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Every Sunday El Rastro is a frenetic, bustling entity. Stretching down from Metro Latina to the Grand Arch of the "Ronda de Toledo", the vast mass of browsing tourists, rickety stalls and hard bargaining locals sprawls so far in every direction that it seems a disservice to label it a street market. One can get quite literally anything here; from Moleskin Notebooks, replica football shirts, various "natural" cosmetics and questionably authentic antiques. The prices are on the right side of decent, but surprisingly it isn't the place to bargain. I picked up a military surplus jacket for 15 euro and though I attempted a fairly pathetic ploy of pretending I only had a tenner (if that stapel of British slang can be successfully applied to the euro), the stallholder would accept nothing less.

Pickpocketing a Pickpocket

James Taylor
2006-08-23 12:07:07

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Every Sunday El Rastro is a frenetic, bustling entity. Stretching down from Metro Latina to the Grand Arch of the "Ronda de Toledo", the vast mass of browsing tourists, rickety stalls and hard bargaining locals sprawls so far in every direction that it seems a disservice to label it a street market. One can get quite literally anything here; from Moleskin Notebooks, replica football shirts, various "natural" cosmetics and questionably authentic antiques. The prices are on the right side of decent, but surprisingly it isn't the place to bargain. I picked up a military surplus jacket for 15 euro and though I attempted a fairly pathetic ploy of pretending I only had a tenner (if that stapel of British slang can be successfully applied to the euro), the stallholder would accept nothing less.

The central arteries are so thronged with people that at times, when the flow of the crowd halts, it is impossible to move. At others, one is carried away on an unstoppable tide of humanity that it is difficult to escape from. The place is intense and exhausting, only the most determined shopper thrives. The pickpockets need not be so steadfast for this is their territory (that sounds almost comically ominous, try not to laugh).

Despite several warnings from travel guides and message boards, I still didn't expect to be pickpocketed. And I suppose, despite the fact that I looked every inch the German tourist with my freshly purchased German Infantry jacket and blatant camera wielding, I wasn't. Maybe after four weeks away I have developed some street smarts. Maybe not. My Dad, who was visiting me for the weekend, wasn't so lucky.

For half an hour or so he had been searching for a Real Madrid shirt for my Brother. I had thought that these would be fairly prevelant throughout the market, but there had been no sign of them. Eventually we found a shirt stall on a gently sloping street that allowed us to see over the head of all the shoppers. ...