One of my favourite activities when travelling is checking out local supermarkets. When the Crev and I arrived in Madrid last autumn, it was one of the first things we did. No matter that we actually NEEDED to go to the supermarket. For a start, I’d left my hair brush at home. Again. Not to mention the need for toddler snacks or cold coffees to get me going in the morning. As I pushed the Crev about the aisles, staring in wonder at familiar and unfamiliar products, it was in an air-conditioned stupour. The different foods intrigue and inspire me. I almost look forward to returning home to my own kitchen to undertake some culinary experimentation. Almost. Just not quite yet, por favor.
I took this photo without a problem, and managed to take about a dozen more before the paëlla man in the food-to-go area shouted at me and shook his fist. Did he think I was an industrial spy? With a toddler and buggy as my disguise? Had my spoken Spanish been better, I might have smiled at him whilst explaining that I was merely showing admiration for his displays. Instead, I spluttered and shook a little as I hurriedly shoved my camera out of sight, racing for a suitable aisle within which to hide. Ridiculous. What I should really have done is take a more Latin attitude and shaken my fist right back.