Mexico's Sinking City

Mention a sinking city and it is a fair bet that Venice is the place which comes to mind, yet parts of the centre of Mexico City are sinking at an even faster rate than that of the fabled Italian lagoon city.

Not so long ago, you used to be able to stand on the green wooded slopes of the Popocatepetl volcano and look down on Mexico City.

Peel back this vile smog, and you uncover one of the biggest megalopolises in the world.

Now, more than 20 million people live and work in this hectic, expanding mass of concrete.

The gap between rich and poor is among the biggest in the world. The violent crime rate is steadily climbing.

Like the world revolving, there is an imperceptible, but inexorable movement under way.

If you lift and soar from the side of the Popocatepetl volcano - down into the greasy smog - you may arrive at the Cibeles fountain, in a chic central district of the city.

"In the history of urbanisation there has never existed such a radical transformation"

Ringed by fashionable restaurants, it is a popular place for locals to come to relax.

The architect Jorge Legorreta often comes here for a lunchtime stroll. His greying hair is neatly brushed over his ears.

His thick moustache dances above a lively mouth. Jorge walks past a rusty steel pipe, about half a metre high.

He points at it. "Twenty-five years ago, this drain was level with the ground," he says, "but the whole area has just fallen away from around it."

The Spanish conquistador, Hernan Cortes, first set eyes on Tenochtitlan, as it was then called in 1519.

One of his band of soldiers wondered whether it was a dream, calling it an "enchanted vision". It was a beautiful, well-planned floating city built in harmony with its surroundings, in the middle of a lake.

"In the world and in the history of urbanisation," Jorge says, "there has never existed such a radical transformation."

To provide water for the millions, the aquifer - a vast water reserve - is being drained. As the water is sucked out, the city lurches downwards.

The walls of buildings are buckled, with their balconies leaning at crazy angles.

The most extraordinary example is the symbol of the city: a monument celebrating Mexico's independence from Spain.

Recently, 23 new steps had to be added to reach its base as the city had sunk around it.

Ilan Adler, a lean, bespectacled environmental scientist, proudly shows off some large black plastic tanks in the back yard of his university buildings.

"It's estimated that in the past 100 years the city has sunk more than nine metres"

He has helped to devise a system that harvests rain, which now provides around 80% of the water used by the teachers and students.

In Ilan's words: "It's a very serious problem. It's estimated that in the past 100 years the city has sunk more than nine metres, which is the height of a three-storey building!

"It's mainly down to the over-extraction of water from the aquifer, and our lack of conservation."

She lives in Iztapalapa - one of the poorest areas of Mexico City - where houses made out of bare concrete blocks teeter on the sides of steep slopes.

People here have to rely on trucks which come once a week, carrying foul water which needs chlorination.

She says: "When the water supply runs out, a decision has to be made whether to provide for schools, or for homes. When there isn't enough water to clean the schools, they have to close, because of the risk of infection."

She says: "To me, it just seems illogical. This city was built above a lake, and yet we don't have water."

Okay, the season's over, so I feel at liberty to dish. Pinging Bacon to make sure I do it full justice!

To begin with, you gotta know that I perform at the Texas Renaissance Festival; this year and 2003, I was the noble Native American that the Spanish conquistadors brought back from the New World. We had three conquistadors - Admiral Hernan Cortez, Capitan La Bamba, and Lieutenant Pedro Armendariz.

This season, we had a stage show. The show went like this, and I swear to God I am not making it up.

The three guys lurch into the tavern that held our stage, singing something in Spanish, followed by the guitarist and the drummer. They fumble up onto the stage, where they realize that people are watching them, so they'd better do a show.

Cortez demands that Pedro get him a beer. Pedro says no can do, since we have no money. Cortez starts to cry; after some dithering, Pedro suggests that they do some exotic dancing to raise funds. Capitan Bamba opines that perhaps some of the senoritas would contribute to the cause if some of their armor were to come off.

Cortez deems this a fit idea and demands a traditional Spanish song. The musicians oblige with some flamenco, but that is deemed untraditional, so they opt for "Play That Funky Music, White Boy," which the guys sing while taking half their clothes off.

I come in, all beaued up about them being half-naked and surrounded by half-naked women, and Cortez decides he's had enough of being henpecked, and he (gasp!) cuts me off.

Not one to take it lying down, so to speak, I toss a curse his way (a pretty cool fireball, if I do say so myself), which Pedro takes for the team. Pedro hits the stage, and comes up . . . FLAMING.

Apparently it's transmissible, so when he touches Bamba, Bamba gets it; Bamba then passes it to Cortez. Once it's out of Pedro and Bamba, they decide the only option is a Spanish exorcism, which entails crossing yourself and beating the shiznit out of the possessed party. (That part's funny.)

Well, that works, so they're all no longer gay, and Cortez vows revenge on me. I laugh and toss another curse, which gets them all, only Cortez doesn't realize it until he's overtaken by gayness and starts singing "I Feel Pretty."

Halfway through the song, Cortez nellies out and can't take it any more; he begs me to lift the curse and restore their manhood ("help a sister out, woocha? woocha?"), which I grudgingly agree to do.

I surround the men in the Mantle of Manliness (a big hot-pink sheet held by three audience members) and perform a wild, primitive, tribal dance that came to be known over the season as the White Girl - it's a mix of the worst of Saturday Night Fever, Flashdance, Grease, and Elaine Benes's interesting style - up on whatever table is free.

When the transformation is complete, I remove the sheet, to reveal three Conquistadors now dressed like the Village People. They then perform an a capella version of "Macho Man," and that's how it ends.

My hand to God, I made absolutely none of that up.

(When my husband and Bacon saw it, the adjective they chose was "disturbing.")

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