XVI.
SAN JUAN, ORIZABA, AND CORDOBA REVISITED.
I.
THE impressions of the first journey upward from the coast are too vague to satisfy, yet it is better to push on to the capital and not take off the edge of the novelty by dallying on the way. The intervening places are returned to afterward.
How different the feeling now The things that had seemed so formidable are harmless enough. You take now with gusto the pulque, handed up at Apam. You understand the motley figures, the interiors, the flavors of the strange fruits and cakes, the proper expressions to use, and prices to pay. The helpless feeling of standing in need of continual directions is got rid of, and travel has become a matter of confidence and pleasure. Our Mexicans of the lower class are not over quick in the matter of directions, to tell the truth. I recollect, as an example, asking a small shop-keeper, one day, the way to a neighboring street.
"There it is," he said; "but" (insisting, in a flustered way, on being puzzled by my accent, though he had comprehended what I meant) "no hablamos Americano aqui"—"We don't speak American here."
I found a lodging at a tienda at San Juan Teotihuacan, the ancient city of the dead. The owner had before entertained Americans. He had a dog to which he had
