The tour led by two high school language teachers, skirted the less wholesome neighborhoods of Mexico City for our eye-opening benefit. We saw rampant filth encircling the street vendors and gutters which ran foul with the discarded carvings of meat markets. In such areas a rotten stench ruled over the otherwise pervasive fumes of car exhausts, creating what seemed a playground for the generation of a killing plague. No one looked surprised as a man ran half-clothed through the crowd, his hair a matted mass which could not conceal the madness evident in his wild eyes and hideous grin. After such sights, a taxi would slash its way into the traffic and whisk us away on a perilous drive to more hospitable places. Busses would carry us to major sights where we viewed the country-side, the pyramids, and museum artifacts. We marveled at the splendor of Catholic churches, caressed by the many offerings of peasants whose coins beautified the altars and columns with gold. No where else had I witnessed such awesome wealth amidst such utter poverty. One sight which seared my memory was a church wherein a funeral was taking place. Undaunted by the mourners, a Mexican tour guide led us through the church as if death and grief were impersonal matters, unworthy of respect. I hesitated at the doorway, not wishing to enter, then realized that I knew nothing about the city and might find myself lost if I did not follow. I narrowed my eyes in disgust for the awkward situation and, head lowered in a token of sympathy, filed quietly past the aisles of darkly clothed mourners. No wonder people hated tourists; the incident could have been avoided altogether with a sensitive guide. Taxco was the most enchanting of the tour's three cities, for it facilitated a preserved glimpse of old Mexico. Here the streets remained narrow corridors of brick, twined up and down the hillside between stucco buildings like wildly frolicking vines. Palms soared toward untainted, blue skies, and red tiled roofs basked in the warmth of the sun. Evening was an enchantment, a brief step into the past. The stars crept slowly from behind their sapphire blanket as the sun's last rays set on fire the gleaming dome of a church. As the night deepened, many of us made our way down to the main street where an Easter procession was to be held. There we witnessed a reverent celebration of faith, silently watching a line of worshippers as each guarded a candle, sheltering its life as their savior sheltered their lives. In a world of uncertainty, these lovely people were content in their faith; it was beautiful, but it was not for everyone.