Sweat dripped from my scalp into my eyes, ran in rivulets down my cheeks and pooled in the hollow of my neck. A merciless sun beat down on my bare head, laughing at my attempts to staunch the flow with the few measly tissues left in my backpack. I stood atop the Pyramid of the Sun at Teotihuacan, looking down upon ruins stretching far into the distance, wondering how an ancient civilization ever flourished on this God forsaken, barren plateau, and marveling at the massive structures they were able to erect without the assistance of machines.
As I descended the steep stone steps, I glanced down the wide avenue leading to the Pyramid of the Moon. Despite oppressive heat and torpid air, I knew I would also climb this sister pyramid, if only because it was there.
Late in the day, having survived two steep climbs, I hurried to the far end of the park before it closed to see the final pyramid, the Temple of Quetzalcoatl. I debated whether or not I needed to climb it for about a nanosecond before turning for the exit. Maybe later I’d kick myself for not having stood atop this third ruin, but I was out of energy and out of kleenex.