The supermarket survival guide: How to shop abroad without looking like a tourist

There is a specific kind of travel anxiety that has nothing to do with missed flights or lost passports. It hits you somewhere between the automatic sliding doors and the vegetable aisle of a foreign grocery store. You are holding a basket that feels too small, staring at a wall of cheese that smells aggressively pungent, and realizing you have absolutely no idea how to buy a single apple without causing a diplomatic incident.

We treat supermarkets as mundane, utility spaces. At home, we could navigate them blindfolded, guided by muscle memory and the comforting beep of the scanner. But abroad? The supermarket is a cultural threshold. It is a high-stakes arena of unspoken rules, mechanical puzzles, and labeling systems designed to humble even the most seasoned traveler.

I once spent ten minutes in a Parisian Monoprix trying to liberate a shopping cart, only to realize I needed a one-euro coin I didn’t have. I then proceeded to carry twelve items in my arms, dropping a jar of mustard near the checkout, which—I can confirm—is an excellent way to learn new French profanity.

This guide is your insurance against that specific shade of embarrassment. It is a map to the invisible etiquette of global grocery shopping, from the coin-operated cart mechanics to the ruthless speed of a German checkout line. Because while museums and monuments are fine, the true test of a traveler is whether they can buy milk without holding up the queue.

The coin-op cart conundrum

Let’s start with the first barrier to entry: the shopping cart (or trolley, depending on your latitude). In the United States, carts are generally free-range. You grab one, you use it, you abandon it in the parking lot for someone else to wrangle.

In Europe, the UK, and parts of Canada and Australia, the shopping cart is a prisoner, and you are its potential liberator. These carts live in long, metal daisy chains, locked together by a mechanism on the handle. To release one, you must pay a deposit.

The mechanics of the deposit

The system is simple but unforgiving. You insert a coin—usually a €1 coin, a £1 coin, or a specifically sized token—into the slot on the handle. This releases the chain from the cart in front of you. The coin remains hostage in the mechanism until you return the cart, slide the chain from another cart back into yours, and pop the coin back out.

It is a brilliant system for ensuring carts are returned to the corral rather than left to dent fenders in the parking lot. However, for the unprepared traveler who exclusively uses Apple Pay and hasn't carried physical currency since 2019, it is a disaster.

The "token" workaround

If you find yourself coinless, look at your keychain. Many savvy locals carry a plastic "trolley token" or a washer of the correct size. If you are desperate, you can sometimes ask a cashier for a plastic token, though this requires navigating the checkout line twice—once to beg, once to buy.

Pro tip: Keep a small stash of local coinage specifically for this purpose. There is no heartbreak quite like spotting the perfect cart size—the shallow, nimble European variety—and being unable to use it because you only have a credit card.

The produce scale panic

You have successfully acquired a cart. You have navigated the aisles. You have selected a beautiful, sun-ripened tomato. You arrive at the checkout, place it on the belt, and wait for the beep.

Instead of a beep, you get a sigh. The cashier holds up the tomato, looks at you with weary disappointment, and says something that clearly translates to: "Where is the sticker?"

Weigh it yourself

In many parts of the world—particularly in Italy, France, and Germany—cashiers do not weigh produce. You are expected to do it yourself before you get to the checkout.

This process involves:

1. Locating the scale: It’s usually in the center of the produce section.
2. Identifying your item's number: Look at the shelf tag where you grabbed the tomato. There will be a number (often unrelated to the price).
3. The execution: Place the item on the scale, punch in the number on the keypad, and wait for the machine to spit out a barcode sticker.
4. The application: Stick it on the bag (or directly on the vegetable).

If you forget this step, the cashier cannot sell you the item. They will not run back and weigh it for you. In a busy line, you will either have to abandon the tomato or endure the collective glare of five locals while you sprint back to the produce section.

The glove rule

There is a sub-clause to produce etiquette found specifically in Italy and parts of Spain. Touching fruit and vegetables with your bare hands is considered deeply unhygienic. Look for a dispenser of flimsy plastic gloves near the bags. Put one on before you squeeze the avocados. Handling a peach with naked fingers is a surefire way to get scolded by a grandmother in Milan.

Deciphering the dairy aisle

The refrigerated section is where cultural differences truly curdle. If you are American, you are accustomed to milk living in the fridge. In Europe, you might walk past aisle after aisle of unrefrigerated cartons stacked on regular shelves and wonder if the entire store has lost its mind.

The mystery of UHT milk

This is Ultra-High Temperature (UHT) milk. It has been pasteurized at a much higher temperature (around 280°F or 138°C) than American milk, sterilizing it completely. Packaged in aseptic Tetra Paks (those brick-like cartons), it is shelf-stable for six to nine months.

It is perfectly safe, though it has a slightly sweeter, "cooked" taste compared to fresh milk. Once you open it, it must go in the fridge. If you are desperate for the "fresh" taste you know, look for the smaller refrigerated section—usually near the yogurt—where you will find lait frais or Frischmilch. But be warned: it expires much faster than you are used to.

The yogurt vs. sour cream roulette

You want sour cream for your tacos. You grab a tub that looks right. You get home, and you have purchased vanilla quark.

Dairy naming conventions are a minefield.

• Quark: A staple in German-speaking countries. It’s a fresh dairy product, somewhere between yogurt and cottage cheese, but smooth. It can be sweet or savory.
• Crème Fraîche: The closest relative to sour cream, but richer, less sour, and higher in fat. It doesn't curdle when heated, making it superior for cooking.
• Kefir: A fermented milk drink that looks like milk but tastes like tart yogurt. Do not pour this in your coffee unless you want a chunky, sour surprise.

The Strategy: Use your phone’s translation camera app. Aim it at the ingredients list, not just the front label. "Natural" usually means plain, but "Nature" can sometimes imply unsweetened but still distinctively cultured.

Checkout line survival

The checkout line is the final boss battle of the supermarket run. It is where the pace is set, and mercy is nonexistent.

In North America, the checkout is a service experience. A bagger might carefully arrange your eggs on top of your bread. You might chat with the cashier about the weather.

In Germany (and at chains like Aldi or Lidl anywhere in the world), the checkout is an industrial efficiency test. The cashier sits in a chair. They scan items at a velocity that defies the laws of physics. They shove your groceries down the metal chute, where they pile up against your hip.

The "pack at the bench" strategy

Do not try to bag your groceries at the register. You are too slow. You will never be fast enough.

The expected behavior is to throw your scanned items back into your cart as fast as the cashier throws them at you. Once you have paid, you move your cart to a separate "packing bench" or shelf located behind the registers. There, you can leisurely organize your bags without holding up the line. Attempting to bag while paying is the grocery equivalent of stopping your car in the middle of a highway to check a map.

The plastic bag directive

Do not expect free bags. In fact, do not expect bags at all unless you ask for them.

The European Union’s Directive 2015/720 mandates that member states reduce the consumption of lightweight plastic bags. This effectively means you will be charged for every bag you use.

• Bring your own: This is the norm. You will see locals pulling crumpled totes out of their pockets or using grand, structured shopping baskets they brought from home.
• The "ask" phase: If you forget a bag, you must ask for one before the transaction closes. In some stores, the sturdy reusable bags are kept under the conveyor belt, and you must place them on the belt to be scanned like any other item.

Silent cues and social norms

Beyond the mechanics, there is the subtle, silent language of the queue.

The divider is your responsibility

In the US, the cashier often places the divider bar between orders. In Europe, it is strictly the customer's job. As soon as you put your last item on the belt, you must place the divider bar down. If you don't, the person behind you will stare at the belt with palpable anxiety, wondering if they should start loading their schnitzel or if you are simply taking a pause.

Eye contact and greetings

In France, you must say "Bonjour" to the cashier before any transaction begins. It is not optional friendliness; it is a required acknowledgement of their humanity. Failing to do so is rude and may result in slower service or crushed eggs.

Conversely, in Nordic countries or Germany, small talk is often seen as inefficient. A polite nod and a "danke" are sufficient. Do not ask about their weekend. They have a line to process, and you are slowing down the machine.

Personal space

Queue spacing varies wildly. In London, the gap between you and the person ahead is a respectful two feet. In a busy market in Rome, the person behind you may be practically wearing your backpack. Do not take it personally; it is just a different definition of "in line."

Why mastering the local grocery run matters

It is easy to retreat to the safety of restaurants or the anonymity of online delivery. But avoiding the local supermarket means missing out on one of the most authentic travel experiences available.

There is a triumph in successfully navigating these systems. The first time you unlock a cart without fumbling, weigh your own zucchini without prompting, and pack your bags at the designated bench with the speed of a local, you feel a shift. You are no longer just a tourist observing the culture; you are participating in it.

So, go forth. Hoard your coins. Translate your labels. And for the love of all that is holy, weigh your produce before you get to the line.