Shopping in France

Many people will know that shopping is my favourite hobby, and the only sport at which I truly excel.  But OMG, shopping in France, I scare even myself.

It is true that I have given myself time out.  I have accepted that my earnings for the year will reduce, and I have given myself permission to spend money that at my advanced age ought properly to be saved.  I have learnt not to convert Euros back to $NZ when I order my chocolat chaud or pay for my groceries.  That way lies madness.

But in this smug, smart, well-off little town in the heart of Provence, shopping is a brutally debilitating experience.  Unfortunately it is one of my favourite experiences, and since other favourite experiences are currently off the menu, I cannot stop doing it.

My current state of shock arises from the replacement of two pairs of prescription glasses (everyday and sun) complete with progressive lenses and trendy Mauboussin and Burberry frames.  Check out Mauboussin.  It is a French luxury brand with jewellery, bags, glasses etc.  If you do not know Burberry I am afraid you are beyond my help.  In my defence I present the following facts:

• My existing prescription was 4 years out of date and in dire need of updating if I was not to permanently ruin my eyesight.
• The lenses of both sets of glasses were scratched to buggery.
• The brands I bought would have cost even more in NZ, even assuming they were available.
• I got a discount.

So it had to be done, but I am still catching my breath at how much it all added up to.  I had to fight to keep the shock showing on my face when I realised that the first invoice, which I was still assimilating, was for the  cheaper pair, and not for both.  And since they cost considerably more than my hot chocolate, I cannot help but do the exchange calculation.  Oh well, now (or in a week when I pick them up) I will have very trendy French face furniture.

In fact the $NZ has not been performing well against the Euro since I arrived, and every top up on my magic debit card has cost me more than the last.  I do not know whether to blame the new government, or just bad luck, but I am philosophical.  No one has ever suggested living in France is cheap.  But this part of France is worse than most.  I learnt that when two French friends, one of whom lives elsewhere and another just south of here, informed me that Aix was trés cher.  So expensive in fact, that they refuse to tip the waiters in town because the cost of a meal is so much more here than elsewhere.

It was not especially necessary for them to point this out.  Everything is about on par with NZ price-wise.  That is to say, if it would cost you $1 in NZ, it will cost 1 Euro in Aix.  Or in real terms, about 1.75 x as much.  Wine is no exception.  It is true you can buy a drinkable bottle for around 5 Euros in the supermarket but, do the math, you can do the same in NZ.  Other things, that you might expect to be less expensive because made in France, like cosmetics, are sometimes dearer than in New Zealand.

Nor is food cheap, either fresh produce or processed foods, although the selection is great.  A few food lines, that we would definitely put into the luxury class, are cheaper here – great cheese, artisan sausages and dried meat products, good quality pates.  But  that is a function of different food preferences and buying habits, and would be balanced out by the cost of the fresh products we take for granted.  For example, sushi here is ridiculously expensive, and any trip to the butcher that involves the purchase of lamb or free range chicken is a shock to the wallet.

Which reminds me.  A wallet is useless here.  Unlike NZ, the French have not retired their minor coins.  They still give change in 1, 2, 5, 10, 20, and 50 cent pieces, with 1 and 2 Euro coins as well.  As a consequence you must have a separate coin purse, because no wallet would ever close on the amount of shrapnel you accrue.  Further, the coins are almost indistinguishable in the poor light that prevails in the early evening when I am doing the shopping for my evening meal.  The girl in the boulangerie up the road is sick of me fiddling around trying to make up 0.85 Euros for a baguette while a queue forms behind me,.  She has taken to snatching a 1 Euro coin out of my handful of coins, and handing me my 15c change without the customary “merci à vous” that is supposed to proceed “au revoir”.

Those coins do come in useful at the supermarket though.  If you want a trolley you will need to put a 1 Euro coin in the locking mechanism to free one for your use.  The supermarkets are also more advanced than ours at reducing the level of services they provide in some areas, while increasing it in others.  For example you will need to weigh and print out the label for produce yourself, and woe betide the stupid foreigner (i.e. me) who gets to the counter not knowing this rule.  On the other hand, there are three men behind the wet fish counter, just dying for you to ask for their assistance.  Unfortunately, by the time I have wrestled a trolley out of its chains,  weighed and labelled my vegetables, and traversed three aisles of nothing but cheese, I am seldom in the mood to select wet fish.

Naturally, neither the cost, nor the difficulties of shopping in French, have slowed me down much.  I am somewhat put out by French (and even worse Italian) clothes sizes though.  Having in recent years shrunk sufficiently to be able to return to shopping in normal size clothing stores, I am aggrieved to find I am very much on the borderline here.  It is not that French women are not fat.  Although there are not the overwhelming numbers of overweight people we have in NZ, I see fat French women every day.  That is to say I see women who have rolls of fat around their middles, thick ankles, ponderous bosoms, and double-chins.  But, and this is my problem, they are simply smaller and more petite than the average NZer to start with.  So the clothes are smaller on the whole, which limits my choices.

Even so I have managed to acquire 3 hats, a gilet (look it up – actually two I now recall), four pulls, two pairs of socks, a pair of boots, a pair of high heeled shoes (basically unwearable in my present lifestyle), two each of bras and knickers, three scarves, knitting yarn and needles, three rings and two pairs of earrings, not counting tea towels, table cloths, a painting, books, yoga mat, a candle snuffer, and road marker (decorative) and a full set of Christmas presents for others.  This is an inclusive, not an exclusive list.  And I am not finished yet.

My interest has now strayed into the kitchenware (oh, and I forgot I bought a wine bottle stopper) and home decor shops, as well as the market stalls and stores with second-hand goods.  Do not imagine for a moment that you will wander into a little shop of dust covered antiques just waiting to be found.  The French hold onto their antiques.  By and large they are still, and always have been, in every day use.  When they do find their way to the market, their value is well understood.  You can expect to pay as much for an item as you would in NZ.

As far as clothes, bags, shoes etc are concerned, the better stores stocking ‘vintage’ are so exclusive you have to ring a bell and be vetted before you can enter.  Then, if you do not have the right look about you, they will totally ignore you in favour of other fur clad customers, and release the door to let you out without so much as a glance.

Which reminds me.  If you have to ring a bell to be granted entry to any store – and there are quite a lot in Aix – you probably cannot afford to buy anything there.  If you can afford to pay upwards of 5000 Euros for a coat, or 1500 for a cashmere jumper, go right ahead and ring that bell.

But the kitchen and home design stores are great hunting places.  The French have a kitchen gadget or a delightful container for every conceivable use.  They are not all expensive.  Electrical appliances are fun here too, and again not that expensive.  You can have fun just figuring out what they do, but it does not pay to fall for them because those funny plugs are  going to be a problem at home.  Uh oh, just remembered! I also bought an epilator while in Paris.  Exactly like the one I accidentally left at home, but newer and complete with funny plug.

The home decor and furniture stores are a joy.  I am not talking about Ikea, which does exist on the outskirts of town.  No, I mean the non-chain shops in town, with furnishing fabrics to die for, and furniture that someone has designed and crafted.  One can lust after a kitchen stool in this town.  At the moment I have my eye on some little clay figurines, but I am going to take advice before deciding whether to buy one, two or three.

And now that I have bought a painting from an antique stall in the market, I am keen to keep going back and checking out what I can find.

Ok, enough about my rampant consumerism.  Time for me to be getting on with my knitting.

For those of you still in suspense, ‘What grandma did next’ will resume shortly.