Chapter XIV: My Journey to the Gulf Coast

The narrow-gauge railway that carried me away from Mexico City passed close under the walls of Guadalupe. I had hoped to go straight on down through the center of the country, on foot and perhaps sometimes on horseback. Then I might have visited the pleasant old city of Cuernavaca and the quaint little state capital of Oaxaca on the way to Tehuantepec.

Near Oaxaca, at Mitla, there are wonderful ruins of great buildings which the Zapotec Indians of ancient times probably used for religious and burial purposes. Mitla means “Place of the Dead.” I did not visit Mitla or its neighborhood because just then civil war and bandits made the region a bad one for the “gringo” who wished to get home again some day. Instead, I took the railway down to the Gulf coast, intending to go south on another line. After all, this would bring me to as many interesting and historic scenes as the other route.

Soon we came to the famous pyramids of Teotihuacán looming above the plain. No one knows just when or by whom these two great artificial hills were built, but it was before the Toltecs came. The larger pyramid had recently been cleared of the trees and bushes that had found root in the soil deposited by winds over a long period of years. Cement-colored, it rose in four terraces, with a low monument on the summit. Although it has as much material in it as the great pyramid of Cheops in Egypt, this Mexican pile does not look so imposing, because the proportions are different. It is much larger at the base and not nearly so high.

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In the Hall of Mosaics at Mitla are marvelous relics of prehistoric
builders.
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The train made a mighty curve to the northward in finding its way out of the Valley of Mexico. I got off it in the famous little state of Tlaxcala. You remember that Cortés was helped in the conquest of Mexico by the Tlaxcalans, a tribe at enmity with the Aztecs. After his final victory the people of Tlaxcala were given certain special privileges because of their assistance. Their lords were baptized and required to swear allegiance to the king of Spain, but they were left in command of their domains. Even during viceroy days the Tlaxcalans were treated better than the other Indian tribes.

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Pyramid of the Sun at San Juan Teotihuacán, seen across the maguey
fields from the Pyramid of the Moon.
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The low pyramids at San Juan Teotihuacán have given this region the
name “the Egypt of America.”
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Detail of the strange carving on one of the pyramids at San Juan
Teotihuacán.
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Tlaxcala is the Rhode Island of Mexico, the tiniest of the twenty-eight states. Its name means “Land of Corn.” The fact that it is almost completely hedged in by mountains was both a hindrance and a help to Cortés in his conquest of Mexico. With the two great volcanoes of Popocatepetl and Ixtaccihuatl gazing down upon it, Tlaxcala is one of the most striking regions in Mexico. However, one might think it had been punished at last for joining the white invaders against the rest of the Indians. It is really rather miserable, by no means prosperous.

Although the capital of a state, Tlaxcala town has only about three thousand inhabitants. It is several miles from the railway, being connected with the station and the outer world by a few wretched mule cars. I decided it would be more fun to walk than to ride. Tlaxcala is several hundred feet higher than Mexico City, and it is cold and dreary and almost treeless. Its ancient church of San Francisco is said to be the oldest structure in North America built for Christian worship. Many of its stone buildings are mere ruins, where grass and flowers grow as they do among the cobblestones of the streets. Yet Tlaxcala has a complete state government, with all the customary officials and features of a capital.

The “City of the Angels”

Puebla, the next state capital on the way to the coast, is called the “City of the Angels.” There was no city at this place when the Spaniards came. A legend says that angels appeared to a priest in a dream and helped him lay out the city they said should be built there. But while it is cleaner and in some other ways better than most Mexican cities, Puebla did not look exactly angelic. It is a city of churches, many of them having domes decorated with the bright-colored tiles that are a Puebla specialty. Some have carvings, paintings, and other precious things that compare with the possessions of old European churches. Puebla is also an important manufacturing city, producing much flour, soap, glass, paper, and cheap pottery.

The marketplace of Tlaxcala has a dozen or more buildings to shelter
the sellers. As the weather is never cold, walls are not needed.
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Some of the old houses of Puebla have their fronts covered with tile mosaics of birds, animals, and saints. Such buildings are all low, so that a view across the city shows little besides flat roofs and church domes. Most of the outer walls are cream white, but some are tinted more gayly. Puebla resembles Tlaxcala in being even colder than Mexico City and in being watched over by “Popo” and the “White Woman.” Far away to the west stands Orizaba, highest peak in Mexico. There was music in the _plaza_ that evening, but the air was so chilly that I soon hurried back to my hotel. Even there the only warm place was in bed. People in Puebla do not build fires for comfort, but merely heat up a little charcoal to cook with.

Courtesy Ward Line. Photo by American Photo Co., Havana

From the summit of the ancient pyramid at Cholula one obtains a
splendid view of Popocatepetl and Ixtaccihuatl. The shrine dates
from the year 666, when it was erected by Cortés after he had
ordered the destruction of the Aztec temples in the vicinity.
Cholula being the sacred city of the tribe, this action resulted in
the natives’ troubling Cortés constantly and finally securing his
downfall.
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The next morning I was ready to get up at dawn, though I found it cold work. A three hours’ walk from the central _plaza_ of Puebla warmed me and brought me to the top of one of the greatest pyramids in the world. This is at Cholula, eight miles from Puebla. It was built of sun-dried bricks, limestone, and clay, by some tribe that arrived before the Aztecs. When Cortés came, there was on top of it a great temple to the Aztec god Quetzalcoatl. The Spaniards pulled down the ancient images and overthrew the altar on which so many people had been sacrificed to the bloodthirsty god. Now there is at the summit a great church to which many pilgrims come. The ancient pyramid has crumbled a good deal and is so covered with grass, flowers, and trees that it looks almost like a natural hill. Through a great gash that has been made in it runs the street-car line to Puebla.

Down to Vera Cruz

Though it is called the Mexican Railway, the line from Mexico City down to Vera Cruz belongs to the English. Descending from the great Mexican plateau, it zigzags back and forth, often on the brink of precipices. At one point we could look down upon the town of Maltrata, more than two thousand feet below, as directly as if we had been in an airplane. The train, behind a double-header engine, twisted about until it seemed as if it must be lost, but finally we reached our destination.

For the first time since my second day in Mexico I was less than a mile above sea level. High above all else, and much farther away than it seemed, was the symmetrical snow-capped top of Orizaba. This was first climbed by American officers during our war with Mexico. The cold peak looked still stranger from the town of Orizaba where I spent the night. Orizaba has one of the largest cotton mills in the world, and a big brewery; but although it is really an industrious place, it is just near enough the tropics to be rather sleepy and careless in its manner.

Photo by Hugo Brehme, Mexico City

Along the Mexican Railway, the oldest railroad in Mexico, leading from
the high plateau of the capital down to Vera Cruz.
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It took eighteen miles of winding and tunneling to get down from Orizaba to Córdoba, almost directly below. The train skirted yawning precipices, passed through dense vegetation, banana plants without number, coffee plantations, and uncultivated jungle. It seemed very hot after being on Mexico’s plateau, though we were still higher than the tops of our Alleghanies.

Photo from Janet M. Cummings

A fine _hacienda_ house on a coffee plantation near Córdoba, Mexico.
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Two Gulf Ports

Tropical Vera Cruz, where the Mexican Railway finally ends at sea level, is the greatest port of Mexico. Ever since the days of Cortés it has been the country’s front door. In a sense, entrance by railroad from the United States is by the back door. Most travelers to and from Mexico, and most imports and exports, except oil from Tampico, go through Vera Cruz. Cortés, landing there on Good Friday, which the Spanish call “The Day of the True Cross,” gave the place that name. A hundred years before the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock, Cortés claimed all Mexico in the name of the king of Spain. He built a fortress which still covers a small island a mile from shore and bears the marks of many a battle. Ever since Cortés traveled the road from the coast to Tenochtitlan, Vera Cruz has been both a door to power and a way of escape for the defeated. It is the favorite place for beginning revolutions against the government in power at Mexico City. The American General Scott took Vera Cruz before he started on his way to capture the capital.

Vera Cruz is one of the most Spanish cities in Mexico. There used to be much yellow fever there, and travelers hurried through it as fast as possible. But now it is fairly healthful, though very hot. The wharves have every modern docking facility.

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The harbor of Vera Cruz is a busy one. This city has had an important
part in the history of Mexico because it is one of the country’s few
fine ports.
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Some distance up the coast is another important city, Tampico, more important perhaps to Americans than to the Mexicans. Most of the oil from Tampico is finally used in American automobiles, and many of the oil wells belong to Americans. Tampico and the great oil fields about it are so American that the Mexicans themselves often call the region “Gringolandia.” Being close to the coast, the oil fields cannot legally continue to be held by foreigners, according to the 1917 constitution. The matter is under discussion by the Mexican and United States governments. Although it is an important city to those who think in terms of oil, Tampico is not as interesting or as pleasant a place as most Mexican cities.

© Burton Holmes, from Keystone View Co.

The oil wells at Tampico sometimes catch fire and send a great cloud
of smoke high into the air.
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