As the moon rose over El Zocalo and modern Mexico City, I contemplated the long historical shadow of Tenochtitlan, former capital of the Aztec Empire.
As the sun set on Mexico City, the moon began to rise over the Palacio Nacional. Or was it rising over the Templo Mayor? Sitting with a beer in hand and one arm dangling over the railing of the Balcón del Zócalo, I wasn’t so sure.
I had seen a lot over my last few days in Old Mexico. The first day ended as I watched the sun drop behind the Pyramid of the Sun, the mysterious structure in Teotihuacán that borders the Avenue of the Dead. I know that’s where it set, even if no one really knows much about who built the pyramid.
The Nahuatl name for the place translates to “the place where men became gods.” Remembering the darkness of the pyramid’s shadow, I considered whether its builders could have told me what the moon was doing tonight.
I took a drink and set it on the table. A Latino child wedged between my chair and the one behind me, exclaiming, “¡La luna! ¡La luna!” His mother watched over him as the celestial body continued its path upward.
“De dónde eres?” the niño asked, catching his breath from all his self-generated excitement.
“Estados Unidos,” I replied quietly.
“Ah, Americano,” the boy smiled. Switching to my native tongue, a language that only recently found its way to this ancient land, he said warmly, “Welcome to Mexico.”
The night became darker, the moon shown brighter, and I became less certain of its origin on the horizon. I was inside the Museo del Templo Mayor earlier that morning. I saw the skulls on the racks, the skulls on the stakes: They are artifacts of the ages-old struggle of humanity to hold together its civilizations.
As I left the museum, I spied a Nahua gentleman dressed in his culture’s clothing. He was painting his face as the Metropolitan Cathedral rose behind him.
“¿Puedo sacar su foto?” I inquired.
“Si me pagas,” he answered.
We agreed I could take his photo for 20 pesos. When I handed him the money, he performed the Catholic sign of the cross. If I knew where he was tonight, I could ask him where the moon had risen; he probably knew better than I.
The night air turned cool. Careful not to tip over my beer, I pulled my jacket from my seatback. A group of American tourists were standing at the bar nearby. Talking loudly, one of them explained how his grandmother emigrated to the U.S. from Germany a long time ago. But was it really long ago? As I zipped up my jacket, I decided tonight wasn’t one for answers.
Directly below along the perimeter of the Plaza de la Constitución, homeless Nahua men and women were digging through trashcans earlier in the day. I passed them on the way to MUMEDI, where artists from around the world display their work.
Shops selling global brands lined the street: On the surface and for better and worse, Mexico City looked the part of a modern metropolis.
Under the same moon, the Teotihuacán pyramids stood silently nearby. Even closer, the skulls of sacrifices to the sun, moon, and other gods were in the darkness of the closed museum. All around me, the descendants of the Aztecs went about their lives in what was once the great city of Tenochtitlan.
The past and present blurred in the electric glow of the square. The rise and fall of peoples, empires, and celestial bodies merged in the brisk Mexican air. I finished my beer and called for la cuenta.
Related Content
– Click to view my high-resolution photo collection of images from the museum at Templo Mayor.
– Click to read my feature article “Teotihuacán: Down the Avenue of the Dead” for an in-depth look into the mysterious history of the ancient ruins near Mexico City.
– Click to view my travel guides for the Mexico City area.