So, to practice for our new environment (wherever that may be), I like to go to my local grocery store, Food Star.
The first clue that one is entering foreign territory is the sign pasted onto the front window: 'We have the best food at low price.' As one approaches the store other clues being to manifest themselves. Iron bars are sunk into the sidewalk, wide enough to let people in, but not wide enough to let shopping carts out. The only exit available to a shopping card is zealously guarded by the same shopping cart man that is there every day. And several signs are posted in various languages warning customers that taking a shopping cart is illegal and will be vigorously prosecuted.
Once entering the lovely Food Star, one is greeted with a rack of Mexican pastries, waiting to be enjoyed. And the aisle that these pastries lead to is labeled 'Indian food, Middle Eastern food,' with the adjoining aisle being the one for various Latin American foods. The refrigerator case is filled with innumerable types of tortillas, and the freezer case with frozen fruits and vegetables unknown to me.
The denizens, of course come in all colors and love staring at me, the lone white woman perusing the selection of canned juices (tamarind anyone?). But this is all practice for the real thing, so I ignore them and head to the check-out aisle and buy my mango juice before heading back to my native land. For now.