Three and a half hours to Boston. An hour and a half plane ride to Newark. Five more hours of flight time to Dublin. One-hour taxi ride through streets so narrow, I wouldn’t believe they existed if I wasn’t staring at them with my own wide eyes.
Twenty-four plus waking hours later, delirium starts to kick in but instead of napping on the couch or in my new bed or literally anywhere I’m standing in Lidl wondering what the hell a gram is and how it compares to US customary units.
Everything is in grams and kilocalories (thankfully I remember from tenth grade Honors Chem that they are the same as the calories I’m used to) and Euros, which differ just enough from US dollars to throw my powers of conversion completely off. That, and I haven’t slept since Monday night and it’s now Wednesday afternoon.
Did I mention I haven’t slept for twenty-four hours?
Cynthia has already forged ahead, armed with a shopping list in one hand, basket in the other. She arrived in Dublin the day before we did (we only arrived at 7AM this morning), and although she says she hasn’t left the apartment until now, she seems to know exactly what she’s doing. I learn very quickly that Cynthia has only two modes: hyperactive and asleep. Josh and Devin and I, meanwhile, haven’t gotten much past the entrance, staring blankly at the stacks of vegetables and practically swaying on our feet.
The automatic door slides open behind us and I shiver as the wind winds around my ankles and through my tattered Converse. My shoulders approach my ears, the way they unconsciously do when I try to keep warm, and I’m grateful I decided to haul my winter jacket all the way here.
Despite my fatigue and the unexpected cold spell I can’t help but grin at everything. I’ve wanted to visit Europe for ages, and the excitement of being anywhere on the other side of the Atlantic for the first time in my life is almost more than I know how to handle—even if that anywhere happens to be a discount grocery store.
My awkwardness keeps me from outright staring at the other customers, but I try to catch snippets of conversations while examining the foreign produce. I except to hear nothing but Irish accents, and am surprised when I realize many people seem to be speaking in hurried Spanish. After only two semesters of Spanish I can’t pick up on any words or phrases, but my smile widens at the newness all the same.
I hesitantly begin to compile groceries in my own basket, marveling at the prices (inexpensive even converted to US dollars) and practically squealing when I find what are basically vegan SpaghettiOs (they’re labeled “Spaghetti Hoops” and I buy three cans for less than one Euro). My roommates and I converge in the sweets aisle (if the haphazard stacks of food in Lidl can be called aisles) and together we gape at the variety of cheap biscuits, chocolate bars, and candy. Josh and Cynthia and I buy one roll each of dark chocolate Digestive biscuits because they’re only 59 cents and I’m shopping hungry and Cynthia and I are addicted to chocolate.
We pay separately and leave the store dragging our haul in canvas and plastic reusable bags (we don’t want to pay the fee to use the store’s bags, and I brought my own pineapple print bag just for this purpose). It’s the first time I’ve actually bought groceries for myself, and even this small accomplishment feels significant as I walk past buildings older than the country I left yesterday.
Twenty-four plus waking hours later, delirium starts to kick in but instead of napping on the couch or in my new bed or literally anywhere I’m standing in Lidl wondering what the hell a gram is and how it compares to US customary units.
Everything is in grams and kilocalories (thankfully I remember from tenth grade Honors Chem that they are the same as the calories I’m used to) and Euros, which differ just enough from US dollars to throw my powers of conversion completely off. That, and I haven’t slept since Monday night and it’s now Wednesday afternoon.
Did I mention I haven’t slept for twenty-four hours?
Cynthia has already forged ahead, armed with a shopping list in one hand, basket in the other. She arrived in Dublin the day before we did (we only arrived at 7AM this morning), and although she says she hasn’t left the apartment until now, she seems to know exactly what she’s doing. I learn very quickly that Cynthia has only two modes: hyperactive and asleep. Josh and Devin and I, meanwhile, haven’t gotten much past the entrance, staring blankly at the stacks of vegetables and practically swaying on our feet.
The automatic door slides open behind us and I shiver as the wind winds around my ankles and through my tattered Converse. My shoulders approach my ears, the way they unconsciously do when I try to keep warm, and I’m grateful I decided to haul my winter jacket all the way here.
Despite my fatigue and the unexpected cold spell I can’t help but grin at everything. I’ve wanted to visit Europe for ages, and the excitement of being anywhere on the other side of the Atlantic for the first time in my life is almost more than I know how to handle—even if that anywhere happens to be a discount grocery store.
My awkwardness keeps me from outright staring at the other customers, but I try to catch snippets of conversations while examining the foreign produce. I except to hear nothing but Irish accents, and am surprised when I realize many people seem to be speaking in hurried Spanish. After only two semesters of Spanish I can’t pick up on any words or phrases, but my smile widens at the newness all the same.
I hesitantly begin to compile groceries in my own basket, marveling at the prices (inexpensive even converted to US dollars) and practically squealing when I find what are basically vegan SpaghettiOs (they’re labeled “Spaghetti Hoops” and I buy three cans for less than one Euro). My roommates and I converge in the sweets aisle (if the haphazard stacks of food in Lidl can be called aisles) and together we gape at the variety of cheap biscuits, chocolate bars, and candy. Josh and Cynthia and I buy one roll each of dark chocolate Digestive biscuits because they’re only 59 cents and I’m shopping hungry and Cynthia and I are addicted to chocolate.
We pay separately and leave the store dragging our haul in canvas and plastic reusable bags (we don’t want to pay the fee to use the store’s bags, and I brought my own pineapple print bag just for this purpose). It’s the first time I’ve actually bought groceries for myself, and even this small accomplishment feels significant as I walk past buildings older than the country I left yesterday.
© 2017 Elise Price