THIEVES MARKET, PRIVATE SERENADE
One afternoon Enrique suggested he show us some fine homes, but I suggested we go out among the Indians and the poorer peoples' markets.
He said, "Maybe you like to go to the Thieves Market, where they sell stolen goods and pick your pockets." . . . We could drive slowly, and stop now and then, and see from the car. . .
The street was crowded. Everything that wasn't old was shoddy. If all that stuff had been stolen goods, it would have taken the entire population months to have actually stolen the articles, and when they got done the value of the whole thing would have been in the low thousands of dollars. No the Thieves Market in my opinion is a part of the "dress" of Mexico City. The words sound mysterious and dangerous, and give the tourists a shot in the arm. Still I was glad I had taken Enrique's advice and kept to the car. Six or eight dirty hands in my pocket could have left enough germs to have contaminated everybody west of Stilesville.
We also encountered a singer and serenader and his band who assembled around our car and played for us for five pesos (less than 60 cents) a song. We had five fiddles, one cornet, three whopping big guitars, two regular size guitars and one mandolin. I was asked what I wanted. I suggested "The Fire Scene" from Wagner or Lilly Pon's latest song, but they didn't know those so I told them anything purely Mexican. . . It was what I would call a big Carnegie Hall success. We left amid profuse thanks.