On this rainy Friday, it has been 2 weeks since we began our move to France. I can honestly say that I have been able to avoid vast amounts of homesickness... until today.
Shane and I were feeling adventurous and decided to drive the car to Ikea and the grocery store. After a few wrong turns and tense moments, our hearts skipped a beat (at least mine did) as the blue and yellow of Ikea loomed before our eyes. We broused the store, receiving inspiration for our new home from the cheap Swedish furninture. For a moment, I forgot I was in France, but rather felt that I was just browsing the Ikea in Connecticut. We decided to load up on Swedish food delicacies, our stomachs growling and mouths drooling. As the cashier attempted to run our credit card mulitple times, she concluded that our Master Card was "American" and would not work. I could feel my neck starting to break out in a sweat as I noticed we were holding up the line, which had grown to the length of any ride at Disney. In broken Frenglish, I managed to convey the need to put back all our goodies. We setteled on 2 luke warm chicken sandwiches, purchased with the little cash we possessed, while my parched throat longed for the icey cold sparkling pear cider.
Though we were disheartened, we mustered up enough courage to enter the grocery store. Easy, right? Wrong. There are 3 aisles of yogurt, the stench (or aroma) of the cheese aisle greets one from miles away and the milk is non refridgerated. I have yet to work up the courage to try this, as my taste buds directly associate this unnatural substance to the box milk I drank while in Africa. Our safety zone was found in the bread section, where rows and rows of baguettes and pastries spoke to my stomach, saying "Chose me"! With great restraint, we managed to chose just one baguette (the biggest one though!) and some "pain au chocolate." Trying to balance out our diet, we attempted to buy some veggies. Upon observation, people were bringing there fresh produce to some fancy scale with a guy who would then in turn say something and walk away. It was all a bit intimidating, so we stuck to frozen vegetables. When we were fully satisfied with our selection, we found a line and started placing our items on the conveyer belt. No sooner had we unloaded almost everything, when the cashier started speaking to us (in French, of course) and pointing to the sign. Apparently, it was the line for a special card that we did not own. So, rejected again, we put the groceries back in the cart and found another line. On a positive note, in France, there are special lines for handicap and pregnant ladies. I do not know if the French culture is trying to say pregnant people are handicapped (Shane seems to think so) but I will take full advantage of that line while possible! We finally managed to pay, with the "American" Master Card, and still with a bit of dignity.
I never realized how the simple task of driving and grocery shopping could be so mentally draining. Next time I am in the States, I will fully embrace these tasks with an enormous smile on my face. In the meantime, I vow to tote my English-French dictionary where ever I go and pray no one asks me a question!
Shane and I were feeling adventurous and decided to drive the car to Ikea and the grocery store. After a few wrong turns and tense moments, our hearts skipped a beat (at least mine did) as the blue and yellow of Ikea loomed before our eyes. We broused the store, receiving inspiration for our new home from the cheap Swedish furninture. For a moment, I forgot I was in France, but rather felt that I was just browsing the Ikea in Connecticut. We decided to load up on Swedish food delicacies, our stomachs growling and mouths drooling. As the cashier attempted to run our credit card mulitple times, she concluded that our Master Card was "American" and would not work. I could feel my neck starting to break out in a sweat as I noticed we were holding up the line, which had grown to the length of any ride at Disney. In broken Frenglish, I managed to convey the need to put back all our goodies. We setteled on 2 luke warm chicken sandwiches, purchased with the little cash we possessed, while my parched throat longed for the icey cold sparkling pear cider.
Though we were disheartened, we mustered up enough courage to enter the grocery store. Easy, right? Wrong. There are 3 aisles of yogurt, the stench (or aroma) of the cheese aisle greets one from miles away and the milk is non refridgerated. I have yet to work up the courage to try this, as my taste buds directly associate this unnatural substance to the box milk I drank while in Africa. Our safety zone was found in the bread section, where rows and rows of baguettes and pastries spoke to my stomach, saying "Chose me"! With great restraint, we managed to chose just one baguette (the biggest one though!) and some "pain au chocolate." Trying to balance out our diet, we attempted to buy some veggies. Upon observation, people were bringing there fresh produce to some fancy scale with a guy who would then in turn say something and walk away. It was all a bit intimidating, so we stuck to frozen vegetables. When we were fully satisfied with our selection, we found a line and started placing our items on the conveyer belt. No sooner had we unloaded almost everything, when the cashier started speaking to us (in French, of course) and pointing to the sign. Apparently, it was the line for a special card that we did not own. So, rejected again, we put the groceries back in the cart and found another line. On a positive note, in France, there are special lines for handicap and pregnant ladies. I do not know if the French culture is trying to say pregnant people are handicapped (Shane seems to think so) but I will take full advantage of that line while possible! We finally managed to pay, with the "American" Master Card, and still with a bit of dignity.
I never realized how the simple task of driving and grocery shopping could be so mentally draining. Next time I am in the States, I will fully embrace these tasks with an enormous smile on my face. In the meantime, I vow to tote my English-French dictionary where ever I go and pray no one asks me a question!
1 comment:
oh how frustrating... So sorry to hear... but good luck keeping your spirits up! So fun to hear everything that you are doing! love you!
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