I Was at Teotihuacan

(Almost a Photo Essay -- it was so photogenic)

Today I visited another ancient archeological site, Teotihuacan -- though to call it “another ancient site” is like calling the Burj Khalifa “another skyscraper.”  In the constellation of mesoamerican pyramids Teotihuacan stands as an extreme in every way: it’s one of the biggest, oldest, least understood, and most popular.  And visiting it was a gigantic experience.

Because it’s so popular, especially on weekends, I drove up on Friday after class and spend the night at an AirBnb in order to get an early start today and beat the crowds.  I shouldn’t have worried.  Yes, by midday there were “mobs” of tourists from all over the world -- all completely swallowed up and reduced to gnats by the sheer scale of the site.  At no point did I feel crowded, and it seemed inconceivable that one could.

The site is at least two miles long, with literally dozens of temple bases and assorted constructions, and is dominated by two immense pyramids, the tallest of which, the Pyramid of the Sun, is more than 200 feet tall and has a base equal to the biggest pyramids of Egypt.  When you first see it, from the parkinglot, at a distance of over a mile, you have to do a double take when you realize it’s not one of the surrounding mountains.

“That’s no hill...that’s a pyramid!”

Arriving early had its benefits, though.  Not only was it a dramatically beautiful morning, with fog rising off the mountains into a cauldron of sun and swirling cloud forms, but sailing through that above the site were several hot-air balloons.  They made for some spectacularly anachronistic combinations.

You start (assuming you parked in the main lot) at the far end of the site from the pyramids, at another huge feature called the Temple of Quetzalcoatl, a great square of connected temple bases on the green grass.

The heart of this Temple is a large base whose steps are carved into intricate designs and animal heads, some in unexpected places.  Considering that Teotihuacan dates from the first century AD, these carvings were in miraculous condition.

From there one walks, and walks, down the miles-long road affectionately called the Avenue of the Dead, slowly approaching the distant pyramids.  At every step there are amazing ruins to left and right to climb and explore, and the road itself sometimes rises and falls on stone steps to divide regions of the ancient city. 

The journey is so fascinating and tiring that you almost lost sight of what you’re approaching.  I was aiming my viewfinder here and there at little pillars and small exposed rooms and stairs, until I looked up and said, “And then there’s THAT.”

The size of the Pyramid of the Sun is hard to fathom until you see it.  It literally IS a man-made mountain, and though as a proper citizen of the modern age one wants to put in a word for progress and, say, the Burj Khalifa, there’s something about the vertical perspective of a big pyramid, like a roadway narrowing to a vanishing point at a horizon among the stars, that blows everything made since away. 

I didn’t climb the big pyramid.  I thought about it—but not for very long. 

  

Instead I turned my attention to its little sister, the Pyramid of the Moon, and climbed that.  The stone stairs of even this thing were so steep and apparently endless that I felt I was in that one scene from “Howl’s Moving Castle,” and I can report that I wasn’t the only one breathing hard when I got to the top.  But the view was magnificent, and my fellow tourists and I had the pleasure of admiring the Pyramid of the Sun (and the rest of the site) from afar.

After further study on the walk back, I’m now quite sure that the Pyramid of the Sun is meant to be seen, in its ever-changing lights, rather than seen from.  At least it was hard to turn my camera on anything else.

There was far more to see than I’ve given space to here, especially once I got off the “main line” of the Avenue of the Dead and took some of the trails through the green fields to other parts of the site.  I found some lovely sections there that were only partly excavated and half grown up in grass.

In summary, I was thoroughly awed by Teotihuacan.  My reaction was very different from the one I had at the smaller Tula, where I felt the spirit of the ancient world around me.  Teotihuacan is so huge, and such a world-famous place, that oddly I had a renewed sense of my own present-time driving trip for having brought me to this incredible spot on Earth.  The guide-books that call it a “must-visit” attraction don’t lie; I found myself amazed just to have been there and seen it, as if ticking it off a bucket list I didn’t know existed.

At an on-site restaurant at the entrance I had a burger lunch with coffee—and it was at that moment that the dramatic sky finally uncorked its downpour.

It was over by the time I finished my meal, and I had a smooth drive back to Mexico City.