred different types of agave and only one is used for tequila - the azul, or blue variation of Agave Tequiliana. Mescal is made from Agave Canatala, mainly in the south. The cactus takes up to twelve years to mature and is harvested with traditional tools like the coa de jima, a sharp blade on a pole, used for slicing the spines off the inner core, which looks like a giant pineapple and can weigh anything up to 200 kilos. The cores are then roasted in ovens and the sickly sweet juice is extracted from the fibre before fermentation. Two distillation processes are used to produce 100% agave tequila blanco, pure white tequila. A Reposado may be aged for two months, while a Reserva, or Anejo, can spend anything up to one year in oak barrels, adding a pale golden colour and a smoother, richer taste.

After a tour of the factory, I was invited to taste a variety of top local brands - limited production from traditional small producers. Far from generating a stomach-churning afterburn, the small sips were pleasant on the palate and easy on the gut, producing an inner glow which was not dissimilar to that of a good malt whisky. Within a few minutes, I was almost ready for the Tequila Express.

If you are moving between Guadalajara and Mexico City, then the town of Morelia, about halfway, is a perfect stop-over. With a population of one million, it is less industrial and more relaxed than Guadalajara. It is also one of the most culturally absorbing places in Mexico. Wandering through the pink stone alleys in the centre of town, I found myself drawn into the courtyard gardens of the Conservatory of Music, where the tune of tinkling pianos mingled with short bursts from cellos, violins and operatic arias. The interior of the seventeenth century church dedicated to the Lady of Guadalupe is a perfect example of Churriegesque architecture, a flamboyant extension of traditional Baroque excess, incorporating coloured light-bulbs and gaudy colours. It feels like walking into a giant Neapolitan ice-cream. The colonnade in the central plaza is brimming with cafes and those with seating upstairs provide stunning views for breakfast or evening drinks. The best is Los Juaninos, a luxurious colonial house which has been converted into a hotel with palatial suites over-looking the cathedral.

The most romantic hotel in the area is the Villa Montana, a rambling collection of ochre-coloured houses in the Santa Maria hills, with fabulous views of the city from the bar and restaurant. The gardens are filled with slender swaying cypress, jacarandas and bougainvillea, adding a strong Mediterranean flavour. Brick fireplaces, heavy wooden furniture and local ceramics combine to create authentic and comfortable rooms. There are some excellent restaurants in the area, such as El Abejo, a traditional log cabin which serves superb local beef seared in boiling olive oil, though the pick of the bunch is San Migueleto, where a twenty three year old chef is preparing the most exquisite food I ate in Mexico. If the Tequila Express is still taking its toll, try one of the Cabernet Sauvignons produced in Baja - robust, full-bodied flavours which stand up to the food.

Between November and March, millions of Monarch butterflies migrate from Canada to the sanctuaries north of Morelia. The 5,000km flight takes them six to seven weeks before they literally start coating the trees and flowers at El Rosario. The fourth generation that is born there then makes the journey back to Canada after the mating season. On the way to El Rosario, stop for lunch in the small town of Patzcuaro, a collection of cobbled streets and adobe houses, all painted in a traditional mix of magenta and white. Restaurants in the leafy main square serve the renowned "white fish" from Patzcuaro Lake, best eaten a la plancha, plain grilled with a squeeze of lime to enhance the delicate flavour.

A few minutes drive into the hills takes you to Santa Clara, where recycled copper is still melted down in wood-burning furnaces with man-powered bellows, then beaten into everything from cooking pans to candlesticks using traditional hammers. The discordant symphony of metal smashing against metal reverberates through the streets and, as my head discovered, is probably best avoided on the day after a visit to Tequila.

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