Children of the Sun - Continued

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In 2001 I returned to Mexico. In November I found myself camping on the Pass of Cortes under the great volcanoes above Mexico City. Popocatepetl puffed, as it had five hundred years ago when the Spanish stood here gazing at the glittering city of Tenochtitlan floating on its island in Lake Texcoco. As I looked down from the pass I saw smog and buildings stretching up the flanks of the mountains. Nothing remained of the five great lakes that supported the Aztecs. Mexico City had gobbled up its valley and become a megalopolis of 20,000,000 people. Up here on the pass, a forest of pines still grew. Cars drove up the dirt track with climbers tackling the larva ridge of Iztaccihuatl where a refuge perched at 16,000 feet. Our guides were pitching our tents in the gold needle grass. A bonfire sparked ready for nightfall when the temperature dropped below freezing. The lights of Mexico City flooded the sky. We had thick sleeping bags. The Conquistadors had only the clothes they stood up in. Some of their allies froze to death. I imagined the scene in 1519. I smelt the horses. I heard the dogs, the clanking of armour and the excited chatter of the Tlaxcalan allies. Here at last was the prize they had dreamed of. They did not know it would take them another two years to capture it. More...