Dealers and the Dealee

* this entry from 5/11 *
Fruit Dealers & Eaters, Mariscal Sucre

They're notorious here -- The Fruit-Dealers, a pack of little kiddos with dirt smudged cheeks and eyes that twinkle. They run the streets of Mariscal Sucre, walk around town touting bags of limes, lychees, and apples. They make their rounds, down slim alleys, into the Salsa Studio, past tour agencies, and farras. Their selling tactic -- they have this keen ability to morph their faces into wounded expressions, to make their voices sweet and soft. "Por favor", they say, drawing out the or in "por" and "favor".

They've crossed my path quite a few times. I might have succumbed earlier, but reason kept me strong -- what would I do with 12 limes? How do I peel a hairy lychee? But today, they succeeded...

Minding my own business, I'm strolling the street licking the sides of a tall ice cream cone, when suddenly, The Fruit-Dealers appear. Startled, I murmer a quick "hey". With eyes to the ground, I try to walk around them. They match my footsteps -- to the left, to the right. Soon I'm cornered against a brick wall. I want to hide the icecream cone. It makes me look like someone who eats; they could use this to their advantage and say I know you eat, now buy our fruit. Por favor(twinkle eyes). They hold bags of small apples above their heads, close to my face. Waving a hand, I signal that I don't want any trouble. I hastily dig in a pocket and hand over money. The exchange is fast, and in no time The Fruit-Dealers have vanished and I'm left with a bunch of apples.

Down another block, I run into The Fruit-Eaters. They're sitting on the concrete sidewalk, leaned against a building side, the soles of their feet darkened ash, their hair knotted, tangled and long. After offering weed, they ask for an apple. One apple leads to two and soon everyone in the group wants one. "Hippies share everything," they say smiling.


* this entry from 5/17 *
The Shoe Dealer, Old Town
I made a friend today at the shoe shop; I’d like to call her can’t-stay-still. This little creature was dressed in a spotted fur coat, a rather morbid fashion statement. Her caretaker who made the ensemble is also the owner of a shoe shop. While can’t-stay-still stayed true to her name, the Shoe Dealer sat in a comfy chair and talked about Texaco and the oil spill in the Orient, talked about Ecuador’s slice of the Amazon and pink dolphins, talked about Oregon, Montana and Washington; she talked about her preference to classic literature, talked about Sheba (her other cat) and took me to the back of the store to show me her hiding places. And then, she talked about a special sale on a pair of shoes -- high heel shoes, the kind of shoe that is pointless while on the travel road; the type of shoe that takes up space and adds to backpack weight. But once on feet, reason faltered, and in the same manner as encounters with the Fruit Dealers, I forked over the cash and added the shoes to the hordes of lychee, apple, and tamarind candy I’ve succumbed to.

from hairy lychees to high-heel shoes…