La Fruta de Vida
Debajo del Puente En Boyle Heights
“Buenos dias!” an old man yells.
“Buenos dias!” Maria Bárrales yells back while cutting up mangos.
Her hands continue to peel and chop fruit, preparing boxes to sell. Second by second, three cardboard boxes are filled with various fruits, some with two kinds, some with five kinds, and some with just mango or watermelon. On this still-wintery mid-March day, harsh winds, chilly air and cars rush through the tunnel where Bárrales works her stand.
It is situated underneath an Interstate 5 overpass near the famous La Indiana Tamales in Boyle Heights and Bárrales has been selling fruit, aguas frescas, and flowers for nearly 20 years now. She wears layers of brown and gray wool sweaters to warm her head as she works from 9 a.m to 5 p.m. almost everyday.
If I bought these flowers at the supermarket, they would cost $18, but here it’s more affordable.
A customer approaches the stand looking through the flowers. In Spanish she shares, like a secret, “If I bought these flowers at the supermarket, they would cost $18, but here it’s more affordable.”
Bárrales will be here all day serving her customers — laborers on their way to work, neighbors who rely on her for fresh, affordable fruit. “Without their support we would not be able to pay our rent. If [customers] stopped buying from us we would not be able to eat,” Bárrales says, eagerly.
It’s cold now, but in the summer, heat will be the issue. No matter, Bárrales will be there with her peeled bright mangos, ripe watermelons, fuzzy coconuts, vibrant flowers, and quenching aguas frescas, as she has since 2013. “I feel relaxed,” Bárrales says, speaking in Spanish. “It does get cold, but here I don’t get rained on, and when it’s hot it’s best here.”
Sometimes, it’s not the weather that she has to contend with, but the street noise, which can include verbal harassment from passersby. In the past, the police have been an issue. “The police have kicked me out various times. They’ve given me tickets,” Bárrales says, “but it’s been a while since they’ve bothered me.”
The most she has had to pay is a $400 ticket for selling her fruit and flowers without a permit. The risk of fines, though, has greatly diminished since Senate Bill 972 passed early this year. The bill decriminalized street vending, which had been long been susceptible to nuisance and public health laws. Now, street vendors have more leeway, though they are still subject to administrative citations.
In the past, though, Bárrales says, “The city has come before and has taken away my aguas… so sometimes I have to hide them, so they don’t give me a ticket and take them away.” Although Bárrales has never had a permit or license, she doesn’t plan to get one anytime soon since they are very costly and will complicate what she can or cannot sell.
While she may not be at as much risk of getting a ticket these days, being a street vendor comes with other risks. Among them are encounters with people suffering from mental health issues. “About four or five months ago, a lady was parked in her car near me and suddenly got out and started throwing her stuff out and hitting her car,” Bárrales shares. “She eventually came to me and started cussing me out. I had to leave because she wanted to hit me. She grabbed her shoe and threw it at me.”
When Bárrales fled, the woman threw her stuff in the street. “Cars were running over my flowers,” Bárrales sighs, chopping her fruit and prepping her cart. “But thanks to God, I had people who came by and helped me out during that time.” She reported the violation to the police, and, following an investigation, Bárrales was informed that the woman was on drugs.
Bárrales came to Los Angeles from Puebla, Mexico in 2003 with her ex-husband. Bárrales explains that it was more complicated to sell back home, where she also sold food such as tortillas. She would have to wake up at 1 a.m. to prepare the tortillas and sell them around 8 a.m. to get enough business. After arriving from Puebla, she began selling fruit underneath her rainbow umbrella, at a spot off the Interstate-5 freeway near Indiana Street, close to the Sinclair Gas station. After contending with the fierce summer heat and the damage from winds and rain in the winter, she moved underneath the I-5 overpass.
Bárrales gave birth to her daughter in the U.S. and even carried her to work as a baby. Her daughter is now a first-year student at Cal State Los Angeles, studying to become a nurse. Her daughter has a busy schedule like Bárrales does, so they don’t get to spend time with one another.
Bárrales takes Wednesdays off to have some sort of rest, but even on those days she catches up on work around the house, does errands and preps her stand. On Wednesdays, a friend keeps her post running — with rents rising and the cost of goods skyrocketing, Bárrales cannot afford to lose a day of business.
Aside from school, Bárrales’s daughter works all day on weekends to make extra money for the two of them. Bárrales and her daughter have been on their own since her ex-husband left them when her daughter was only one year old. Since coming to Los Angles, Bárrales work and life have not been easy. But steady customers and the friendly passersby are what has kept Bárrales going. Her community around her supports her. Without them, she would not stay.
IIt’s around noon, on April 4th, and several customers arrive at once. A giant silver Toyota Sequoia pulls over with racks full of outdoor equipment and a trunk filled with luggage. A man and his daughter exit the car, and Bárrales asks, “Ya se van?” (“You’re already leaving?”).
The man and his daughter begin to order a few drinks and a box of fruit. Worried that I am a city official here to ticket Bárrales, the man asks me, in Spanish, “Are you from the city?”
Assured that I’m not a cop, the man says, “Whether she comes from Mexico or anywhere in Latin America, people like her come to work. We are not here begging for money. We have to work, sell flowers or whatever it is we can to make a living.”
The customer and his family were visiting from Sacramento, staying with a family in Boyle Heights. It’s an annual visit and they always stops by Bárrales’s stand when they come and go. This visit marks year 16 for the man and his family.
A lady with tight boxer braids, matching workout wear, and a sparkly gray Audi stops and quickly buys an agua fresca and some fruit. The lady pays Bárrales and says, “Regreso mañana” (“I’ll come back tomorrow.”). Bárrales shares that, “She comes every day and buys from me.”
After the rush, things quiet down and the only thing you can hear among the cars zooming by are the short and sharp echoes of Bárrales’s chopping and peeling her fruit, which she buys from other vendors right across the street from her.
When her day ends, she makes dinner and does her chores. But she must always prepare for the next day. Bárrales goes to sleep around 11 p.m. and wakes up at 5 a.m. every day. Street vendors usually are the ones who supply the primary source of income for their households, bringing food to their families, paying rent, or paying school fees for their children. Street food is an integral part of Los Angeles culture as they create and are considered a cornerstone of historical and cultural heritage.
In Taco USA: How Mexican Food Conquered America, journalist and author Gustavo Arelleno writes about that contested heritage and how street vendors are part of a long Los Angeles tradition. In 1903, the Los Angeles city council, wanted to kick out tamaleros on Olvera Street to make it ripe for redevelopment more suited to the Midwesterners the city was trying to attract. In response, tamale wagons formed a mutual-aid society and presented a petition with the signatures of more 500 customers that read in part: “We claim that the lunch wagons are catering to an appreciative public and to deprive the people of these convenient eating places would prove a great loss to the many local merchants who sell the wagon proprietors various supplies.”
The council got what it wanted and invested in creating a, as Arelleno puts it, “Sanitized, whitewashed ethnic fantasyland now known as Olvera Street.” From here street vendors went underground and instead of going away, they flourished, spreading culture all over the city and eventually progressed into loncheras.
Bárrales, like many street vendors, came outside the U.S. to bring her traditions of work and food with her. Street vendors spread cultural wisdom and appreciation. Under the bridge on Indiana Street there will always be gusts of chilly air and the noise of traffic, but once you approach Bárrales stand, you’re in the right spot.
