Sign up for Unimportant Observations newsletter
-
Categories
100days100photos Argentina Avantgarb{age} Bancalari Blog Action Day Bolivia Boulder Buenos Aires CateIncBA Children Chile Colorado Comedor Los Pibes couchsurfing Environment Exhibit Fashion HIV humor I am: Women Living with HIV Journalism Living Abroad multimedia Music Musings Ojo de Pez Patagonia Peru Politics POV Poverty Rock Climbing Running Sumo Tango Tattoo Teaching Travel Uncategorized Uruguay USA VideoBlogroll
Fav Blogs
Site Map
Category Archives: Boulder
“I am,” Women Living with HIV, an international photography project
I am seeking contacts, events, groups and individuals that work with HIV positive women and in the HIV positive community here in Boulder, Colorado and the surrounding areas, ie Denver, mountains, etc…
I especially would like to hear from you if you are an HIV positive woman living in Colorado.
Please check out the project website below (click on photo).
Thoughts on the wonders of a stateside supermarket
I am in love.
with the abundance, the variety, the service and the in-house Starbucks cafe.
I wondered if I would sense any culture shock returning to the states after a year abroad. It was comforting to fall immediately back into my family relationships. To talk to my sister Karen when she picked me up at the airport as if I had only been gone for a weekend or to roll into my sister Aileen’s house, say hi and move onto what’s for dinner. This is not new for us. I have not lived near any family since I graduated from Boston University in (ahem) 1995. I finished my degree in journalism and I left Boston for the other side of the continent. So essentially I have not lived at home or even near home since I was 18. For years my closest sister was 7 hours by car. Now it is anywhere from 18 to 34 hours by plane depending on the layover and inevitable airline delays.
But I did get something of a shock recently, on New Years Eve. I took my niece with me to do a few errands and we stepped foot into the supermarket, a Safeway in Boulder, Colorado. First, it was huge. Aisles of foodstuffs, vegetables, cans, bottles of salsa, rows of cheeses, cleaning solvents, coloring books, organic macaroni and cheese, a plethora of spices and olives!
I was there to get smoked salmon, cream cheese and crackers for a dip I was making for the New Years party. I stood in the back of the supermarket near the fish counter looking at the seven different choices I had, comparing prices, farmed or wild, is it Alaskan? My niece paced impatiently as I stared at the labels trying to determine if one was better than the other. What amount did I need? A whole salmon or just steak sized? And what did I want to spend? 14.99 for the whopper to 3.99 for the smallest chunk. It was nirvana.
I waffled and settled on mid-sized, mid-priced and moved on to the cream cheese. If my reaction to the salmon choice shocked me, the options for cream cheese nearly sent me into cardiac arrest. There was Philadelphia, Horizon Organic, and Laughing Cow among others. They came in regular flavor, herb and garlic, sun-dried tomato, and in brick form or in a tub. This is a stateside supermarket. Choice is stocked on the shelves.
I had forgotten what it meant to make choices like this in a market. I love the fruit and vegetable stands in Buenos Aires. I have never met a produce guy in the states that knows what they do in Argentina. I would routinely ask Ramon, the seller near my old apartment, what was worth buying that day. He never let me down. He directed me toward the sweetest peaches, the crispest apples and he made a mean lettuce and beet salad.
The choice staring me at the face in the cream cheese section of Safeway was my culture shock. I had forgotten what this type of choice felt like and I almost didn’t know what to do with it.
Eventually, with my niece waiting, because her reward was a scone from the Starbucks located in the market, I grabbed a couple of tubs, threw some crackers my niece chose for me into the basket and escaped to the check-out.
The total was a bit less than $20. I paid for it with a large bill and the cashier didn’t even ask me for 10 centavitos.
By the time I left, with coffee in hand, and my niece munching on a Petite Vanilla Scone, I had rediscovered the joys of a supermarket. I may miss this when I go back to Buenos Aires, but I guess if I’m lucky enough I will once again have the pleasure of rediscovering the supermarket the next time I come back to the states.


