In Mexico, it was commerce among the ruins

AMONG THE Mexico City sites I visited during my recent trip was Teotihuacan, which I chose for its majestic pyramids, its deep history and its creative use of vowels.

The name is pronounced Tayo-tee-wahcon, at least if you're a gringo trying to write it phonetically. From my friends' apartment in the Roma district the ruins are an hour's drive northeast into the rural countryside.

A driver and a guide picked me up. This was a minor splurge ($264, inclusive, from More Mexico) but certainly made the experience simpler and more educational.

Nobody knows who founded Teotihuacan, or if they do they aren't telling, but that occurred circa 200 B.C. At its peak around 650 A.D., possibly on a Wednesday, the city had a population of 200,000, larger than Rome, and was a center of trade.

It's still a center of trade, in the sense that every 10 paces you'll be approached by a lone vendor trying to sell you something.

They stationed themselves throughout the ruins, standing alone, forming a sort of gantlet. A man (it was almost always a man) would intercept guide Martha Trava and me to show off a small obsidian figure, bracelets, a colorful blanket or a plastic archery set.

One man said, in English, "Almost free."

As someone who rarely speaks to American clerks due to weak sales resistance, and isn't enticed by trinkets anyway, I didn't pause to examine the merchandise. I would just say "No, gracias," or let the guide do it (hoping that was part of her fee).

I did note with chagrin that Trava's only jewelry was a yarn bracelet. After saying "No, gracias" to a dozen men trying to sell me real bracelets, I began wondering if they thought I was the world's cheapest boyfriend.

Anyway, back to the majesty of Teotihuacan. The city now consists of two temples, two pyramids and various platforms, steps, walls and other buildings, all of stone.

Somewhere around 700 A.D., the inhabitants, whoever they were, left. It's unclear why. They really should have left a note.

The Aztecs showed up around 950 A.D., named the city Teotihuacan ("Place of the Gods") and decided it was sacred. Most of their guesses about Teotihuacan were off-base, perhaps because very few Aztecs had degrees in anthropology.

Pyramids that had been dedicated to farming and water were named by the Aztecs the Pyramid of the Moon and Pyramid of the Sun. And the Aztecs assumed people were buried inside - wrong again - which led them to name the main road past all these monuments the Avenue of the Dead.

Ooooh, creepy. Hey, Aztecs, lighten up.

We started our tour at the Temple of Quetzalcoatl, a mini-pyramid. This meant walking up steep, shallow stone steps to the flat top, where we could view the carvings on the adjacent part of the temple.

Quetzalcoatl, a feathered snake, was the most important god of the pre-Columbian world. Carvings also represent gods of rain and crocodiles.

Walking back through the compound, we passed a small group of tourists. A woman in her 20s was asking her companions, "Who was the architect?"

Uh, Frank Lloyd Chapultepec. Ever heard of him?


We could have walked the mile-long Avenue of the Dead to the Pyramid of the Moon, but after being assured there wasn't much to see, I opted to be driven to spare my legs and lungs for the climbing ahead.

We disembarked at the Temple of Quetzalpapalotl, named for the Pyramid of the Moon's high priest and a name confusingly similar to Quetzalcoatl, at least to our modern eyes.

(Recent research reveals there was also a priest of Quetzalpapa-oom-mow-mow, whose worshippers chanted "doot, doot, doot," but anthropologists say that even though it's the funniest sound they ever heard they can't understand a single word.)

Reaching the top of the Pyramid of the Moon means climbing a single flight of steps. Trava, who was 14 weeks' pregnant, sat this one out. I made it up the 40-some steps without much difficulty, other than being winded. At the top, nobody mooned me.

There's a great view of the city from the pyramid's flat top, which I enjoyed for some minutes. Anything to put off the final stop on the tour, which would be climbing the Pyramid of the Sun, the much-larger pyramid filling the horizon from where I was.

Trava and I walked there, passing more vendors ("No, gracias") and more tourists. There seemed to be one vendor for every visitor. Tough way to make a living.

All too soon, we came to the Pyramid of the Sun. It's some 216 feet high and looks like a mountain with stairs.

I'm not one of those who needs bragging rights. I'm also scared of heights. Nevertheless, the pyramid was there, Trava expected me to climb it and in my role as a tourist I should probably at least try.

On the plus side, the stairs were built on the concept of levels (like Cosmo Kramer's apartment). You could laboriously go up 50 feet - each step about a foot high and less than a foot deep - and then reach a flat level where you could catch your breath. I suppose even the Teotihuacans needed a break.

The ascent wasn't so bad, actually, and I noticed plenty of white-haired folks making it up. So I kept going. The pyramid is so steep you can't see much below you and you can't tell how much is above you.

All of a sudden, I was on the top level. What do you know!

From there, you can scrabble up a sort of mound to the summit, which I did.

A mix of people, young and old, were posing for photos or just admiring the view. (Far below, the vendors looked like ants!)

Two German tourists were talking in English about winters in Germany. I saw a young man in an Aeropostale T-shirt from Santa Monica.

Eventually I began my descent, a little sorry to be leaving. Turning sideways was the best way to take the steps coming or going. The climb down was, predictably, easier than the climb up.

Oddly enough, it was only on the last few steps that I almost slipped.

Back on terra firma, within a few yards of the base, a vendor tried to sell me a T-shirt. I answered "No, gracias," but I was so exhilarated from my experience, I smiled.

David Allen writes Friday, Sunday and Wednesday, a steep descent in quality. E-mail, call 909-483-9339 or write 2041 E. Fourth St., Ontario 91764. Read his blog at