Yet another vending cart story --- my last, I promise…
The ice-cream carts brought back memories of a visit to Grenada, Nicaragua, last winter. The bus was running late and it was obvious I was not getting anything to eat for a few hours, and I was starving. I was in the centre of town, near an open green-space, surrounded by buildings, none of which looked like a place that sells food. Then a guy with an ice-cream cart came by.
I waved at him, and he came to the curb. He only spoke Spanish. My comprehension of Spanish is below my fluency in Martian. I pointed to a picture of a chocolate covered ice-cream bar on a stick and waved a U.S. $1 bill. This he understood! These bars sell for 30-50 cents at home. I wolfed that bar down like I’ve never seen food before, I was starved! I realised one bar wouldn’t be enough, so I decided to get another. Meanwhile, the guy had disappeared. Fortunately, I saw another vendor, and tried the same transaction with him as with the first. It worked again.
What I didn’t know, was that my actions were being monitored. The second guy was simply the fastest of a crowd of ice-cream cart pilots. I found myself surrounded by ice-cream carts, and every one of them were driven by guys who felt the keys to success in this business was to ring their bells incessantly. The noise and commotion was driving me nuts. They also believed that if one doesn’t comprehend spoken Spanish, shouted Spanish will be understood. I ran into a church to escape. Sitting in a rear pew, I could hear the sound of bells fading in the distance.
In the church, a very young man came down the aisle with what looked like those little nets used to capture goldfish in a pet store, only with a ten foot handle. He stopped at my pew and reached out to me with the net. He was after a contribution. By this time, I’ve exhausted my supply of U.S. $1, so I gave him $5. The church collectors must drive ice-cream carts too, or learned from the same teacher, because in an instant, I saw two more ‘net boys’ coming.
Normally, I would’ve hid behind The Commander, but he had found a local wood-worker and wanted to acquire what seemed to be the entire inventory. For this, he spent all his cash, and nearly all of mine, leaving me in danger of totally running out if I kept contributing to the locals at the current rate. Anyway, he was rushing headlong into buying more than he could carry, and I had no desire to spend the afternoon strolling around carrying an armload of tourist treasure.
I joined a group of familiar faces we were travelling with and waited for the bus. The ice-cream vendors had thinned their ranks somewhat, but a few persistent fellows remained. I was wearing a reversible hat, and had turned it inside out, changing it from red to blue. I think this worked. By the time the bus arrived, they were almost gone. I would’ve liked another bar, but having both ran out of $1 bills, and not having what it took to face the music again, I sank into my seat, pulled my hat over my eyes. The Commander woke me up at the next stop.
Cheers, PW. |
