Farmer-turned-policeman is Mexico’s eyes and ears at Popocatepetl volcano
By MARÍA VERZA
By MARÍA VERZA
AP
yesterday
Mexico farmer becomes official volcano watcher
When the Popocatepetl volcano reawakened in 1994, scientists scoured the surrounding areas for people who could be their eyes and ears. Nefi de Aquino, a farmer in his fifties who knew photography and lived beside the volcano, fit the bill. Since then his life changed. (May 25) (AP video shot by: Gerardo Carrillo)
SANTIAGO XALITZINTLA, Mexico (AP) — When the Popocatepetl volcano reawakened in 1994, Mexican scientists needed people in the area who could be their eyes and ears. State police helped them find one, Nefi de Aquino, a farmer then in his 40s who lived beside the volcano. From that moment on, his life changed.
He became a police officer himself, but with a very specific job: watching Popocatepetl and reporting everything that he saw to authorities and researchers at diverse institutions.
For nearly three decades, de Aquino says he has been “taking care of” the volcano affectionately known as “El Popo.” And for the past 23 of those years, he has been sending scientists daily photographs.
Collaboration between researchers and local residents — usually people of limited means — is crucial to Mexico’s volcano monitoring. Hundreds of villagers collaborate in different ways. Often local residents are the only witnesses to key events. Sometimes scientists install recording devices on their land, or have them collect ash samples.
One evening this week, the thin 70-year-old policeman with a hoarse voice stopped his patrol truck near the cemetery overlooking his home town, one of the area’s best vantage points. At his feet lay the town of Santiago Xalitzintla. Directly in front at a distance of 14 miles (23 kilometers) sat Popocatepetl, puffing smoke, the rim of its crater aglow.
Since it appeared calm, de Aquino didn’t stay long. Over the previous week, he had been busy sending digital volcano photographs to a slew of researchers at universities and government agencies as the mountain’s activity increased and authorities raised the alert level. Once again the world’s eyes were on the 17,797-foot Popocatepetl, including those of the 25 million people living within 60 miles of its crater.
On Friday, officials said the volcano’s activity had decreased somewhat although they maintained the same alert level.
A farmer who was a meat packer for three years in Utah in his late 20s when he illegally emigrated to the United States, de Aquino’s life took a radical turn one day in 1994 when someone in his home town told him police were looking for him.
At first he was afraid to go to the police, but eventually did. The interview was brief.
“’Do you know how to read?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Write?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Do you drive?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Do you have a license?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Heck, this one will work.’”
Officers told de Aquino that the government was looking for people to monitor the volcano and that he, then 41, had certain advantages. He appeared serious, he had finished high school and during his short stay in the United States he had learned how to take photographs.
At first he was given a volunteer civil defense role, and he took some courses at National Center for Disaster Prevention, or CENAPRED where he was “immersed in the volcano.” But he wasn’t thrilled with doing the work without pay. So authorities offered to send him to the police academy.
Although de Aquino became an officer with some normal police duties, he was an odd cop. He almost always worked alone, patrolling remote mountain roads, taking photos of the volcano.
The ways that local people who help monitor the volcano are compensated are seldom straightforward, because they are not on the payrolls of universities or other research institutions, despite “becoming our eyes close to the volcano,” said Carlos Valdés, a researcher at the UNAM’s Geophysics Institute and former head of CENAPRED.
As an example, Valdés said that the key person when the seismic monitoring system was installed on Popocatepetl was a mountain climber who lived in the town of Amecameca. The man, since deceased, knew the safest routes to climb and how to avoid putting instruments in locations that were sacred to locals.
The way to compensate the man, was “to buy tires for his jeep, repair the vehicle, get him coats,” because it was otherwise difficult to pay him.
Paulino Alonso, a technician at CENAPRED who does fieldwork at Popocatepetl, said collaboration with locals also has given researchers a better understanding of how locals perceive risks.
“A machine is never going to speak to the human perception of danger,” Alonso said.
In 2000, when Popocatepetl grew more active, authorities declared a red alert and thousands of people were evacuated. De Aquino’s monitoring work intensified.
“They gave me cameras, a patrol car and binoculars and every day I had to send three photos: one in the morning, one at midday and one at night,” the policeman said.
He continues that work to this day, filling up his adobe-walled home with thousands of photographs. De Aquino lives alone on a modest ranch on the volcano’s slopes, where he has some fruit trees growing beside a stream, and also raises corn and a few animals.
De Aquino helps keep locals informed about the volcano and assists during evacuations. Once, his house becomes an impromptu shelter for soldiers, police and government officials, he said.
De Aquino has gotten to go along on overflights of the crater, the first time terrified. “You see the whole base, how it lights up, how its puts out smoke ... it felt strange,” he said.
He has continued in his job despite being past retirement age.
“What I have learned from (Popocatepetl) is that while it’s calm, it doesn’t do anything, but when it gets mad, it goes crazy,” he said.
Mexico farmer becomes official volcano watcher
When the Popocatepetl volcano reawakened in 1994, scientists scoured the surrounding areas for people who could be their eyes and ears. Nefi de Aquino, a farmer in his fifties who knew photography and lived beside the volcano, fit the bill. Since then his life changed. (May 25) (AP video shot by: Gerardo Carrillo)
SANTIAGO XALITZINTLA, Mexico (AP) — When the Popocatepetl volcano reawakened in 1994, Mexican scientists needed people in the area who could be their eyes and ears. State police helped them find one, Nefi de Aquino, a farmer then in his 40s who lived beside the volcano. From that moment on, his life changed.
He became a police officer himself, but with a very specific job: watching Popocatepetl and reporting everything that he saw to authorities and researchers at diverse institutions.
For nearly three decades, de Aquino says he has been “taking care of” the volcano affectionately known as “El Popo.” And for the past 23 of those years, he has been sending scientists daily photographs.
Collaboration between researchers and local residents — usually people of limited means — is crucial to Mexico’s volcano monitoring. Hundreds of villagers collaborate in different ways. Often local residents are the only witnesses to key events. Sometimes scientists install recording devices on their land, or have them collect ash samples.
One evening this week, the thin 70-year-old policeman with a hoarse voice stopped his patrol truck near the cemetery overlooking his home town, one of the area’s best vantage points. At his feet lay the town of Santiago Xalitzintla. Directly in front at a distance of 14 miles (23 kilometers) sat Popocatepetl, puffing smoke, the rim of its crater aglow.
Since it appeared calm, de Aquino didn’t stay long. Over the previous week, he had been busy sending digital volcano photographs to a slew of researchers at universities and government agencies as the mountain’s activity increased and authorities raised the alert level. Once again the world’s eyes were on the 17,797-foot Popocatepetl, including those of the 25 million people living within 60 miles of its crater.
On Friday, officials said the volcano’s activity had decreased somewhat although they maintained the same alert level.
A farmer who was a meat packer for three years in Utah in his late 20s when he illegally emigrated to the United States, de Aquino’s life took a radical turn one day in 1994 when someone in his home town told him police were looking for him.
At first he was afraid to go to the police, but eventually did. The interview was brief.
“’Do you know how to read?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Write?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Do you drive?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Do you have a license?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Heck, this one will work.’”
Officers told de Aquino that the government was looking for people to monitor the volcano and that he, then 41, had certain advantages. He appeared serious, he had finished high school and during his short stay in the United States he had learned how to take photographs.
At first he was given a volunteer civil defense role, and he took some courses at National Center for Disaster Prevention, or CENAPRED where he was “immersed in the volcano.” But he wasn’t thrilled with doing the work without pay. So authorities offered to send him to the police academy.
Although de Aquino became an officer with some normal police duties, he was an odd cop. He almost always worked alone, patrolling remote mountain roads, taking photos of the volcano.
The ways that local people who help monitor the volcano are compensated are seldom straightforward, because they are not on the payrolls of universities or other research institutions, despite “becoming our eyes close to the volcano,” said Carlos Valdés, a researcher at the UNAM’s Geophysics Institute and former head of CENAPRED.
As an example, Valdés said that the key person when the seismic monitoring system was installed on Popocatepetl was a mountain climber who lived in the town of Amecameca. The man, since deceased, knew the safest routes to climb and how to avoid putting instruments in locations that were sacred to locals.
The way to compensate the man, was “to buy tires for his jeep, repair the vehicle, get him coats,” because it was otherwise difficult to pay him.
Paulino Alonso, a technician at CENAPRED who does fieldwork at Popocatepetl, said collaboration with locals also has given researchers a better understanding of how locals perceive risks.
“A machine is never going to speak to the human perception of danger,” Alonso said.
In 2000, when Popocatepetl grew more active, authorities declared a red alert and thousands of people were evacuated. De Aquino’s monitoring work intensified.
“They gave me cameras, a patrol car and binoculars and every day I had to send three photos: one in the morning, one at midday and one at night,” the policeman said.
He continues that work to this day, filling up his adobe-walled home with thousands of photographs. De Aquino lives alone on a modest ranch on the volcano’s slopes, where he has some fruit trees growing beside a stream, and also raises corn and a few animals.
De Aquino helps keep locals informed about the volcano and assists during evacuations. Once, his house becomes an impromptu shelter for soldiers, police and government officials, he said.
De Aquino has gotten to go along on overflights of the crater, the first time terrified. “You see the whole base, how it lights up, how its puts out smoke ... it felt strange,” he said.
He has continued in his job despite being past retirement age.
“What I have learned from (Popocatepetl) is that while it’s calm, it doesn’t do anything, but when it gets mad, it goes crazy,” he said.
'Don Goyo's Angry': The Legends Behind Rumbling Mexican Volcano
By Sofia Miselem
"We asked him 'who are you?' He said: 'Don't you know me? I'm Gregorio Chino Popocatepetl. I'm the volcano,'" the 77-year-old farmer said.
Every year on March 12, residents mark the day known as Don Goyo's birthday.
Hundreds of people approach the crater to offer typical dishes, liquor, flowers and clothes, and sing a traditional song.
This year, however, authorities restricted access to the site due to the increased danger, dismaying locals who warned that it would anger the mountain's spirit.
"We've already asked Don Goyo to wait for us until next year," local mayor Gumaro Sandre Popoca told AFP.
Life in Xalitzintla, home to about 2,000 inhabitants, revolves around volcanoes.
The walls are dotted with images of Popocatepetl and the neighboring Iztaccihuatl volcano.
Mediums who claim to communicate with "Don Goyo" are influential figures in the community.
One of them, Nazario Castro, blames people who enter the exclusion zone to take selfies for upsetting the volcano.
"They're provoking it because they go up" to take pictures and "it starts to thunder," Castro said.
Isabel, a restaurant owner in the town, said that as an 11-year-old girl she also saw the man who embodies Popocatepetl.
"He comes down from the mountain. He's tall, with white hair and green eyes," she said.
"He scared me. I ran home and got under the bed," added the 54-year-old, who did not want to give her full name for fear of being called a "gossip."
"We're not afraid," says Eufemia de Jesus Ramos, who sells birds at an animal market near Popocatepetl volcano
But she enthusiastically recounted a pre-Hispanic love story involving Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl.
According to legend, Iztaccihuatl ("white woman" in the Indigenous Nahuatl language) was the daughter of a local chief who fell in love with a handsome warrior called Popocatepetl ("smoking mountain").
But Popocatepetl was sent to war and a lovelorn Iztaccihuatl died of grief.
When the warrior returned, he found her body and carried it to the mountain, where both were covered with snow and became majestic volcanoes.
All around the Popocatepetl volcano are signs for how to escape should an eruption occur
For the past week, "El Popo," which awoke from decades of slumber in 1994, has unnerved locals with several explosions and repeated emissions of ash, gasses and molten rock.
Authorities increased their warning level to one step below red alert, which, if reached, would mean evacuation for thousands of people living near the volcano.
While some residents have already left as a precaution, others prefer to stay.
"We're not afraid," said Eufemia de Jesus Ramos, who sells birds at an animal market in San Andres Calpan, about 25 kilometers from Popocatepetl.
"If we leave, the thieves will take advantage of it," the 65-year-old said.
Booming eruptions, ash everywhere: What life is like under Mexico’s most dangerous volcanoBy Sofia Miselem
AFP
May 26, 2023
Ash and smoke billow from Mexico's Popocatepetl volcano
Ash and smoke billow from Mexico's Popocatepetl volcano
Pictures by Claudio Cruz. Video by Carlo Echegoyen
In the foothills of Mexico's Popocatepetl volcano, locals have their own beliefs about why ash is recently raining down on them -- and it has little to do with conventional science.
According to legend, the spirit of the volcano located 70 kilometers (about 45 miles) southeast of Mexico City is embodied by a man known locally as "Don Goyo."
And when he gets upset, "El Popo" starts to rumble as it has for more than a week.
"Don Goyo's angry because they didn't put out his offering," said Jose Luis, a 55-year-old charcoal seller in Xalitzintla, the community closest to Popocatepetl.
Some residents even report having seen the mountain incarnate appear before them.
Jose Marcos said that when he was a child, Don Goyo -- full name Gregorio Chino Popocatepetl -- came to his house for a glass of water and a taco.
Jose Marcos, 77, a local farmer, keeps a wary eye out for further rumblings from the volcano known familiarly as El Popo
In the foothills of Mexico's Popocatepetl volcano, locals have their own beliefs about why ash is recently raining down on them -- and it has little to do with conventional science.
According to legend, the spirit of the volcano located 70 kilometers (about 45 miles) southeast of Mexico City is embodied by a man known locally as "Don Goyo."
And when he gets upset, "El Popo" starts to rumble as it has for more than a week.
"Don Goyo's angry because they didn't put out his offering," said Jose Luis, a 55-year-old charcoal seller in Xalitzintla, the community closest to Popocatepetl.
Some residents even report having seen the mountain incarnate appear before them.
Jose Marcos said that when he was a child, Don Goyo -- full name Gregorio Chino Popocatepetl -- came to his house for a glass of water and a taco.
Jose Marcos, 77, a local farmer, keeps a wary eye out for further rumblings from the volcano known familiarly as El Popo
"We asked him 'who are you?' He said: 'Don't you know me? I'm Gregorio Chino Popocatepetl. I'm the volcano,'" the 77-year-old farmer said.
Every year on March 12, residents mark the day known as Don Goyo's birthday.
Hundreds of people approach the crater to offer typical dishes, liquor, flowers and clothes, and sing a traditional song.
This year, however, authorities restricted access to the site due to the increased danger, dismaying locals who warned that it would anger the mountain's spirit.
"We've already asked Don Goyo to wait for us until next year," local mayor Gumaro Sandre Popoca told AFP.
Life in Xalitzintla, home to about 2,000 inhabitants, revolves around volcanoes.
The walls are dotted with images of Popocatepetl and the neighboring Iztaccihuatl volcano.
Mediums who claim to communicate with "Don Goyo" are influential figures in the community.
One of them, Nazario Castro, blames people who enter the exclusion zone to take selfies for upsetting the volcano.
"They're provoking it because they go up" to take pictures and "it starts to thunder," Castro said.
Isabel, a restaurant owner in the town, said that as an 11-year-old girl she also saw the man who embodies Popocatepetl.
"He comes down from the mountain. He's tall, with white hair and green eyes," she said.
"He scared me. I ran home and got under the bed," added the 54-year-old, who did not want to give her full name for fear of being called a "gossip."
"We're not afraid," says Eufemia de Jesus Ramos, who sells birds at an animal market near Popocatepetl volcano
But she enthusiastically recounted a pre-Hispanic love story involving Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl.
According to legend, Iztaccihuatl ("white woman" in the Indigenous Nahuatl language) was the daughter of a local chief who fell in love with a handsome warrior called Popocatepetl ("smoking mountain").
But Popocatepetl was sent to war and a lovelorn Iztaccihuatl died of grief.
When the warrior returned, he found her body and carried it to the mountain, where both were covered with snow and became majestic volcanoes.
All around the Popocatepetl volcano are signs for how to escape should an eruption occur
For the past week, "El Popo," which awoke from decades of slumber in 1994, has unnerved locals with several explosions and repeated emissions of ash, gasses and molten rock.
Authorities increased their warning level to one step below red alert, which, if reached, would mean evacuation for thousands of people living near the volcano.
While some residents have already left as a precaution, others prefer to stay.
"We're not afraid," said Eufemia de Jesus Ramos, who sells birds at an animal market in San Andres Calpan, about 25 kilometers from Popocatepetl.
"If we leave, the thieves will take advantage of it," the 65-year-old said.
© Agence France-Presse
Mexico’s Popocatépetl volcano erupting on May 23, 2023.
(Cristopher Rogel Blanquet / Getty Images)
LA TIMES
STAFF WRITER MAY 25, 2023
SANTIAGO XALITZINTLA, Mexico —
Each spring, residents of this village tucked at the base of one of the world’s most dangerous volcanoes trek up to a cave near its crater to make a peace offering.
Their gifts of fruit, flowers and turkey cooked in sweet mole are meant to placate Popocatépetl, the nearly 18,000-foot-high volcano viewed by many here not just as a geological wonder, but also as a mythological being whose whims have long shaped the lives of those in its shadows.
These days, the consensus among villagers is clear: Popocatépetl isn’t happy.
Villagers in Santiago Xalitzintla, Mexico, plant corn in the shadow of the Popocatépetl volcano.
(Marco Ugarte / Associated Press)
ADVERTISEMENT
For months now, the volcano has been spewing molten rock and shooting massive columns of ash into the sky.
The eruptions have grown bigger and more frequent in recent weeks — rattling homes with wheezing exhalations that residents compare to steam escaping from a pressure cooker. Bone-gray ash blankets everything: cars, crops and even the dogs that beg for scraps in the streets.
At Mexico’s gay cowboy conventions, men connect with each other — and their country’s rugged past
May 22, 2023
The sheer quantity of ash — a mixture of rock, mineral and glass particles from deep inside the volcano — has prompted officials to ground thousands of flights at airports in nearby Mexico City and Puebla and to suspend school in nearly two dozen municipalities.
On Sunday, officials raised the volcano threat level to “Yellow Phase 3,” which calls for those who live nearest to the volcano — including the 2,000 residents of Santiago Xalitzintla — to prepare for possible evacuation.
Although the volcano appears to be more active now than it has been in the last two decades, there is no indication that catastrophic eruption is underway, said Ana Lillian Martín del Pozzo, a volcanologist at the Geophysics Institute of the National Autonomous University of Mexico. It has been centuries since the volcano last expelled a significant flow of lava.
Pedestrians cross an ash-covered street in Atlixco, Mexico, on May 22, 2023.
(Marco Ugarte / Associated Press)
Still, the volcano’s long history of destructive explosions and the 24 million people who reside within 60 miles of its crater make Popocatépetl an acute threat. Authorities aren’t taking any chances.
Scientists are monitoring seismic activity, testing the chemical content of the ash and probing other metrics that predict volcanic activity. The federal government has mobilized 7,000 troops in case an evacuation becomes necessary.
As geology fans gape at video feeds that show incandescent rocks blowing from El Popo’s peak, those who live along its flanks have watched with respect and a noteworthy lack of trepidation.
Soldiers patrol as ash from the Popocatépetl volcano blankets the streets of Santiago Xalitzintla, Mexico.
(Marco Ugarte / Associated Press)
Residents went on with their scheduled celebration of a saint’s day over the weekend, dancing to a live band as flurries of ash fell, dusting the streets with what looked like snow.
And although many complain of sore throats, coughs and irritated eyes, they have mostly continued tilling the earth, tending their horses and otherwise going about life as usual.
“We’re used to it,” said Nazario Galicia, an 81-year-old farmer who on a recent afternoon was feeding his donkeys even as truckloads of national guard troops descended on the village to sweep up ash. “Our grandparents lived with the volcano, and their grandparents lived with it too.”
Two people wear hoodies and masks to shield themselves from the ash emitted by the Popocatépetl volcano in Atlixco, Mexico, on May 22, 2023. The volcano’s activity has increased over the last week.
(Marco Ugarte / Associated Press)
Like many people here, Galicia believes the volcano is a kind of deity — they call him Don Goyo — whose behavior is closely linked to human activity.
Galicia wondered whether the powerful eruptions in recent days were occurring because townsfolk had been unable to bring their annual offering this spring, when milder bursts from the volcano ruled out an ascent. Or maybe, he said, the volcano was responding to current events, airing its discontent with Mexico’s high levels of violence and corruption.
A woman sweeps ash from the Popocatépetl volcano in Santiago Xalitzintla, Mexico.
(Marco Ugarte / Associated Press)
Popocatépetl and a nearby volcano, the relatively dormant Iztaccihuatl, have loomed large in Mexican mythology since at least the time of Aztecs.
According to one popular myth, they were formed after ill-fated lovers — the warrior Popocatepetl and the princess Iztaccihuatl — died tragic deaths and were turned into stone.
Popocatépetl’s explosions have displaced humans in the past. Archaeologists say a pre-Hispanic settlement not far from Santiago Xalitzintla was buried twice by ash long before the Europeans arrived in Mexico.
The volcano was dormant for about half of the last century but rumbled back to life with a series of relatively small eruptions beginning in the 1990s.
The government ordered evacuations then, and some locals moved away. But most residents returned, adopting new practices such as covering water and food supplies for farm animals to prevent contamination from falling ash. Many, too, have embraced a kind of steely humor to cope with living alongside an ever-present threat.
Villagers make peace offerings to the Popocatépetl volcano
Residents of Santiago Xalitzintla, Mexico, a village at the base of the Popocatépetl volcano, trek up to a cave near its gaping crater to make a peace offering.
“We hope it calms down,” said Juana Hernández, 55, as she finished off her tacos near the town’s plaza one afternoon this week. “If not we’ll have to bring an offering.”
She wondered whether a chicken would do. Her friend Francisca de los Santos, 56, had another idea. “Maybe we should sacrifice one of our men,” she said, laughing.
The friends said they haven’t slept much in recent days, thanks to the volcano’s rumblings. In the evenings, villagers gather outside in the cold to watch eruptions light up the night sky.
Many children are scared of the pyrotechnics. Some had urged their parents to find them a new place to live.
But despite her burning throat, scratchy eyes and worry that her family’s fruit trees might not survive the volcano’s blowing debris, De Los Santos said she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
After all, in this part of Mexico so prone to natural disasters — where earthquakes can level apartment buildings in seconds — there’s a certain pride that comes with living in proximity to danger.
Agustín Ochoa, the 64-year-old owner of a hat shop in the next town over, said life is more exciting under a volcano.
“The day there’s no eruption,” he said as he whisked ash from several white cowboy hats, “we’ll miss it.”
Cecilia Sánchez Vidal in The Times’ Mexico City bureau contributed to this report.
Volcanic ash obscures a view of the city of Atlixco, Mexico.
(Marco Ugarte / Associated Press)
SANTIAGO XALITZINTLA, Mexico —
Each spring, residents of this village tucked at the base of one of the world’s most dangerous volcanoes trek up to a cave near its crater to make a peace offering.
Their gifts of fruit, flowers and turkey cooked in sweet mole are meant to placate Popocatépetl, the nearly 18,000-foot-high volcano viewed by many here not just as a geological wonder, but also as a mythological being whose whims have long shaped the lives of those in its shadows.
These days, the consensus among villagers is clear: Popocatépetl isn’t happy.
Villagers in Santiago Xalitzintla, Mexico, plant corn in the shadow of the Popocatépetl volcano.
(Marco Ugarte / Associated Press)
ADVERTISEMENT
For months now, the volcano has been spewing molten rock and shooting massive columns of ash into the sky.
The eruptions have grown bigger and more frequent in recent weeks — rattling homes with wheezing exhalations that residents compare to steam escaping from a pressure cooker. Bone-gray ash blankets everything: cars, crops and even the dogs that beg for scraps in the streets.
At Mexico’s gay cowboy conventions, men connect with each other — and their country’s rugged past
May 22, 2023
The sheer quantity of ash — a mixture of rock, mineral and glass particles from deep inside the volcano — has prompted officials to ground thousands of flights at airports in nearby Mexico City and Puebla and to suspend school in nearly two dozen municipalities.
On Sunday, officials raised the volcano threat level to “Yellow Phase 3,” which calls for those who live nearest to the volcano — including the 2,000 residents of Santiago Xalitzintla — to prepare for possible evacuation.
Although the volcano appears to be more active now than it has been in the last two decades, there is no indication that catastrophic eruption is underway, said Ana Lillian Martín del Pozzo, a volcanologist at the Geophysics Institute of the National Autonomous University of Mexico. It has been centuries since the volcano last expelled a significant flow of lava.
Pedestrians cross an ash-covered street in Atlixco, Mexico, on May 22, 2023.
(Marco Ugarte / Associated Press)
Still, the volcano’s long history of destructive explosions and the 24 million people who reside within 60 miles of its crater make Popocatépetl an acute threat. Authorities aren’t taking any chances.
Scientists are monitoring seismic activity, testing the chemical content of the ash and probing other metrics that predict volcanic activity. The federal government has mobilized 7,000 troops in case an evacuation becomes necessary.
As geology fans gape at video feeds that show incandescent rocks blowing from El Popo’s peak, those who live along its flanks have watched with respect and a noteworthy lack of trepidation.
Soldiers patrol as ash from the Popocatépetl volcano blankets the streets of Santiago Xalitzintla, Mexico.
(Marco Ugarte / Associated Press)
Residents went on with their scheduled celebration of a saint’s day over the weekend, dancing to a live band as flurries of ash fell, dusting the streets with what looked like snow.
And although many complain of sore throats, coughs and irritated eyes, they have mostly continued tilling the earth, tending their horses and otherwise going about life as usual.
“We’re used to it,” said Nazario Galicia, an 81-year-old farmer who on a recent afternoon was feeding his donkeys even as truckloads of national guard troops descended on the village to sweep up ash. “Our grandparents lived with the volcano, and their grandparents lived with it too.”
Two people wear hoodies and masks to shield themselves from the ash emitted by the Popocatépetl volcano in Atlixco, Mexico, on May 22, 2023. The volcano’s activity has increased over the last week.
(Marco Ugarte / Associated Press)
Like many people here, Galicia believes the volcano is a kind of deity — they call him Don Goyo — whose behavior is closely linked to human activity.
Galicia wondered whether the powerful eruptions in recent days were occurring because townsfolk had been unable to bring their annual offering this spring, when milder bursts from the volcano ruled out an ascent. Or maybe, he said, the volcano was responding to current events, airing its discontent with Mexico’s high levels of violence and corruption.
A woman sweeps ash from the Popocatépetl volcano in Santiago Xalitzintla, Mexico.
(Marco Ugarte / Associated Press)
Popocatépetl and a nearby volcano, the relatively dormant Iztaccihuatl, have loomed large in Mexican mythology since at least the time of Aztecs.
According to one popular myth, they were formed after ill-fated lovers — the warrior Popocatepetl and the princess Iztaccihuatl — died tragic deaths and were turned into stone.
Popocatépetl’s explosions have displaced humans in the past. Archaeologists say a pre-Hispanic settlement not far from Santiago Xalitzintla was buried twice by ash long before the Europeans arrived in Mexico.
The volcano was dormant for about half of the last century but rumbled back to life with a series of relatively small eruptions beginning in the 1990s.
The government ordered evacuations then, and some locals moved away. But most residents returned, adopting new practices such as covering water and food supplies for farm animals to prevent contamination from falling ash. Many, too, have embraced a kind of steely humor to cope with living alongside an ever-present threat.
Villagers make peace offerings to the Popocatépetl volcano
Residents of Santiago Xalitzintla, Mexico, a village at the base of the Popocatépetl volcano, trek up to a cave near its gaping crater to make a peace offering.
“We hope it calms down,” said Juana Hernández, 55, as she finished off her tacos near the town’s plaza one afternoon this week. “If not we’ll have to bring an offering.”
She wondered whether a chicken would do. Her friend Francisca de los Santos, 56, had another idea. “Maybe we should sacrifice one of our men,” she said, laughing.
The friends said they haven’t slept much in recent days, thanks to the volcano’s rumblings. In the evenings, villagers gather outside in the cold to watch eruptions light up the night sky.
Many children are scared of the pyrotechnics. Some had urged their parents to find them a new place to live.
But despite her burning throat, scratchy eyes and worry that her family’s fruit trees might not survive the volcano’s blowing debris, De Los Santos said she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
After all, in this part of Mexico so prone to natural disasters — where earthquakes can level apartment buildings in seconds — there’s a certain pride that comes with living in proximity to danger.
Agustín Ochoa, the 64-year-old owner of a hat shop in the next town over, said life is more exciting under a volcano.
“The day there’s no eruption,” he said as he whisked ash from several white cowboy hats, “we’ll miss it.”
Cecilia Sánchez Vidal in The Times’ Mexico City bureau contributed to this report.
Volcanic ash obscures a view of the city of Atlixco, Mexico.
(Marco Ugarte / Associated Press)
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