I lived in that house for a week, and it was a formative stay, to say the least. My time in the city of Herblay — some 12 miles from the center of Paris — had its highs and lows. From the tops of the town's many tree branches to the crunched flora that lay underneath. In Herblay, I learned that marron is how you say chestnut in French.
I learned that dirt paths in the middle of nowhere always lead somewhere. I learned that somewhere can feel like nowhere if there's no train nearby.
Before leaving Florida, I secured housing in Herblay — a two bedroom in-law unit below a home lived in by the proprietor. I was sharing it with another English assistant in my program who told me about the spot while I was in the middle of a desperate housing search.
The kitchen of the in-law unit is where I sat down and wrote my first post for this travelogue. My first night in France.
That evening, my stomach was empty from traveling. My legs were weary, too. I didn't have the energy to venture out and find food. At one point, I started eating my leftover mentos.
As I settled in, I heard a knock on the door. The proprietor's 10-year-old daughter was standing before me with a bright smile and a thick piece of chocolate cake.
"Bienvenue," she said. Welcome.
I'll always remember that.
A street in Herblay
The next morning, the proprietor gave me a ride to the nearest grocery store, along with a handful of reusable bags for shopping. No plastic bags in these parts. It was a Sunday, which meant it was a miracle the grocery store was even open. Most things in France are closed "le dimanche," and still the store was closing at 1:30 p.m. that day.
I walked in holding a "jeton" the proprietor gave me. It's a small, round plastic token, almost like a coin, that you put into a grocery cart in order to access it. Anyone in the states familiar with the German grocery chain Aldi will know what I'm referring to. But with Aldi you use real coins.
Anyways, I walk in, jeton in hand, looking around for the carts. I hadn't seen any outside. Finally, I approach a kind saleswoman at customer service.
She didn't speak English. I kind of speak French. In that moment, I realized that after four years of French in high school, another four years of French in college, and one month living just outside of Paris in 2013...
I had never learned the word for grocery cart.
Uh, je cherche uh...(I'm looking for)
Hmm, I know basket is a word in France, maybe if I say baskets I can just get a grocery basket instead.
"des baskets?" I said
"Des baskets!?" she said.
Oh boy, baskets definitely does not mean baskets here.***
It turned into a quick game of charades until she said, "chariot." (shar-ee-o)
It was "dans le parking." So, the grocery carts were outside the whole time. And I will now, for the rest of my life, know that chariot means grocery cart in French.
The stores were not unlike American grocery stores. Though when I walked past the bread, I was amused that not a single baguette was left.
While browsing through cleaning supplies, an employee walked up to me to tell me the store was closing soon.
I got what items I had and I went to check out. Then I frantically rushed back to the aisles to get paper towels.
I learned a thing or two when I finally went to go pay. Produce has to be weighed beforehand. They won't do it for you at checkout. I did not know this.
So the cashier stopped when she saw my bag of produce and said something that to this day I do not understand. I could not make out a single word. Only after leaving the store, I realized why I couldn't buy any produce.
But I did get to buy the pre-packaged grapes. And I remembered then that real grapes have seeds. You see, everyone talks about how great French wine is. But that day, I realized why. Those were the best grapes I've ever eaten.
***While I remembered correctly that baskets is a word in French, baskets actually mean sneakers. So I was asking if they had tennis shoes at the grocery store.
Great blog. Go girl.
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