Things hawkers around the world have tried to sell to me

Many countries around the world are full of enterprising individuals who try to eke out a living by selling things to foreign visitors.  They can get downright pushy and aggressive in some places, which can be a tad shocking - that doesn’t exactly happen very often in ye olde U.S. of A.  They can also offer up some pretty strange items in exchange for cold hard cash. More than once, I’ve been stopped in my tracks and rendered speechless by an aggressive hawker bearing strange items that he is thoroughly convinced I can’t live without.  Below are the top 6 items that hawkers have tried to sell me at one point or another:

1. A large whip (India).  Because my trip into Agra Fort would be incomplete without... a whip.
2. Sticks (Guatemala).  Actually, the 5-yr old girl that scared the daylights out of me with said stick was on to something.  It would have been a rather useful while hiking back down from Volcan Pacaya.  Oh, well.
3. Toy frogs (Thailand).  I don’t know about you, but when I think of Thailand, I immediately think, “Oh yeah, frogs! Awesome.” Ok, no.  No one thinks that. 
4. Sunglasses (Vietnam).  Hey, sunglasses are useful.  If you’re not already wearing a pair.  Which I was.  I was offered sunglasses more times than I can remember in Vietnam.  And I was wearing my own sunglasses every single time.
5. A large live lizard (Egypt).  I suppose I looked either lonely or hungry, and he thought I could use a pet - or dinner.
6. Henna tattoos at a political protest (India).  Yes, I realize that the first issue here is that I was wandering around in the middle of a political protest.  But in my defense, it resembled a holiday celebration in a park more than a protest.  People were cooking out, talking and laughing, and there was a dude walking around selling stuffed unicorns.  In fact, the only aggression I encountered came from young women trying to force henna tattoos onto my hands.  On more than one occasion that evening, a woman would suddenly grab my hand, which I immediately yanked back.  She would then grab it again with much more force, and yell “Hennaaaaa!!” like some primeval war cry. With a death grip on my hand and a possessed look in her eyes, she would hold a henna pen up in the air with her other hand.  The pen would start to descend, gathering strength and force as it came closer and closer to my captive hand.  The deranged smile on the woman’s face would grow as the pen narrowed the distance. A split second before the pen would intercept my valued appendage, I would shriek and gather enough strength to wrestle my hand from the woman’s death grip and narrowly miss the stabbing.  And then I would run away, only to have my hand grabbed by the next violent henna tattoo artist.  Lather, rinse, repeat. I would have much rather been chased by the guy selling the unicorns.

You need stick.

My lovely friend Rachel landed a month-long stint in Guatemala a couple of years ago, and I made plans to visit her immediately after she confirmed it.  Two weeks later, I found myself in her condo in Guatemala City.  We booked a 3-day adventure tour and promptly kicked it off with a hike up Volcan Pacaya - a volcano that has been slobbering lava slowly but consistently for 46 years. 

The van dropped us off at a town at the base of the volcano.  Children swarmed around the van before we could manage to unbuckle our seat belts.  The gringos had arrived. 

We stepped out of the van into the crowd.  All the children (mostly boys) were holding poles and yelling at us, "You need stick!  You need stick!"  They were makeshift hiking poles.  Rachel thought about it and finally decided to purchase one.  With the completion of her transaction, all young eyes were on me.  "You need stick!  You need stick!"  I didn't really want a stick.  Also, I didn't have any quetzales with which to pay for one. 

I detoured to the nearby women's bathroom to escape the throng of screaming children shoving sticks in my face.  I came out of the toilet stall to see a girl all of about 5 years old holding a stick (of course) and staring at me.  I smiled at her and walked to the sink to wash my hands.

"You need stick."
"Oh, um, no thank you.  No gracias."  I shook my head and smiled again.  She was smart - she knew she had a one-up on all the boys because she could follow me into the bathroom.
"You need stick!"
"No, no gracias." I smiled again.
"Para es necesario." (But it's necessary.)
"No gracias."
"Para es necesario!"
"No.  No gracias." This was getting old.
"PARA ES NECESARIO!!!"

She was fuming.  She looked like a furious Voldemort, only cuter and with a nose.  She was standing between me and the door, and she was holding a weapon.  I was going to get beaten to death by a 5 year-old in a run-down, dirty bathroom on a volcano in Central America. What an embarrassing way to die.  And since I hadn't made an effort to find an ATM since landing in the country 24 hours earlier, I couldn't even buy my way out of death. 

After standing there dumbfounded and scared out of my gourd for a few moments, I tried to edge around her to escape.  She didn't attempt to stop me or beat me within an inch of my life, but she was certainly giving me one hell of a stink eye. 

Rachel and I (and Rachel's stick) made it to the lava stream at the top with no problems.  But I had to borrow Rachel's stick a couple of times on the way down to help me with my footing.  Dadgum it, I really did need stick.