Monoprix madness

Reaching the end of our first week was a little disconcerting. I was struck by how much more I need to do to feel at home. Of course my French isn’t up to much yet and it is frustrating not being able to communicate very well, but what brought on my feeling of unease was a trip to the supermarket.

Back in the UK, nothing is more relaxing than having a walk round Waitrose and buying a few bits and pieces. I know the shop really well, know where everything is and hardly need to engage my brain. If I’m feeling little poorly, but want to get out for half an hour it’s a good place to go.

It’s probably a sad indictment on me or on our consumer society that a walk to the beach is slightly nearer, but that I choose to go to a supermarket to relax…

Anyway, my favourite supermarket in France is Monoprix. I guess it’s a bit like an old-style Co-op maybe edging towards Waitrose. When we’ve stayed in Paris, Toulouse or Caen it’s been the place I’ve gone to buy provisions and Becky’s mum absolutely loves their smoked duck.

I have been to the Monoprix in Caen a few times. It’s quite big and has a clothing section, a toiletry section and an excellent stationary section as well as food and household goods. Sadly, I have a thing about stationary shops too, so Caen’s Monoprix should be heaven for me.

However, this was the location for my first bout of culture shock. Actually it was more like a bout of existential angst straight from the pages of Sartre’s Nausea. Perhaps it’s just a Normandy thing.

Here I was in a supermarket and I didn’t know where everything was or, indeed, what everything was. Worse, I couldn’t ask anyone anything and expect to understand their answer. And worst still, I wanted to buy a bottle of Normandy cider but all I could find was a three-pack of litre bottles on offer – buy one get one free (can’t remember the French for that) – but there was no way I could carry six litres of cider home.

I was a supermarket nightmare and I ended up feeling all clammy and the fluorescent lights looked a bit weird.

But I got over it, and I actually had a conversation with another customer in a boulangerie while I was waiting for my croissants to be wrapped.

So, my lesson is – don’t go to supermarkets. They are too big, impersonal and only reinforce your isolation. I now realise that going into small shops and to the market might mean I have a very clumsy conversation, but the personal interaction will be far more important to helping me feel at home. And we’ll eat better food.