Anglo tourists are easy

They´re young, as young as seven. They´re cute. They know how to charm with a smile. They´re also cold-blooded merchants looking to make a buck.

Cuzco, regarded as the navel of the Incan world, wraps itself around the Plaza de Armas. Ancient churches and restaurants featuring nouvelle cuisine square off across the plaza, both diminished by the magnificence of the mountains surrounding all.

This otherworldly playing field pits monied Anglos from around the world against the hungry, the desperate, the poor. Oddsmakers stay clear of this clash of the titans.

The top play in the locals´ playbook is the pose for a picture. "Un sol." The Peruano currency, about 33 cents.

The tourists arrive, most knowing 12 words of Spanish, thinking it´s sufficient, with pockets full of cash and the knowledge that they´re leaving in a week or 10 days. Some will hand out sole coins easily, knowing it´s only 33 cents and thus, for the conscience salve it buys, it´s a bargain. Others come armed with more of an offensive strategy, planning to wring bargains out of the locals.

The locals, however, have been here, and will be here, and have lived through all the tricks and tactics of the visitors. And forewarned is forearmed. Thus, they have many approaches and plays in their arsenal.

The soft sell takes place ironically on the steps of a 500-year-old church, which was built with funds obtained through the fire-and-brimstone approach.

The soft sell features a local who moseys up to a couple, tries ineptly to sell something and fails. Resigned to his fate, he begins a little chat, expressing genuine interest in where the turistas are from. Once they´re fattened on friendship, the local then offers a tour or something similar, and soon let´s them know his time is money. They´ve talked while his meter was running. Cash up folks, or feel uncomfortable. Most knock him a sole or two before jetting off.

Some locals rely on the old Model T approach. Make a lot, sell them cheaply and quickly, and you´ll make money.

Many of the locals, especially the older ones, slowly mill through crowds saying things in Spanish most people don´t understand. They´re just pitching their little knick-knacks. Little Incan hats, smaller hats for dolls, whistles, etc. They throw out the price for the little things -- most everything cheap here is un sole -- and they get their share of business without working too hard.

CORNERED -- the nightmare of the innocent, but ignorant, turista.

These folks resemble a swimmer with a bloody injury in the ocean. The sharks smell em from a mile away.

It looks scary, and I´m sure it is, but the locals aren´t stupid. Foreign currency has become the lifeblood of many people here, and they generally seem to respect the need for restraint. During the daylight hours, there really isn´t a lot to worry about in populated areas. There are some pickpockets and other minor thieves, as in every city in the world, but during the day they´re relegated to the fringes of daily life.

In many instances, someone pulls out a sole and suddenly three other vendors are within 10 feet. But again, they´re generally restrained. Occasionally, as with the people above, a couple of vendors get a little zealous. But I believe most cases end as the case with these folks did -- short a few dollars more than they expected, and I mean a few, as in four or five -- but otherwise unscathed. Nearly every tourist here is taller than most any local, which helps in getting out of a sticky situation.

The refined approach entails better dress and speech, and generally also means the product is of higher quality and costs a little more.

When the cost is a little higher, the approach dresses up. Some selling upscale little paintings or post cards dress well and speak 10 words of 10 different languages. Enough to close a sale. Some of these little items cost 5 soles, about a dollar and 66 cents. Sometimes the product is art -- drawings of Incan sites or indigenous kids or old folks. The vendors generally dress the part, as starving artists, which has its appeal for some.

 

The cute little girl approach is hard to say no to.

Plenty of kids working down here. Plenty. Hustling hard. A very nice girl the other day hit on me, trying to sell finger-puppet things. She was still wearing her school uniform, complete with backpack, and asked me to buy one. "Pleeze sir. Mi mommy needs me." She even sat down on the bench next to me, closer than any American kid would sit next to a stranger. School had been out for less than 15 minutes and this kid went straight into action, straight from the classroom to the retail field. Hard to say no to, unless you´re a hardened journalist who doesn´t dabble in pay to play reporting.

Many locals, the rural folk in particular, don the traditional attire and empower their arsenals with animals. Check the enlarged view -- he´s got his hand in his pocket, and she´s got her eyes on his hand -- all the while with her hand out.

The campesinos, the rural folk who really seem to border on the peasant life we´ve only read about in regards to the French Revolution, work the hardest. Probably because they live the hardest. They´re the first in place, and the last to leave. They bring llamas, lambs, mules and horses with them, depending on their location.

They dress in colors and designs that tell of their place and family, much like plaids in Scotland and, to a lesser extent, Ireland. Many also speak Quechua, the ancient language that pre-existed the Incan peoples. Just about all of their stuff is cheap, one to three soles, with a few 10 sole items thrown in.

Occassionally, you get the boisterous, amusing salesman who finds it tougher to take no for an answer. But he will, eventually, especially if you get up and leave.

It´s a tough life, and I´m sure in many cases it stokes hard feelings on the locals´ part. But they keep coming back, because they have to. And the tourists keep coming, because they can. Which means the daily joust between need and desire will go on.