Selling on Santiago’s Alameda
The narrow streets and even narrower sidewalks of downtown Santiago give way to the breadth of the city’s main avenue, La Alameda. Ten lanes across, split down the middle by wide pedestrian islands, the Alameda is constantly bustling with activity, people surging onto the broad walkways from the metro line beneath.
It’s the nexus of business, government and transit for Santiaguinos moving through the capital’s downtown core. It’s also the perfect place for street vendors.
Click below to see more photos of the Alameda by day and by night.
The Alameda is bordered by La Moneda, Chile’s presidential palace and the nineteenth-century architecture of some of the country’s oldest institutions, symbols of Chilean authority. But beneath the offices of power, hundreds of street merchants line the avenue, selling scarves, jewelry, tarot card readings, cell phone cases, candied corn and everything in between.
The street vendor is someone most Chileans take for granted, especially on the Alameda. They are part of the landscape, so much so that when I asked a vendor selling caramel corn if I could take his picture, he looked at me like I had disturbed the natural balance of the street. When he finally answered, it was with a question.
“Where are you from?”
Even though I wasn’t born in Chile, my parents are from there and I don’t often feel like an outsider when walking through downtown Santiago. Perhaps it was my professional-looking camera.
“I’m from Canada. I’m a journalist.”
“So you’re not from the municipality?”
It turns out the man churning out the sweet snack thought I was from the City and there to ‘control’ him, meaning that he thought I wanted to check his permit to sell on what must be a sought-after corner, there in front of the Moneda Palace. I told him I wasn’t and that I was just taking some photos as background for my reporting in Chile. He told me his name was Augustín, but didn’t give me his last name which, based on his earlier suspicion, I can understand.
But Augustín was antsy for another reason. What I didn’t know at the time was that only the previous week a television show that aims to uncover underhanded commercial schemes, much like the CBC’s Marketplace, had been looking into street sellers. En Su Propia Trampa had aired an investigation into a kingpin of the street vending world that was taking advantage of a system designed to help low-income workers.
Street vending permits are limited so that as many people as possible can have a fair chance at making a living from a spot on the Alameda. But the man exposed by En Su Propia Trampa had been running a ring of candied peanut vendors that he hired. He illegally held dozens of permits that had made him a very rich man, permits intended for low-income and disabled people.
After the story broke, city officials stepped up their spot checks on street merchants, causing concern among the community of sellers, most of whom work long hours outdoors selling at low prices and earning a modest living.
Once I reassured Augustín I wasn’t there to check his permit he relaxed and went back to stirring his sugar-coated popcorn on that busy corner on the Alameda. He would be there until 8 p.m., the end of Santiago’s rush hour.
