Grocery Shopping, Cruiser-Style

(A note: as this is published, we’re offshore sailing from the Caribbean to the Chesapeake. You can follow our progress on our tracker.)

Big deal, you say, to go grocery shopping. I do it all the time without thinking about it. Take a list, including brand specifics, get in the car, go to the store, get everything on the list, come home, stow it all away. Maybe two hours of my time each week? What’s the big deal?

Grocery shopping, cruiser style.

*Carts in Martinique. You need a coin to release the cart. Come prepared.*

Make a list. It’s a general list - “Crunchy things. Green things. Pasta.”
Research where the store is. How close can I get the dinghy? How far is the walk? Any especially great deals that are worth stocking up on? How many bags can I carry anyway?
Pack backpack with lots of bags. Check that your wallet is in the backpack. Check that you have the handheld VHF to call for the dinghy pickup on the return end. Check that your shoes are in the dinghy. Check that you know, roughly, where the store is (because the cell phone doesn’t work, because you only have one SIM card for the boat, and your partner is working on internet-required stuff on board while you shop.)
Get in dinghy. Get back out of dinghy to grab water bottle you know you’ll need. Get back in dinghy.
It’s 8 am.
Nearest shore access is via a muddy river bank, so you get dropped off and only sink one foot into the black mud. You manage to retrieve the shoe and wipe your hands on the nearest grass patch.
It’s a 10 minute walk to the store. Happily there’s a sidewalk. In the sun. You’re glad you have the water bottle.
The store is bewilderingly large, with random displays of things like tortillas tucked in a back corner. These items are nowhere else in the store.
You manage to find crunchy things. And green things. Pasta, though, is a no-show. Perhaps you missed the random display of pasta? You decide to get a couple of bags of rice to make up for the starch lack. You see tangerines and throw them in, plus a couple of other things you haven’t seen in months. You also remember that you’re desperately low on canned tomatoes and when you come across that random display you grab a few cans.
At check out you insist on packing your own bags, disgruntling the person who works for tips. Since you’re the pack mule and understand how to balance weight and can’t quite communicate this easily, you try not to let the disgrunt get to you.
You stuff the backpack so full of the heavy things it’s hard to swing it onto your back. You’re careful not to put the eggs underneath anything else.
It’s hotter walking back.
The VHF turned itself on when you were walking and has almost no battery. Luckily, you contact your partner before the radio dies completely.
Negotiating the muddy bank with heavy bags is made a little easier when you find a palm frond to act as a welcome mat. No shoes stuck in the mud this time, but getting the dinghy off of the bank takes some doing as now there’s more weight in it.
You transfer bags from the dinghy to the boat, then transfer the bags from the deck to down below. Before you can stow anything in the fridge, it needs to be cleaned. Before you can stow anything away at all, you need to help lift the anchor so you make the last bridge opening of the morning - and you can’t wait another 4 hours until the next one.
You stow things methodically until you run out of patience and then it’s a matter of throwing items into whatever locker has space.
It’s 2 pm.
Your shoe still needs to be cleaned.
You still have no pasta.