As we have been going about our shopping and exploring in Mexico City these past few days, we have been carried along by the sounds of this place. At San Angel artisan market, we were met with the playfully instructive demonstrations of the toy violins by Guillermo Figueroa as he chose the best ones for us to buy. And was that a cat screeching in the wriggling black bag the gentleman was holding as we were carefully selecting the Lorenzo paintings? Our horror turned to annoyance when the cat screech turned to a parrot caw; he had a noise maker in his mouth. Those sounds followed us through the day as did the drone of “botaneros, botaneros, botaneros” by strolling women relentlessly hawking decorative wooden cocktail picks. The unheard sound of salsa music entertained as we watched the dance class through the large plate glass window of a second story building while we wiltedly waited for our taxi at the end of the shopping day.
The remaining days in Mexico City have been punctuated by fireworks’ whirrs and pops left over from the bicentennial celebration of the Independencia, and soothed with the sounds of classical guitar at a corner cafe as well as the smooth tenor notes of a strolling singer in an antique gallery. And our nights’ sleep have been jolted by brake squeals, drunken conversation, and bad rock bands from the bar across the street. But we were lulled back to sleep with quiet memories of Jorge Marin’s empty angel wings filled by a mother and child on a boulevard near Chapultepec Park