I went on a weeklong trip to Mexico City, where a week felt like an entire month. Every shorthand way of describing it feels so superlative that you would find it obnoxious to read. I will try to stick to the details.
Mexico City was built right on top of Tenochtitlan. The Mexica-founded altepetl dominated many other āltepēmeh from the Gulf to the Pacific until the Spanish had arrived. When I walked into the Zócalo, three things caught my eye: the massive flag of Mexico, the baroque Metropolitan Cathedral, and the far-stretching facade of the National Palace. As we walked by the cathedral, we passed stands selling food, drinks, and trinkets. We also passed indigenous performers wearing traditional dress: feathered headdresses called penachos and bands of shells on their ankles. It was only until I got close to the front of the church that I saw what I had come for, the ruins of the Templo Mayor.
This site had been buried for 450 years after the Spanish razed the incredible structure in 1521. Full excavation did not start until 1978. From its remains, I saw the layers of additions, annexes, and embellishments that the tlahtohqueh had erected over hundreds of years. Walking on the platforms, I heard drumming from the performers coming from the Zócalo. Looking up, I could still see those three large symbols of the Mexican state. All I could think was, “this is a place on Earth. This place exists.”
