United States citizen tries to sell worthless and ugly things to Peruvian capitalists.
A special One Sorry Blog News Service report
La Raya, Perú – Without a doubt, Paul Rivas is not the first gringo to find the South American ambulant vendors exhausting, but he may be the first to spurn local color and insist on trying to “teach the bastards a lesson” with a dose of their own medicine: the commodification of culture and simultaneous marketing of for-tourists-only kitsch.
According to Rivas, the idea to sell things and himself to the locals who were trying to sell things and themselves to tourists first came to him while riding the Puno-Cusco tourist train.
“The train had stopped in La Raya, the highest point on the route at over 14,000 feet above sea level,” Rivas remembered, “when it occurred to me that it didn´t necessarily have to be just another obligatory chingadera stop: there was money to be made here.”
When a young girl carrying a lamb approached Rivas with an affected pitiful look on her face and suggested a photo, Rivas, who does not own a camera, saw a chance to do some business.
“You want to take my picture? Sure! Two soles (the local currency). Genuine gringo tourist with bottled water and Coca Light!”
The little girl was confused, apparently not seeing the point of paying to take someone´s photo, and did not seem to appreciate the fact that she, as one of thousands of little girls holding lambs to be found in Perú, had no business charging people to take her picture. The young woman selling soda behind her, however, count not stop laughing.
“That´s one funny gringo,” she said in Spanish. “I´ve seen thousands of them come through La Raya, but none has ever tried to sell his picture. Why would anyone pay for a picture of a gringo, anyway, they´re everywhere?”
Blown away by genuine attempts by locals to sell giant poofy fur hats, laughable monstrosities that no Peruvian would be caught dead wearing, Rivas busted out a fleece he had been carrying for just such an occasion: a cheap turqoise number emblazoned with the letters “SF” and an image of the Golden Gate bridge.
“The familiar SF fleece is the American equivalent to the genuine Peruvian Russian knockoff hat, so I thought there may be some interest on the locals´ end,” Rivas explained in such a tone that it was impossible for this news service to determine whether or not he was serious.
When Rivas offered the fleece to the man for the bargain basement price of 15 soles (five U.S. dollars), or the asking price for the poofy hats, the local vendor, who had previously kept up an indefatigable stream of chatter aimed at selling the silly headpieces, was rendered speechless, and could only look at Rivas with an expression on his face showing he was wondering whether the gringo was insane. Unflinchingly, Rivas nodded toward the hats and returned the man´s look.
“That´s one crazy gringo,” the man later offered. “Why would anyone ever pay for one of those fleeces, anyway? He´ll go hungry trying to sell those.”
In fact, Rivas did not make any sales during the chingadera stop. However, he did notice that the local vendors selling the vomitous Inca Kola were doing a roaring trade, and resolved to return to Perú stocked with Tab.
