Real de Catorce: A Magical 'Ghost Town' Part Three

While some people see a ghost town, steeped in history, spirituality and freely growing peyote, others see a movie set. The empty streets of Real de Catorce have been used as the backdrop for so many documentaries and films, that many outside Mexico subconsciously picture the town as Mexico.


'The Mexican', starring Brad Pitt and Julia Roberts, is one of the more famous movies shot in Real de Catorce. Here are two scenes from it, both showing the town.





Brad Pitt was later interviewed after the shoot and he said that Real de Catorce was 'a trip'. There are places in the town, where photographs of the filming are displayed. Local people were able to get very close to the stars, so some of the photos are very candid.

The movie also had a huge effect on the town in terms of amenities. Just one 'phone line and the electricity switching off at 8pm might have been considered fine for the residents, but a Hollywood film crew wasn't about to put up with that. By the time they left, the town had much more wiring and communications infrastructure.



Some of the local residents don't stop at allowing their town to be used as the backdrop to movies. They feature in them too. The chef of Ruinas del Real Hotel was in 'Pirates of the Caribbean'.


Ruinas del Real Hotel is just one of the handful of hotels and B&Bs set up to cater to the boom in tourism here. It is also the place favored by the incoming film crews. Guests here can stay in 'The Julia Roberts Suite', where the bathroom was especially built to the actress's specifications. (I guess that she wasn't prepared to 'slum' it, though the bathrooms throughout the hotel are quite satisfactory!)

Another big name movie shot in Real de Catorce was 'Bandidas', starring Penélope Cruz and Salma Hayek.



It's not just modern film crews that have descended upon the town. Back in 1948, John Huston arrived, with an ensemble cast, which included Humphrey Bogart, Walter Huston, and Tim Holt, in order to shoot 'Treasure of the Sierra Madre'. (You'll know it by the classic line, "We don't need no stinking badges!", which has been parodied in so many places since, despite being a misquotation.)


This was the first American movie to be shot on location entirely outside the USA. Some scenes were filmed in Durango and Tampico. It was also amongst the first 100 films to be selected for perservation, in the United States National Film Registry, as being 'culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant'.

Real de Catorce: A Magical 'Ghost Town' Part Two

Real de Catorce sits 2,750 meters (9,022ft) above sea level, high up in the Sierra Catorce mountains. This is one of the highest plateaus in Mexico. In 1779, there was no access road, no buildings, no sanitation and no water, but there was silver. With silver came the mines; and with the mines came the people. Almost overnight, it seemed, a large town sprang up from this barren, desert landscape. It was hedonistic and practically lawless. Life savings could be lost, and fortunes made, on a single cockfight. Yet still the people poured in.

It wasn't only the Mexican people here. As news of Real's silver wealth spread, people came from all over the globe to try their luck in this anarchistic town. Many were Spanish, but there was a British mining company too; and it was a Guatemalan, Silvestre Lopez Portillo, who first set about forging a proper town from the chaos. He brought the amenities, law, local government and planning that served a population, which had now boomed to 15,000 people.


In its heyday, Real had 190 mines, extracting some of the highest price silver in the world. It had its own mint, a bullring and shops selling luxury items from Europe. It had a theater, which the celebrities of the day would visit. In 1895, the town even welcomed the president, Porfirio Díaz, when he came to the inaugaration of new machinery in one of the mines.

Yet the greatest achievement had to be the tunnel which allowed access into Real itself. 2,300 meters (7,546ft) long, this subterranean road is still used to reach the town. Walking or driving through it can be an utterly surreal experience. Thousands of people have passed along it, filled with their hopes and dreams, or the desolution of their losses.


In 1900, the international price of silver plummeted. It wasn't worth keeping the mines open, so one by one they shut. The trickle of people leaving became a flood, until only a few were left. Buildings lay empty. The mine-shafts were boarded up. The great and grand mansions sank into ruin. Thus the town is now and, for many tourists, is its charm. They wander through streets that, just a century ago, were teeming with crowds; and peer into windows, where people lived and worked and raised their families.

Only a thousand people still live permanently in Real de Catorce. A couple of the mines remain open, but the digs are small scale. Many of the residents find work in serving the tourists: those who come for the indian shamans, the peyote, the history or the ghost town spectacle. A couple of the mines have been opened as tourist attractions too. But there is also another class of regular visitors - the Catholic pilgrims.


Templo de la Purisima Concepcion (Church of the Immaculate Conception) was lavishly built in the 1790s, but was added to throughout the 19th century. Master builders and silversmiths were brought in from Mexico City, to create some of the beautiful details throughout the interior. It's a truly glorious church to visit. However, the pilgrims aren't here for the spectacle. They are here for the miracles.

The church is home to an image of St Francis de Assisi. The statuette has the affectionate nick-names of 'Panchito' or 'El Charrito'. Reports of miracles occurring, after leaving votive offers in front of St Francis, started early in the town's history. As Real died, this belief never did. Today, the area around the image is shrewn with candles and metal plaques, engraved with details of successful blessings.


On his feast day, October 4th, the town is busy again, as the streets fill with thousands of Catholics come to pay homage to this image. The festivities begin around September 20th and last into late October, though the 4th has the largest events.

Many people, who trace their ancestry to those who used to live in the town during the silver days, return with their families. They come to ask for favors, or give thanks for miracles enacted in their own lives. There are so many pilgrims that they couldn't possibly fit into the church, thus St Francis is taken out and paraded through the streets.

It is a time for piety, but this being Mexico, food, drink, song and dance also make up a large part of the tradition. Yet all of this is done in simplicity. It's a time for self-reflection and the emotions, not lavish hedonism. Just part of the inherent spirituality of the place, as was discussed in yesterday's blog.


By the end of October, the Catholic pilgrims all go away and Real de Catorce takes on its ghost town aspect again.

Real de Catorce: A Magical 'Ghost Town' Part One

In its heyday, Real de Catorce, in San Luis Potosí, Mexico, was a bustling mining town with a population of 15,000. These days, it's a parched village, surrounded by ruins. It's often labelled a 'ghost town', despite the remaining 1,000 residents; and despite the steady stream of Catholic pilgrims and Pagan mystics. The industry may be mostly over, but the spirituality goes on; and, of course, this is the land of peyote.


Since ancient times, the Huichol Indians have returned annually to the Catorce Valley. They come from miles around, often walking for weeks, from their lands in far-flung states. Even today, they will come from Nayarit, Durango, Jalisco and Zacatecas, in order to pay their respects in this holy place.

Here is Cerro del Quemado, perched up in the mountaineous Sierra Catorce, a sacred center for these people. It is the birthplace of the God, Tatewari, also known as Grandfather Fire. Three concentric rings of stone, within which offerings have been left since time immemorial. To the side of the ceremonial shrine, there is a relatively recent addition. It's a limestone shack, within with a candle burns. The sacred flame. Traditionalists, amongst the Huichol Indians, will come here three times a year. Once to ask; once to say; and once to give thanks.


The Huichol Indians will then venture down into the Catorce Valley (or Wirikuta in the Huichol tongue) to gather their holy plant. It will be used in rituals back home. It is a catcus called peyote, those properties cause hallucinogenic visions. For the hippies and drug tourists, steeped in chemically produced LSD, this is the real thing. Thus they too come in their droves, to soak up the spiritual ambiance and to harvest their own wild peyote.

It's a situation which is threatening the survival of the catcus itself. So much of it has been removed that Wirikuta peyote is in danger of disappearing from the landscape.

The government recently launched a campaign to protect it. It's now illegal for anyone but the Huichol Indians to pick it. The whole valley has been made part of an ecologically protected zone. The wardens are all Huichol Indians, who patrol the valley. They not only stop people picking peyote, but also educate them on why this should be necessary.


This isn't the first time that the native people have endeavoured to protect this holy place. The Spanish-Mexican name for the valley and the mountain is Catorce, aka Fourteen. The town that was built, when silver was discovered in the Sierra Catorce, is Real de Catorce, or The Royal Fourteen. This refers to fourteen Spanish soldiers ambushed by Chichimec warriors.

The Chichimeca were semi-nomadic people, who lived in this area, at the time of the Spanish conquest. Conquistador Hernán Cortés considered them not nearly as civilized as the Atzec people. In 1526, Cortés wrote to Spain, saying that the Chichimeca would be good as slaves and that they could be put to work in the fledging silver mines.

The tribe fought a long and bloody war against enslavement, from 1550-1590, with the Catorce name around here being a legacy of one of those meetings. The Spanish didn't get a foothold in these mountains until 1721. Even then, the Chichimeca were never conquered.

Chocolate: Quetzalcoátl's Gift to Mexico and the World

With the approach to Easter, many people are out there buying up chocolate eggs or chocolate bunnies. Beyond the religious aspect, Easter means chocolate in homes throughout the world. But have you ever wondered where it came from? The clue is that it was once considered a gift from the god, Quetzalcoátl, and only the Atzec ruling classes and priests were allowed to consume it. It was not a candy for mere mortals. Yes, chocolate comes from Mexico.


A Maya chief refuses chocolate to a commoner
Chocolate is a Spanish rendering of the Atzec word xocolātl, meaning sour (xococ) drink (ātl). An alternative theory is that the word was Mayan. Here it would come from hot (chokol) drink (ātl). As either interpretation highlights, chocolate was always used as a beverage in Mexico. It was only after the Spanish took it into Europe, that it became more commonly seen as a solid block.

The legend goes that, in 1519, Hernán Cortés, the Spanish conquistador, was granted an audience with the Atzec Emperor Moctezuma. This took place in Tenochtitlán, which is the modern day, Mexico City. Cortés and his men entered to find Moctezuma sipping xocolātl from a cup. As honored guests, the group were all served xocolātl. It was reported that the drink had 'a very exciting nature'. Forget the gold! They had just discovered chocolate! Thus Mexico's secret was out and its Fate was sealed.


Chocolate literally does grow on trees in Mexico. At least the cacao beans do, which are then ground up and treated to create chocolate. Cacao trees have been cultivated since around 1400 BCE. The Olmec appear to be the first to have created their sacred bitter drink from its ground beans. The Maya were next, with archealogical evidence showing that they were drinking chocolate from about 400 CE. Cups have been found, with a chocolate residue, dating from this period. Digs, at their historical settlement sites, have shown cacao trees being grown in their backyards.

The Atzec people saw chocolate as a divine drink. It was a gift from the feathered-serpent god, Quetzalcoátl, who had fetched the cacao beans from the Garden of Life.

As such a holy thing, chocolate was initially reserved only for the most ceremonial occasions. It was ritually prepared and drunk only within sacred areas.

Over the years, this was relaxed so that the higher echelons of society could imbibe it. However, it never lost its association with deity; so much so that, it was later at the center of a Christian scandal. The Catholic Church was brought into Mexico by the Spanish. It eventually become strong enough to start to eradicate the items and practices of the religions it had usurped. One bone of contention was that converts would bring chocolate drinks into Mass. The congregation were using it to honor the Catholic God, not Quetzalcoátl, but it made no odds. It was deemed as breaking the fast, in a Pagan way, and so the Church hierarchy banned chocolate outright.


Cacao tree with pods full of beans
This did not go down well. As each Catholic priest prohibited chocolate, then the congregation would up and leave, moving onto more lenient institutions. It was a battle of wills that eventually resulted in the Bishop of Chiapas threatening excommunication to anyone drinking chocolate. (He was killed, shortly afterwards, after he drank a cup of poisoned chocolate. It was handed to him by the same group of noble women, who he had just banned from drinking the very same.)

Finally, in 1662, Pope Alexander VII had to personally intervene. He ruled, "Liquidum non frangit jejunum!" (For those with rusty Latin, that basically says that liquids do not constitute breaking the fast.) In short, the Mexicans could drink all of the hot chocolate that they wished and still be regarded as fasting. The church's chocolate ban was lifted!

Of course, now the Catholic Church is firmly on the side of chocolate. In Mexico City's Metropolitan Cathedral, there is a 16th century sculpture of Jesus Christ. It is called El Señor del Cacao (The Lord of Cacao).


El Señor del Cacao
The error has now been firmly corrected. It was not Quetzalcoátl who gave chocolate to the world, via Mexico; it was Christ Himself.

Chocolate became popular, on a global scale, after a group of Mexican nuns thought to add vanilla and sugar to the chocolate mix. Overnight, it stopped being a sour drink and started becoming very sweet instead.

It is also a major ingredient in the Mexican national dish: Mole Poblano; as well as a stable of drinks, such as champurrado, and dips, to be used with churros.

Chocolate is still widely produced in Mexico, with cacao plantations stretching for miles. The World Cocoa Foundation estimates that 50 million jobs, internationally, rely upon cacao trees and the chocolate industry. Forget Willy Wonka. The real chocolate factories are scattered all over Mexico. Nestlé, Hersheys and Barry Callebaut are amongst the companies that create their confectionery here, before exporting them into shops near you. Chocolate is also created, straight from the tree, in many Mexican homes.

The Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe

It was December 9, 1531, when Juan Diego first saw Her. By December 12th, the last of Her appearances, even the Bishop was convinced. They were meetings that would change the spiritual face, not only of Mexico, but the whole of the Americas. Some might argue that it bolstered Catholicism itself, right in the midst of its darkest hour. Five centuries later, practically the entire of Mexico were out on the streets yesterday, celebrating the fact that it had happened at all.

Juan Diego wasn't his birth name. That was Cuauhtlatoatzin. He had been born into the Nahua tribe, in a village just to the north of modern-day Mexico City, on the eve of a period of tumultuous change. He married, but doesn't appear to have been blessed with children. He farmed his own land and, as a sideline, wove mats. Then, in 1521, the Spanish arrived.

The couple witnessed the rampage of Hernán Cortés through their country. They survived the conquest and, moreover, were counted amongst the few that welcomed their conquistadors. In particular, the pair were convinced by the evangelism of the Franciscan monks, who travelled with Cortés. In 1524, they were baptized into the Catholic faith. They were in the minority then, as very few Mexicans were interested in following suit. Cuauhtlatoatzin was fifty years old. It was now that he became Juan Diego. His wife took the baptism name Maria Lucia.

It was a Saturday, when Juan Diego set off on his usual weekend walk around Tepeyac Hill to the church. He was nearly 60 now and widowed. The air may have seem mild to the younger, more spritely villagers, but it poked coldly at his bones. He had a tilmàtli (a short cape, woven from cactus fibre) draped around his shoulders.

The hill itself had a Pagan past. It had been dedicated, by his own people, to the Goddess Tonantzin; She, who guided those in war or childbirth, and whose name meant 'seven flowers' after the crops that She oversaw. Perhaps Diego remembered those stories; maybe he didn't. But when the young girl called to him from its slopes, he knew immediately that She wasn't human. He was looking at someone divine. She was only about fourteen years old, but she called him 'my little son'.

Juan Diego trekked up the hill towards Her. He recalled the singing of birds and saw the light around her. She was dressed as an Atzec princess, with skin as dark as his own. She spoke to him in his native Nahuatl, but She called him Juan Diego.

She was no Pagan goddess. He knew that in the very soul of him; it was confirmed when Her message was for the Franciscan Bishop, Fray Juan de Zumárraga. She was the Mother of God Herself.

Juan Diego found the strength in his bones, the air in his lungs and the speed in his legs. He hurtled down the hill feeling like a young man, intent on seeking out the Bishop. He located him in the church, where the message was gushed out. The Virgin Mary was on Tepeyac Hill. She wanted a shrine there, built in Her honor. She had a promise in return and this had been memorized, word for word.

"I will demonstrate, I will exhibit, I will give all my love, my compassion, my help and my protection to the people. I am your merciful mother, the merciful mother of all of you who live united in this land, and of all mankind, of all those who love me, of those who cry to me, of those who seek me, of those who have confidence in me. Here I will hear their weeping, their sorrow and will remedy and alleviate all their multiple sufferings, necessities and misfortunes."

Zumárraga obviously thought that he had a madman on his hands. Well, you would, wouldn't you? Someone rushing in, telling you that they've seen the Mother of All, and that She wanted something building for Her. Especially when the Lady in question sounded very much like the Aztec Mother Goddess, for whom the hill was dedicated. It all sounded like a bit of a ruse.

But Diego was one of the Bishop's few converts. He couldn't just kick him out without some humouring words. Zumárraga told Diego to go back and get a sign that this was true.

Juan Diego returned to Tepeyac Hill and found the Lady still there. He explained that the Bishop needed a sign. She smiled back at him, still in Her aspect as a teenage girl. She told him to request again, of the Bishop, that Her shrine be built. Diego didn't feel worthy. He begged Her to send someone else. She was adamant that Diego conveyed her message.

The next day, Sunday 10th December, Diego tried again. The Bishop repeated his comment that he needed a sign, to prove that She was who She said She was. Diego set off to the hill. She was waiting for him. This time, She promised that there would be a sign. It would be something to convince even the most sceptical heart and it would begin the following day.

The next day, Juan Diego waited anxiously, but the news which came wasn't glorious at all. His uncle, Juan Diego Bernardino, lay suddenly ill and dying. He was very close to the old man. When Diego had been orphaned, as a child, Bernardino had taken him in and raised him as his own. Diego rushed to his uncle's side, but the prognosis looked bad. Diego tended to him all through the night.

By the early hours of the 12th, it was obvious that it wasn't healers, but a priest that was needed now. Someone had to come and administer the last rites. Diego volunteered to fetch Bishop Zumárraga. But halfway around the hill, in the murky light of 4am, Diego heard the Lady calling his name. Perhaps there was hope. She answered directly to a higher power. He raced to speak with Her.



With her opening words, She assured him that his uncle would survive his fever. Then She asked Diego to gather up flowers growing on the hill. This was December, there were no flowers up there. Diego frowned, then looked around. There were flowers. There were hundreds of them. He hurried to pick an armful of them to present to Her. The Lady just smiled reassuringly and bade him remove his tilmàtli. As he draped the cloak over his arms, She arranged seven of the finest blooms inside it.

Diego took them to Bishop Zumárraga. He was no doubt roused from his bed to receive them, but the Lady had ordered that no-one but the Bishop himself was to open the folded tilmàtli. The Bishop stood before Diego, but didn't appear moved to take the package. Diego opened it for him, releasing a corner, so that the flowers cascaded to the floor of the church. Inside, in a perfect representation imprinted into the fabric, was an image of the Lady Herself.

Bishop Zumárraga fell to his knees.

On the other side of the hill, in a deathbed room, Bernardino was also on his knees. He had felt the mortal illness lift from him. His veins cooling from the fever. He had found a Lady, resplendent in light, standing in his room. "Tell them," She said, "I am the Ever Virgin, Holy Mary of Guadalupe." Then She was gone.



News of the incident spread like wildfire through the native peoples of Mexico. Within the next handful of years, 8 million of them had converted to the Spanish religion, Catholicism. This was at a time when, in Europe, many were defecting to Protestantism. The influx of new adherrents to the old faith is credited, by some, with saving it.

The Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe is celebrated throughout Mexico and the Americas, on December 12th, each year.

Montezuma's Revenge

When setting out to choose the blog topic of the day, I often look first at perennial tourist questions. These are vacationers who have looked at the pretty beaches, the vibrant nightlife, the world heritage class tours, the fun attractions and are already excited about a vacation in Mexico. But then they spot something and worry about it. Enter this blog to evaporate the mystery, so that the worrying at least has some basis in fact.

Montezuma's Revenge is not:

* A vengeful ghost intent on human sacrifice;
* Some kind of vague, non-specific scam enacted by all Mexicans against all tourists;
* A curse which brings bad luck to anyone visiting a certain site or touching a certain rock.

All of the above are your internet friends trying to troll you. The real Montezuma's Revenge is a lot murkier than that. It's traveler's diarrhea.

Wherever we live, our bodies become used to the local water and the local food. People generally think that water is largely tasteless, until they travel to another city or state, even within their own country. That's when the discovery is made that water can be 'hard' or 'soft', or have discernibly different aftertastes, depending upon which filtering and cleaning chemicals are used by which local authority. 'Hard' water will have a higher mineral content than 'soft' water. But if the water is too soft, it might erode our household plumbing. Some processing plants are required, by local law, to add extra chemicals, if there's a profusion of fungi or algae caused by your landscape.

However the water is treated, we each build an immunity to all that's in it. Our bodies recognize that this is how water should taste and those are the minerals and chemicals that should be in it. They cause us no harm (no water processing plant is going to add harmful chemicals!) and life goes on. Until, that is, we go on vacation. Suddenly we have a whole different kind of water and our bodies have to suddenly reassess the situation. For some, with robust constitutions, this change happens with no side-effects at all; but for those with more fragile stomachs, their bodies can panic. They will treat the difference as poison and try to expel it from themselves. Hence the diarrhea.



This isn't a problem peculiar to Mexico. It simply seems that way, because this is the vacation destination for millions of Americans, Canadians and those further afield around the world. This might be the only time that those tourists drink water that is treated differently to that at home. However, it's not called Montezuma's Revenge everywhere. The Turkish Two-Step; Bali Belly; Pharaoh's Revenge/Cairo Two-Step; Kurtz Hurtz (Uzbekistan); Beaver Fever (Canada); Katmandu Quickstep, are just a selection of the alternative names for traveller's diarrhea. It happens wherever people drink different water or eat different food to that which their body has formed its immunity.

It is referred to as Montezuma's Revenge, when it occurs in Mexico, because of the Aztec Emperor, Montezuma II. He is alternatively known as Moctezuma II and his story was told in a previous blog entry: Mexico City - The City of the Gods. The short version is that he was the Aztec ruler at the coming of the Spanish. It was his empire that was over-run by the invasion force of Hernán Cortés. Montezuma II fought back valiantly against the conquistadors, but the upshot was that he lived to see his empire in foreign hands and he died in chains under their rule.

If the spirit of Montezuma II was wishing to wreak revenge upon the modern invaders (tourists), then it could be imagined that it would be more bloody than an upset stomach. Nevertheless, the wry moniker 'Montezuma's Revenge' has been applied to just that.

No resort, nor business reliant on the tourist trade, wants to see their clientele confined to their bathrooms, groaning. Therefore, you will find plentiful bottled water in Mexico, particularly where those on vacation congregate. Drink only this, rather than water from the faucet/tap and you'll be fine.

Ensure that you also brush your teeth in bottled water, plus that the ice in your drinks is from bottled water, for that extra security. If you are self-catering, then only wash your food in bottled water. You get the general idea! The restaurants and other eateries, in the tourist zones, will be using this in their food preparation anyway, as they are the last people who want to be accused of causing Montezuma's Revenge. Therefore areas like Cancún see very few cases of traveller's diarrhea.

If you do end up as one of the 20% of vacationers, travelling world-wide, to fall foul of traveller's diarrhea, then don't panic. It is inconvenient and downright disappointing, when you've saved up to come away, but it's usually easily treated.

Symptoms are loose bowels; abdominal cramps; nausea; and a bloating feeling. All of the above are your body's way of trying to expel something, which it considers poisonous, from your system. It is not contagious, so milk it for all the sympathy that you can get from the rest of your party; but equally don't be afraid to allow them back out into the wide world. They will not be carrying some dire virus. By the same token, if you can find somewhere with easy access to a bathroom, then you can go out yourself.

The most important treatment is fluids. Drink as much bottled water as is comfortable, so to flush out your system, and replace all of those fluids that you are losing by other means. You are also losing salts, so water primed with hydration salts is the best of all. Try to avoid alcohol, as a main way to take on fluids, as that can actually dehydrate you. Bottled soda works for some, but not others.



It might be worth a visit to the local drug store/pharmacy/chemist, as they would be well aware of the local variation of traveller's diarrhea. You might be able to get something over the counter to hurry along your body's stablization. It may take anywhere between one and five days to feel right again; with the average being 3.6 days.

If the symptoms are very severe, or there is blood in your stools or a high fever, then seek urgent medical advice. It might not be traveller's diarrhea, but indicative of something else.

Here's hoping that you never get traveller's diarrhea in Mexico. But if you do, at least you now know that it's only the occasional uncomfortable rush to the bathroom, and not the dismembering wrath of an Aztec king.

Mexico City - The City of the Gods.

It was 1519 and the Spanish Conquistadors had been hearing about the fabled Aztec capital city of Tenochtitlán all the way from Veracruz. Their leader, Hernán Cortés, was determinded to find it. As they marched across the country, moving ever closer towards it, the descriptions became more fantastic, more lavish. The Spanish covered hundreds of miles, through difficult, ever-changing terrain, lured on by the knowledge that this was the big one. If Tenochtitlán had just a fraction of the grandeur promised by reports, then it would be the jewel of their new empire. It would make them rich men. It would make Spain the envy of the world.



Then there it was, in the valley below. The largest, most glorious city in the Aztec Empire. It was home to 100,000 people, including their ultimate ruler, Emperor Moctezuma II. Tenochtitlán glittered, in ornate splendor, upon a massive island in the midst of an even larger lake. It connected to the mainland by three causeways. It held the Emperor's palace and several huge temples - with the main temple, bigger and more richly endowed than any seen before. Fertile gardens and canals intersected the city at strategic points. Tenochtitlán surpassed all stories told about it on the journey there. It was the greatest display of wealth, ingenuity and beauty in all the Aztec lands. It was more splendid than any European city of the time; smaller only than Constantinople. Hernán Cortés wanted it.

It would take the Spanish two years to take Tenochtitlán, despite forces swelled by the enemies of the Aztec, the Tlaxcalans. Aztec legend had told of the return of the god Quetzalcoátl. It was reported to Spain that, initially, Emperor Moctezuma II had assumed that Cortés was this deity and so had invited him into the city. They were lauded in luxury, feasting on food fit for kings. Moctezuma dressed him with flowers from his own garden, a great honour, though Cortés didn't understand the significance of the gesture. Cortés, along with his 3000 Spanish and Tlaxcalan entourage, were installed in the palace of Moctezuma's own father.

It didn't take long for Cortés to start making demands. At first these were humoured. Gigantic icons of Aztec gods were removed from the central temple; shrines to the Virgin Mary and St Christopher were set up in their place; a seemingly endless supply of gold was produced and handed over as gifts (or tribune, depending on who is telling the story). Cortés responded by seizing Moctezuma in his palace and holding him hostage.

Over the next two years, war raged throughout the city. Cortés left at one point to intercept a Spanish force coming to find and execute him for disobeying orders; but he successfully defeated them and persuaded the survivors to join his own cause. At times, the Aztec repelled the Spanish from Tenochtitlán. Moctezuma died in chains under Cortés's care. The fighting went on, sometimes house to house, street by street. It was never a foregone conclusion that the Spanish would win. On the night of 1 July 1520 alone, 600 Spanish and several thousand Tlaxcalans were killed, while trying to flee the city in the face of a massive Aztec force.

The war continued on the mainland, in pitched battles throughout the surrounding countryside. Without the Tlaxcalans swelling their ranks in their thousands, the Spanish would never have taken Tenochtitlán. When they did, it was as the result of a long, drawn out seige. For eight months, Tenochtitlán was surrounded. Its inhabitants could not cross the lake for supplies. Inside the city, food was rationed, then became scarce. They were bombarded with cannon fire. European diseases, like smallpox, ripped through the population, which had not been exposed to it before (a third of the population of the whole valley died in six months from smallpox). Until, 13 August 1521, the last Aztec Emperor, Cuauhtémoc, surrendered the city.

Cortés moved in immediately. He asked for gold, food and women with fair skin; then he expelled the rest of the Aztecs from the city. Cuauhtémoc was tortured and executed. The population were banned from ever returning to it nor even the surrounding countryside. Then Cortés set about rebuilding Tenochtitlán. It was to be even more ornate and glorious. Spanish buildings and icons to replace the Aztec. It was designed to inspire awe in all that saw it and to impress upon all visitors that the Spanish were the rulers here. Tenochtitlán rose again quickly with splendor on top of splendor. Bigger and better places of worship - Catholic churches and cathedrals now, instead of Aztec temples; more magnificent palaces; grand avenues; beautiful plazas.



There was only one technicality. The Spanish had always had trouble pronouncing Tenochtitlán, with its Aztec consonants strange to their tongue. They asked around and discovered a nickname for the city - the place where the God, Mēxihtli, lives, or, in the Aztec tongue, Mexico. This name they could say more easily and so the city was renamed - Mexico City. Eventually, as the importance of the city spread, it would lend its name to the whole country. Mexico, named after the city, not the other way around.

In the intervening centuries, Mexico City has continued to grow. It's no longer in the center of a lake, as expansion saw that drained and built over. It's been the scene of many of the most momentous events in Mexican history, becoming the nation's capital in 1824. Today, it is home to nearly 9 million people and covers an area stretching 1,485 square kilometres (573 square miles). It is still one of the largest cities in the world, beaten only by Tokyo, Delhi, São Paulo and Mumbai. Successive rulers have continued to pour the lion's share of their country's wealth into this single city. It is the showpiece and the jewel of Mexico.

As a result, it has been nicknamed, 'The City of Palaces', in response to some of its residences. Many of its public buildings or artwork boast the title, 'the biggest in the world'. It hosted the 1968 Olympic Games, with a grand stadium still in evidence. Thousands of tourists and business people visit the city every year. Its vibrancy, creativity and productivity remaining unparalleled throughout Mexico.

Cortés got his wish. The city that he took from the Aztecs is world-reknowned and glorious, though his name is rarely mentioned in the same breath. Yet the Aztecs live on too. Their canals remain and it is a pleasant trip, for locals and tourists alike, to sail along them in a punt. People still marvel at the grand Spanish buildings, but, as archaelogists uncover and restore it, the people admire the Aztec architecture too. Meanwhile the expansion of Mexico City goes on - several skyscrapers are due to be built in the next few years - and the city goes from strength to strength.

The Magical Old Baja

The Old Baja... a taste of old Baja... it's just like Old Baja...

It's a phrase that you hear often. It's not even just the elderly senors and senoras sitting back with misty-eyed nostalgia. People in their 30s will sigh over their tequilas at the mention of 'old Baja'. The internet is full of it. Newcomers and tourists would be forgiven for thinking that 'old Baja' is some mystical Otherworld. Perhaps a legendary Brigadoon, that only appears once every 100 years for just one night, to carry off heroes into the sunset.

So what is it?

It's a region of Mexico that you can visit right now. It's the Baja Peninsula of Las Californias. Back in 1510, García Ordóñez de Montalvo published his 'Las Sergas de Esplandián', which talked of an island to the west of the Indies. This island was entirely populated by women, in the manner of Amazons, and was ruled over by Queen Califia. The island was named California after her. The legend was so well known that when the Spanish Conquistador, Hernán Cortés, travelled along the Pacific coast of Mexico and the USA, he was convinced that he had found the place. He then worked out that the area wasn't an island. It was a peninsula. Nevertheless, he named it California.

Today, there are three Californias, known collectively as Las Californias. From the top, they are California, in the USA; then, crossing into Mexico, Baja California and Baja California Sur. 'Baja' means 'lower' and 'sur' means 'south'. So it's California, Lower California and Southern Lower California. When people refer to the Baja, they are talking about the Mexican peninsula.

But that's the modern Baja. The 'old Baja' was in exactly the same place, but felt different. Even 20 years ago, few people had electricity, especially in Baja California Sur. Towns like Cabo San Lucas were a fraction of the size that they are today. The main visitors were sailors, stopping for food and fuel. They might have dined at the single restaurant or paused for a drink at the only bar in town.

In 1949, the American director, Silas Johnson, travelled from the north to the southern tip of the Baja Peninsula. He recorded what he saw and created this short film, showing precisely what 'old Baja' was.



The film is only 60 years old, so many of those children would only be in their 70s now. Baja did not change overnight. In fact, there are still some areas where 'old Baja' is alive and well in everyday life. For many though, the lure of tourism grew too great and the last ten years has seen a lot of expansion. Much of this has happened during the past couple of decades, so even those in their 30s might remember Johnson's Baja. Those in their 20s or even their teens will recall a Baja slowly transforming into the vacation mecca that it's becoming now.

We can use Google Streetview to take a tour of Cabo San Lucas today. You might notice a few changes since the end of Johnson's 1949 film and the scenes in 2010.


View Larger Map

Click on the map and use your keyboard's arrow keys to take a virtual tour through the streets.

The Baja Peninsula is still tranquil. There are still old Spanish colonial towns and small fishing villages. There's still a lot of the old Baja in evidence, but it is disappearing fast. If you wish to experience it close to how it used to be, it might be worth going soon. Wait just ten or twenty years and the old Baja could well have vanished under the prosperous new Baja. And good luck to them!

Pirates of the Caribbean - Giovanni de Verrazano

Giovanni de Verrazano (pron vay-rah-tsah'-he), aka Juan Florin, Juan Florentino or The Frenchman, was born in Florence, Italy, in 1485, but worked under a commission from the French crown. During his early career, he traversed the coastline of North America and Canada, sending letters back to Francis I, king of France, containing detailed descriptions of all he saw. These letters show that he discovered the Hudson River before Henry Hudson, but he only sailed as far as modern-day Manhattan, so didn't realise it was a river. Instead Verrazano believed that he'd found a 'large lake'. He made it as far north as Newfoundland before returning to Europe in 1524.

He was soon back, but this time it was in his other guise, as a pirate. He had first experimented with such activities in 1522, when he had taken a ship belonging to Hernán Cortés, a Spanish conquistador and now governor of the country, just off the coast of Mexico. He took pearls and sugar, as well as Mexican gold worth 80,000 ducats. At the time, Europe was alight with the news of the Spanish getting rich from their conquests in South America. Many countries despatched 'privateers', or crews with an official remit to intercept the Spanish and Portuguese ships, thus diverting the wealth into other countries. France's monarch, Francis I, was the one who provided Verrazano with a ship and crew to do just this. The age of the pirates was well and truly born.

Peter Martyr, an eyewitness, wrote letters concerning Verrazano's exploits at sea. He talked of ships lying in wait for the Spanish vessels, then dramatic chases and cannon fire. In 1521, Verrazano himself was boasting of owning four vessels for such grisly work. In 1523, the pirate was intercepted by the Spanish, whilst in possession of seven captured ships. He was forced to relinquish them. Yet another source said that he had fifteen ships at the time. What is certain is that Verrazano's notoriety as a pirate was growing steadily with each passing year.

Verrazano's crew had a reputation in the Caribbean as the worst kind of pirate. They were cut-throats, who would kill automatically without mercy or reason. They just wanted the loot and would sink any ship, as soon as its cargo had been carried away, with the loss of life of all on board. He was also responsible for abduction. He stole a child from a tribe in North Carolina, USA to take back to France as a curiousity. He attempted to take a young woman from the same tribe too, but she managed to escape. By the time he was hanged for piracy, in Puerto del Pico, Spain, in November, 1527, he had self-confessed to having plundered and sunk 150 ships, galleons and galleys. The estimated value of all the cargo that he had taken was nearly two million dollars.

Other sources state that he was never captured by the Spanish nor taken back to Spain for execution. The alternative story says that, in 1528, he achored off the coast of Guadeloupe, in the Lesser Antilles and saw members of the native population on the shore. While his crew, including his brother, Girolamo, stayed aboard the ships, Verrazano waded ashore. He was immediately set upon, killed and eaten, as the people were cannibals. Those on the ships were out of gunfire range and couldn't reach him in time to save him. Later commentators have noted that, while the population of Guadeloupe were cannibals, they only ate those whom they had defeated in battle. It can be deduced that it wasn't a friendly landing, which had led to Verrazano being eaten. It had been a fight, which the Europeans had lost.

What should historians make of these contradictory stories? It might be worth noting that Giovanni de Verrazano came from a notable family in Italy. His letters, alongside his brother's maps, were important for navigation in the New World for a century; while historians still find them invaluable as primary sources of information about that period. Spanish records are emphatic on the fact that they did hang him, with a charge of piracy against Spanish and Portuguese ships in the Caribbean Sea, Atlantic Ocean and Mediterranean Sea. It is tantalising to consider that his family did not want such a story associated with their name, hence they embraced an alternative death for him. Being eaten by cannibals in South America is a much juicier narrative and it is this one which has endured.

However, the reality is even more murky than that. It seems that a Florentine man was captured and eaten by cannibals, but his name was not given in the account. What was told was that the ship and the rest of the crew were English, it was only the pilot who was Italian. Given the English records of the time, it is likely that this man was Albert de Prato. However, a chronicler of the period, John Baptista Ramusius, noted the nationality and the fact that Verrazano had disappeared from the historical record around this time. He put two and two together and inserted Verrazano's name as the consumed Florentine.

* Subacuatico-CEDAM Museum, Puerto Aventuras: Some of the exhibits recovered from the seabed come from ships which may have been sunk by Giovanni de Verrazano and his men.



* Yucatán Strait: It was this stretch of water, separating Mexico from Cuba, where Giovanni de Verrazano and his fleet of pirates waited ready to attack Spanish galleons. Just visit any beach on the Yucatán Peninsula or its islands, or sail out into the sea, and you will be on the trail of Giovanni de Verrazano.