Not only in the large cities, but even smaller towns, travellers should be sure to visit the market-place. Generally one day in the week is market-day, when all the population swarms to the plaza, either to sell or buy, or both. It is the same in many towns in Europe; but Mexico, at present, surpasses Europe in the picturesque costumes of the common people, the primitive fashion in which they display their simple wares, and the entertaining activity of the busy population.
Each booth is a small enclosure, built of low tables, shaded by a huge rectangular umbrella made of matting with four sticks only. A whole Indian family sits within at the receipt of custom. The old grandmother, her white hair smoothed down over her wrinkled old brown cheeks, with skinny trembling hands, but a glance like a hawk's, is taking pay or making change. Her daughter, the efficient business woman of the establishment, is young and active. Her long black hair is braided down her back, her eyes are bright, her teeth flash white when you make her smile by a joke about her prices. The father of the family lolls against the central post of the booth, tipping up his chair, after a custom not inherited from the Aztecs, but borrowed from a neighboring nation. The tables are heaped with little piles, like cannon-balls, of red ciruelas, yellow apricots, or green abogatos; in their season, delicious grenaditas, whose cup-like rind contains a juicy draught of luscious flavor. Oranges and bananas are on the table, under the table, over the table, everywhere. If you are very friendly, the old lady selects you as a gift
