Going shopping

It can be fun to go shopping in a different country, even an English speaking one.  Most of the products are different from those you find at home, even those with the same names, like "mayonnaise" or "mustard".  It's kind of fun to stare at the array of new things on the shelves, unfamiliar brands, wondering what is in each jar and which new things you should try this week.  A little surprise lies in every package!

Here, you can go shopping in large urban supermarkets or quaint outdoor markets.  The Queen Victoria Market is a huge outdoor market spanning multiple blocks in the central business district.  The Prahran market is a smaller market just a short walk from our apartment.  You go and stare at the array of fruits and vegetables, all grown in Australia, and wonder what the price tags mean in the language you are familiar with.

Is that a good deal on nectarines?  The tag says they are on sale for $3.50 per kilogram.  But what is a kilogram?  And what, for that matter, is a dollar?  The Australian dollar has a little less buying power than the US dollar.  So does that mean $3.50/kilogram is a better deal than the US equivalent?  Or worse? Do I need a calculator?  In the bin next to the nectarines, the apples cost $5.00 per kilogram.  So whatever a kilogram is, and whatever a dollar is, the nectarines are at least a better deal than the apples.  And the tag is yellow.  On sale!  So forget the calculator.  We're buying anyway.  And grab some apples while you're at it, because we need those, too.

After about an hour, when your legs are starting to hurt, you look at your watch and realize that you've actually been gone for two and a half hours.  The hand cart you are carrying is heavy.  It costs a dollar coin to rent a push cart, but you don't have any change with you, because in your own country, change is completely worthless, so you haven't gotten into the habit of bringing along a coin purse.  And now, weighed down by a container of milk, two large cartons of yogurt, those nectarines and the apples, you still have to pick out some mayonnaise from the large array of brands, sizes, flavors.  As you stare at the entire block of shelves devoted to mayonnaise, eyes glazing over, you tell Tim he should just pick whatever.  And then you grow frustrated when he reads over each jar, size, contents, brands, all unfamiliar.  Is "whole egg" a better idea than "extra creamy"?  A surprise in each package! 

Who cares?

Ten minutes later, back breaking, you lug the hand cart to the front of the store, to use the automatic checkout machines.  The checkout guy takes one look at your over-filled hand cart, hears you arguing with your child in an American accent, and knows to hover close by.  At least five times during your grocery scanning session he has to override something -- no, stack the fruit back on the scale, put the box down.  No up!  Put it up! 

Jonathan is angry.  Tim is frustrated.  And I'm exhausted.

And now we get to lug all this stuff home by tram. 

Shopping.  Where is the fun in that?