El Rastro

I was recently wasting some time at work reading a story about pick-pockets at El Rastro market in Madrid. The story reminded me of my student days in Madrid; I had spent my junior year at the Universidad Complutense de Madrid. One Sunday Mike Sweeny and I decided to check out the market. Mike and I went to high school together and when I decided to spend my junior year in Spain Mike tagged along.

El Rastro was famous but it was only open on Sunday - my one day off school; so it was months before we got around to visiting the market. We were looking for some gifts for our families. Spain was famous for linen, and we were told that El Rastro was the place to get it cheap. I vaguely remember the street, it was a wide street, cobbled I think, and on a hill. It must have been winter because I remember a winter sun; it was low in the sky and in my face. I remember squinting.

As you would expect it was crowded, and vendors were everywhere hawking their goods. We were trying to be smart bargainers. This was my first time bargaining, it might have been my first visit to a real flea market. We were accosted from all sides by vendors and con artists. I know I bought the linen I was seeking, but I have no memory of purchasing it. I do remember the diamond ring. One of the street people approaches us – it was the usual story – have I got a deal for you - a genuine diamond ring. We said no but he dragged me by the arm in to one of those glass showcase vestibules. He told me he’d prove the stone was a genuine diamond. He drew it along the glass of the window. And sure enough it left a mark. I’m not sure it I was suspicious or just wanted to feel the scratch on the glass. As I ran my finger over the scratch is disappeared and so did the salesman. It seems he had covered the stone with wax or soap so that it’d leave a mark.

It’s been over thirty years since my experience with the diamond salesman, and while I’ve told the story many times, this is the first time that I’ve bothered to look up the name of the market.