The fruit-sellers grabbed me on the Kovalam strip. I knew I was going to get fleeced the moment I sat down (NEVER sit down). Once they started telling me how special I was, I realised I was a total goner. I blame the heat.
It’s hard to criticise people who travel 20km by bus every day to sell fruit on a beach, or even who sleep on the beach every night and only go home once a month. Could I begrudge them the small sum of money that I handed over?
Like the fishermen, I suspect the fruit sellers will always be here. It is, after all, only the tourists who change.