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.