Eurovision: Encounters with street vendors

I was sitting at beachside cafe for my afternoon when it happened. It was inevitable, really, and I knew it was going to happen. It was just a matter of when. Even the hundred-degree heat wasn't going to keep it from happening. The large sign at the entrance to town expressly prohibiting it certainly was impotent.

His name is Louis, and he came from Senegal by boat to the Canary Islands (a treacherous 1000 mile trip) to seek a better life for his family. He and several others like him walk the tourist-busy boardwalk and sometimes venture into the sandy beach area with a large board, to which are strapped wallets, sunglasses and cell phone holders. Fake leather purses and belts drape from one long, sleek arm. A stack of ball-caps rest atop his head. Colorful beads dangle from his hands.

"Cheap. Five euros," he tells me.

I tell him I'm not interested. My wife is an expert negotiator. Had she been there she would have talked him down to three euros. I still wouldn't buy, though. I have a wallet and I am very happy with what I've got.

He holds open a wallet. I feel bad for him because he has to set all his merchandise on the ground to do so. "Look, it's nice. You need a wallet. Five euros."

The wallet is average and probably won't last a month in my hip pocket. I tell him no and, knowing he will take it for an answer, I back it up with a half-truth: "I have no money."

Louis sighs, wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm, and scoops to pick up his merchandise. It would take me an hour to get everything right and even then the stack of ball-caps, chains of beads and gaggle of purses would probably tumble to floor with every step I make. Louis has it down to an art and he is soon maneuvering through cramped cafe terraces to show his wares to foreign ladies. I don't think he earns very much, but whatever he does make is probably much better than the roughly $50 a month he earned as a tailor in Dakar.

Minutes later, a Moroccan in a white cotton tunic stops by to sell a table. He knows me, too, and goes straight for the Swiss couple behind me.