In what was to become our regular practice, we stopped at the Grand Cafe del Portal for a lechero. The espresso comes in a tall glass, to which is added a healthy amount of steamed milk, poured from an impressive height by a skilled waiter. See the process here:
(I apologize for the quality; had the wrong setting! I have another video, but this was the best show.)
The zocalo is, well, intense. Several cafes line the square in front of each hotel. On any given evening, there may be four or five bands vying for attention. When fully employed (they only play when paid), the cacophany is at once exhiliarating and overwhelming and intoxicating. Something NOT to be missed.
By the end of our stay I had come to love the intimacy of the Indian children pressing on us at midnight trying to sell us a macrame bracelet. The first night, while we were still trying to be cool, "No, gracias" was our standard reply. But by night four I think we had purchased just about everything in their inventory.
Mindi did get one girl to crack up when she mimicked her pitiful plea. (These children are well fed and cared for by their parents, who work nearby and watch over them. ) So she sent over her little sister, who was determined not to break character:
One night around midnight, one girl persisted in her quest to get us to buy a bracelet. I didn't really want one, but I relented and slipped her a few small coins to get her to leave. "Shh!" I said, putting my finger to pursed lips, warning her not to tell anyone.
Three minutes later, four or five younger children descended on our table and serenaded us with their simple, childish song. "Copera, copera" (or something that sounded like that), they requested.
"No copera," I insisted. Their sister shouldn't have told, I reckoned. The youngsters soon evaporated into the night. I never saw those little ones again.
Heck, I should have given them something. They deserved it.
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