
The street vendors set out their wares for sale as the day begins.
Story and photos by JELENA KOPANJA
After two weeks in Madrid, I no longer rush to my window to confirm the frantic shouts and the incessant patting of feet on the cobblestones. I recognize the sounds: the police have raided the sidewalk. Vendors of pirated movies and fake Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses dissipate into the narrowest alleys. They seek refuge in the negligence of the neighbor who may have left the hallway door cracked open.
Most of the peddlers are from Africa and China. The Africans sell the knockoffs. The Chinese sell the small wooden abanicos, traditional Spanish fans, for two Euros each. “Hola, guapa,” they call out to me and every other woman who passes by. Hello, beautiful. Keep reading →
