A grand voyage today, folks. I located and travelled to France’s answer to Walmart.
It was half an hour outside of town by bus. I went on a highway to get there. I didn’t even know France had highways. The building was twice the size of a Sam’s Club, and I may be underestimating. The parking lot was an absolutely insane maze of ramped garages thrown up here and there.
The inside is one part regional mall and one part Costco, except nothing is in bulk. I have seriously never been in a store this big, ever. There were two different pharmacies and three bakeries, not counting the bread counter in the food section.
I did not have much time, and I was on a mission, so wandering was not an option. Still, I got lost quickly. I kept my head down and tried to yawn frequently, but I’m sure that people could tell I’m Not From Round These Parts.
There was a large wine section. It is still very strange to me that I could go down an aisle, pick out a rosé and just… purchase it. And not get arrested. Every time I see wine I think I should buy it for the novelty of it all, but then I remember that I have nothing to do with it. I think I’m expected to get wine for my homestay mom, but I don’t know when.
I got house shoes, doritos with paprika flavoring, a planner, and a bag of Skittles. The Skittles are a big deal. They do not have candy in France. They have bonbons — little crunchy or soft bread things that may or may not have chocolate on them. I’m surrounded by madeleines, with nary a fruit-flavored sour chewy delicacy in sight. (I tried to buy a brownie the other day, but even that was just peanuts and Nutella. Is nothing sacred?)
So I got the Skittles for much the same reason doctors hook up comatose people to IVs: without certain nutrients, the body fails. I have eaten fruit, vegetables, lean meat, and handmade bread and nothing else for almost three weeks now, and I feel like my eyes are bleeding.
I would have preferred gummy worms or Sour Patch Kids, but all I could find was Skittles. I’ll make do. I plan to ration them out for the next week, maybe use them to develop some sort of barter system with the other Americans at school.
I also tried to buy over-the-counter allergy stuff, but all the brands are different and I don’t know French medical terminology. I didn’t want to accidentally get laxatives, so I decided to just deal with sniffles.
They don’t bag your items here. You are expected to bring your own reusable bags and pack them yourself. I am familiar with this now and brought an empty backpack. Very hip, very French. The cashier (they get chairs, by the way) wanted to see my ID. Probably because I looked like a suspicious nervous wreck. I handed her my driver’s license, like an idiot, and then had to painfully explain that I am American and Tennessee is a real place and not a made-up name for a fake ID.
The narrative:
“Ten- ah- say?”
“Ah, oui, je suis une américaine-“
“Ten- UH- see?”
“Oui, pardon..”
“Ten- AY- see. D’accord.”
So I guess that went okay.
Cordialement,
Allison
P.S.: Do penguins have feathers? They just look so smooth.
Flan in France 