Photo Pest: Teotihuacan

"You're aware of the irony of the situation?" Chris questioned shortly after our guide took this photo in front of the Pyramid of the Sun. I was. In 1969, his father's gastrointestinal problems had forced his family to turn back from Teotihuacan no sooner than they had arrived. So I wasn't about to let Montezuma's Revenge on me get in the way of his long-delayed visit.

Alicia, our capable and fit guide, picked us up promptly at 9 a.m. in front of our Airbnb. For much of the 40-minute drive to the site, past densely populated neighborhoods that crept up mountainsides so steep that residents use free cable cars to access their homes, I quizzed her about Mexican history. "Would it be accurate to say that you harbor some affection for Porfirio Diaz?" I finally asked. "Yes, he built the most beautiful parts of our city." Her views on Benito Juarez were much less positive. "He was mean," she insisted and she dismissed Francisco Madero, who succeeded Diaz as president after the Mexican Revolution, as ineffectual. Conclusion: guuuuuuurl loves a strong man!

Our tour began in the blazing sun at the Temple of the Feathered Serpent, once the political and religious center of Mesoamerica's largest city with a population of 125,000 at its peak. The remains of 200 human sacrifices were buried here.

By the time I ascended these oversize steps, I feared I might be joining them. Something was wrong but I initially attributed my faintness to the altitude.

Before launching into a lengthy explanation of Mesoamerican mythology, Alicia informed us that almost everything we would be seeing at Teotichuan other than this section had been reconstructed in the early 20th century.

Surprisingly, Chris, who diligently avoids the sun, decided to walk 1.5 miles along the Avenue of the Dead to the Pyramid of the Sun (at right), about half as tall as the Great Pyramid of Giza and about 200 years younger than Christ. I demurred, suddenly aware that proximity to a restroom would dictate the course of my day. Chris later said he used the opportunity to have a chat with his 14-year-old self. It reminded me of the disappointment I experienced at a slightly younger age when a fight between my parents prevented me from seeing the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

Alicia drove me to a palace.

With acutely diminished powers of concentration, I feigned interest in the iconography depicted on these faded frescoes, later juiced by the vivid setting on my photo software.

We met Chris at the museum near the Pyramid of the Sun. After a quick trip to the bathroom, where I paid 20 pesos for ten sheets of toilet paper, the human sacrifice remains momentarilyshocked me out of my torpor.

An enormous picture window looming above a scale model of Teotichuan reminded me that I recently had seen the ancient city imagined in fantastic detail by Scott Gentling, an unheralded American artist, at the Amon Carter Museum in Fort Worth.

This fabric representation of the Aztec calendar caught my eye because the baked, absolutely dry environment was nearly colorless.

Needless to say, I barely had the energy to stand in front of the Pyramid of the Sun which leads me to deconstruct the reality behind this photo: I'm as sick as a dog, the pyramid is fake and since the covid 19 pandemic, tourists are no longer permitted to climb it. So look elsewhere for your FOMO!

The reconstructed walls were remarkably detailed.

Can you see how the Pyramid of the Sun echoes the mountain behind it? Can you imagine knowing that once you got to the top you were going to be sacrificed to the gods with your heart likely pulled from your chest cavity?

The Pyramid of the Moon doesn't look that much different.

After taking a quick peek at Palacio Quetzalpapálotl, Chris took Alicia to lunch inside a nearby cave restaurant she recommended. Completely wiped out, I curled up in the back seat of her mini van and slept. But Chris got to fulfill his childhood dream! I'm still waiting to see the Leaning Tower and the Blue Grotto, another Italian travel disappointment of more recent vintage.