Lost in Aisles and Labels
Learning to shop like a local in a new country
Life can be exhausting when you first move to a new country. Daily chores like going to the grocery store or buying new clothes become both an adventure and an opportunity for distress.
Will and I have always visited grocery stores wherever we travel. First, it’s great for the budget. Secondly, it’s an opportunity to see the various types of food available in a new region or country. It feels more authentic than eating at a restaurant for every meal.
We spent a week in a hotel room with our kids when we landed in Valencia. It wasn’t planned, but it was a much-needed break from all the hustling we’d been doing to make the move. There was no pressure, no plans … just getting accustomed to our new environment. We knew that once we got into our apartment, the real on-the-ground living would begin–all the things everyone has to do in their day-to-day lives.
Our first visit to the grocery store was dizzying. You know how you go to your regular grocery store every week and know where everything is located? You can lay hands on the ketchup, milk, and cereal blindfolded. And you know precisely what snacks your kids like, so you buy those week after week?
We no longer had any of that.
The mental gymnastics we had to perform those first few grocery store trips still make me tired. Everything was in Spanish, and we had no idea what to buy for ourselves or our kids. That first trip was a complete guess. Our philosophy was that we could try different things; if we didn’t like something, we would know for future reference. I hate wasting food, so this bothered me a lot, but how else would we know?
(For the record, we’re still experimenting with food.)
Generally speaking, the Spanish go to the grocery every day or two. We were used to going far less often. In the United States, grocery shopping was something I rarely did in the store. Instead, when our kids were small, I had the habit of ordering online for pickup because, with two under two, going to the store was a huge chore. Typically, I went no more often than once a week–every two weeks if I could get away with it.
We still haven’t gotten in the habit of going to the market every day or every other day. Instead, we go two or three times a week, with one big haul on the weekends. I’m sure the cashiers roll their eyes when they see the Americans coming with an overloaded cart, filling up the conveyor belt, and throwing our groceries into our bags as fast as we can.
Looking from the outside in, it’s probably downright comical to watch us filling up our granny cart, filling up a plastic grocery bag or two, and then filling up a tote bag. And I’m sure the cashiers are getting a good giggle as the items fly down the belt at us, our hands grabbing as fast as they can to get out of the way.
After a while, like anything else, it becomes routine. You learn where the snacks you enjoy are. You can read labels that once looked impossible to decipher. And you figure out which stores are your favorites. (Mine are Mercadona and SuperCOR.) Poco a poco, as the Spanish say, it gets easier.
On my last trip to Mercadona, I didn’t have to use a single word of English at the cash register, and I even understood the total euros due without looking at the screen.
That’s what I call progress.