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Beach Gypsies

INDIA | Sunday, 18 March 2007 | Views [1101]

I feel guilty. Guilty for being able to afford to live on $300/month in Goa; guilty for having the local waiter boy serve us beers on the beach under the palapalas for less than $2 USD, guilty for negotiating with the beach gypsies to knock off 100 rupees off the sarong I bought. The beach gypsies range from young girls age 10 all the way up to older women in their 40’s. They are dressed in their bright greens, indigos, and red saris, seeming to float across the sand dunes, with silk wraps tied around their heads flowing in the wind, carrying piles of shirts, sarongs and alibaba pants, along with a bag of jewels balanced upon their heads. They comb the beach under the hot sun all day, ducking behind the shade of a deserted fishing boat, breathing in the petrol fumes from the leaky motor. The beach shack won’t allow the gypsies near their sun beds and palapalas.

I bought a sarong for less than $2 USD, and also got a removal of the remnants of nail polish on my toes from a beautiful 16 year old girl who desperately wanted to learn to read and write in English. It’s a hard life, touting your goods on a beach, in relentlessly hot conditions, knowing that you’ll never be able to go to school, because your family needs the few rupees profit from your daily sales for food and water. My purchases and contributions to this girl’s sales are not going to make a difference for her. I sit with her, under the petrol fume boat engine drawing pictures, writing simple words, and practicing English. A large, hairy, nearly naked German man in a purple Speedo who commandeers her over to him interrupts her lesson. She quickly jumps up with her pile of product, hoping to make a sale. Instead, he requests her to lather his nasty body in sunscreen; not buying anything from her, and taking advantage. My heart goes out to the girl who just wants to learn English.

Tags: Philosophy of travel