In fact, the repeated endeavors of the chroniclers to assign a location to these fabulous residences, have led to no result other than most admired disorder and confusion.

It is as vain to seek their whereabouts, as it is that of the garden of Eden or the Isle of Avalon.

They have not, and never had a place on this sublunary sphere, but belong in that ethereal world which the fancy creates and the imagination paints.
A more prosaic account than any of the above, is given by the historian, Alva Ixtlilxochitl, so prosaic that it is possible that it has some grains of actual fact in it.[1] He tells us that a King of Tollan, Tecpancaltzin, fell in love with the daughter of one of his subjects, a maiden by name Xochitl, the Rose.

Her father was the first to collect honey from the maguey plant, and on pretence of buying this delicacy the king often sent for Xochitl.

He accomplished her seduction, and hid her in a rose garden on a mountain, where she gave birth to an infant son, to the great anger of the father.