Today is Review day. It happens once a month. First the Firemen with a
band marched down the Passo de La Reforma, past our Hotel. Then some
soldiers and finally quantities of police. They were all smartened
up, clean and white-spatted for the occasion. I rushed forward to
photograph them, which seemed to amuse them, and one officer on
horseback purposely made his horse rear for my benefit. People in the
street seemed not to take the slightest interest, only a few loafers or
foreigners looked on, and the usual crowd of women fruit sellers, who
sold pulque (the national drink, made from the juice of cactus) to the
men when they halted. The streets are conspicuous at all times by their
absence of well dressed or prosperous looking people. Except for some
business men, the people look nearly as dilapidated as those in Moscow.
The shop windows contain the ugliest clothes. I wonder what the Mexican
woman does when she wants a new dress.
This afternoon, Dick not being well enough to walk, we drove to
Chapultepec Park. By lucky chance the driver spoke English. He told us
we could see parts of the Castle, and drove us up to the Hill summit.
We wandered around rather stupidly, there was no guide, and rumor has
it that one can only see the Castle if one has a special letter from
one’s consul. Presently two young men appeared, officials apparently,
and they watched us and seemed to take an interest. Of course, in the
end, although they could speak nothing but Spanish, we were carrying
on some kind of understanding. They took us from terrace to terrace,
higher and higher, until finally we were in a fountained flower garden
on the roof. They gathered bunches of roses and carnations, pansies and
violets for us, insisted on photographing us with our own kodaks and
finally took us up the spiral stairs to the topmost tower, where the
view of the town below and the plain and the mountains all round us was
staggering. They smiled with satisfaction at our delight. On the way
down we were shown some rooms and here our incoherent friends linked us
on to a guide, who was showing some Americans over the Castle. I hear
that Obregon prefers to live in a cottage adjoining, and small wonder:
The Castle inside is as ugly as it is possible to be. The Chinese room,
presented by the Chinese Emperor to President Diaz, is terrible. Only
one bed room, I think it was Maximilian’s Queen’s, had some quite nice
“Bulle” wardrobes. Pointed out as of special interest was a sitting
room, all done up in pink: “For Miss Root....” I am ashamed of my
ignorance in not knowing anything about this lady or her part in
Mexican History.
I really felt speechless over the ugliness of the interior. There is
nothing to recommend Chapultepec Castle except its position and its
view. The imitation Pompeian decoration on the terrace walls are as bad
as the “Mexican Work” which decorates the banquet room. The entrance
gates, with bronze soldiers on the pillars are enough to warn one of
what is in store, where decoration is concerned. However, it was well
worth the time to see the view and we spent a charming afternoon,
thanks to our unknown friends. In the evening I was discovered by the
Press! Interviewers and photographers recalled early days in New York.
But I mean to leave Mexico City--climate means more to me than anything
else in the World. I cannot feel lonely or ill if I am in a place of
flowers and sun. Such places exist quite near, we are wasting our
precious days in the cold grayness of Mexico City. We came with only
tropical clothes and it is the rainy season! I want to go away. I am
only waiting for Dick to get well.