Mexico: Under the Volcano
A tour of the picturesque lands around the “smoking mountain”. Popocatépetl looms over the megalopolis, with ominous eruptions making residents wary.
By Guillaume Jan Photos Stéphane Remael
It is a giant of stone, fire and sulphur, a hulk- ing beast 5,452 metres tall looming over one of the largest cities in the world. Just 70 kilo- metres southeast of Mexico City, Popocatépetl (“smoking mountain” in the Aztec language of Náhuatl) overlooks the blanket of smog cover- ing this capital that is home to 20 million people. In late November 2017, an eruption spewed forth a plume of ash 2,000 metres high. Eight days later, the Chilangos had forgotten the incident: “When there are big eruptions, you see it on the TV news,” says Cecilia, who works at a cafeteria in the Condesa neighbourhood, “but the rest of the time, we don’t really feel threatened.” The volcano has been consid- ered active since 1994, the year of its “awakening”, when Mexico City’s southern quarters were evacu- ated. In 2005, a stream of smoke rose 3,000 metres above the crater. Driven by the westerly wind, the ashes enveloped Mexico City, choking the air already overwhelmed by car exhaust. “People say Popocatépetl is the most dangerous vol- cano in the world,” says Ramón Espinasa Pereña, Deputy Director of Geological Risks at the National Center for Disaster Prevention (CENAPRED). Not so much because of its activity — though one should never trust a volcano, but because of the millions of people who live nearby. If a major eruption occurred, billows of fiery death, at temperatures from 900 to 2000°C, could cascade down the slopes. This is what happened two thousand years ago in Pompeii, when the city was destroyed after Vesuvius erupted. In the CENAPRED control room, where screens moni- tor the dome, the director points to a section of a planisphere, indicating the volcanic cordillera that crosses the country from east to west: “A great many Mexicans live at the foot of a volcano. Mexico City is built on an old crater, that’s why the region’s soils are so fertile.” For Popocatépetl is not only a threat: it is also a blessing. An hour’s drive away, the Paso de Cortès is a mountain pass at 3,600 metres’ altitude, set between Popocatépetl and the other volcano rising above capital, Iztaccíhuatl (5,220 metres). An Aztec legend links these two mountains, telling the tale of Princess Iztaccíhuatl, in love with one of her father’s warriors, Popocatépetl. One day, the girl’s father, opposed to their union, told her falsely that her beloved had died in battle. Iztaccíhuatl died of grief on the spot. Upon his return, Popocatépetl found his love dead, took her body to a spot out- side Tenochtitlan and knelt by her grave. The gods covered them both with snow changed them into volcanoes. Isaï Gerardo Ortega, a forest ranger, has come to love these behemoths: “Much of the water that Mexico City relies on comes from Iztaccíhuatl. And the wilderness surrounding these peaks is a biodiversity storehouse that the city needs to sur- vive.” A bit further on, in the village of Xalitzintla, farmer Santiago Garcia reiterates the sacred bond between Mexicans and volcanoes: “Ashes bring minerals that make the soil more fertile, and also kills the pests that eat the crops.” His neigh- bour, a bright-eyed woman in her eighties, adds, “We respect the volcano because we’re afraid of it. We keep our eye on it, but we know deep down that it’s actually watching us.”
