So today I went to the grocery store. Might seem like a normal activity but not when you have no directions and are still learning the language of a new place. So I got the list of things and headed in the direction of town. Létizia told me it was in the same place as the doctor’s office where I went the other day. Problem is I was with the kids then and relied on them for the directions. The biggest problem I wanted to avoid was going too far and entering the A-10 (the highway where you must pay a toll). As I listened to Lady Gaga (a great discovery of the day: There is a Lady Gaga CD in the car! niiiice) I entered the first round about of three. So far so good. Then the second and as I approached the third I had no idea where to go! First try: warehouse that led to the Gâre. Good to know where that is I guess, but a train wouldn’t help my present desires of reaching the grocery store. Turn around. Re-enter the circle and take the next exit out. Looks promising, but I see ahead the toll booth, damn, hope this building to the right is where I am supposed to be…..SUCCESS! I recognize the doctor and the pet store (Célénie had to get une bouteille for the bunny after our doctor visit this weekend).
I was happy to have made it without a HUGE catastrophe. I grab a basket, whip out the list and–what is that number? Next to the listed “Jus d’orange” was a number that could have been a 6 or a 4. What you all should know is that the French don’t write their numbers like we do. There are more curly-q’s, and other random lines connecting things. For example with the 1, they extend the line on the left all the way down to the bottom, like a caret symbol. Anyways, for the sake of my arm not falling off I only grabbed 4 (I can always return for more later).
After asking for help with the fruit stamp thingy and making my way to the counter I encountered the next road block: they don’t exactly give you a bag for your things. With my poor French I couldn’t understand if I could take my basket and put the things inside or if I was going to have to carry the things (impossible) to my car. Finally it was confirmed that I would pay 3cents for a bag. Sweet. I smush my things into the weak plastic and seeing my bag about to rip in half the nice lady behind me told the cashier to double bag the thing! Merci BEAUCOUP 🙂
I left that store with a bursting bag, two Cokes pressed against my chest and two bread bags dangling from my hand. It’s a miracle I even made it to the car without everything falling. But I did and I returned home–this trip was less of an adventure although I did take one wrong exit on a circle/roundabout which was quickly reprised.
And just when I thought I was home free, I opened the trunk. Down came rolling the Coke. Already shaken up from the twisty roads I traveled on, it hit the rocky ground and exploded all over me! Merde!
Next time I am paying a whole Euro for multiple bags that the cashier can double/triple bag!