I almost walked past the aisle but something made me stop and turn.
A glint of yellow on black. A familiar word draped across the face of an object. It caught my eye and I moved towards the source of this sudden interruption.
With only a few other jars for company, it sat there like a blast from my past, a long lost friend waiting patiently for me. There sat my childhood and my adolescence, a ghost of my former English life. And seeing it unexpectedly sent me tumbling down memory lane, a surge of homesickness passing through me.
Standing there, I thought back to a childhood holiday in the German Black Forest with my grandmother. It was the first time I'd been away from my parents and sister. In other words, it was a big deal.
Even as a young boy, I knew I'd struggle to be away from home but one thing kept me going - my love for a thick, black yeasty extract known as Marmite.
My mate Marmite.
Photo credit: Sarah Fagg (Flickr Creative Commons)
Seeking comfort in a spread
Commonly spread on toast or in sandwiches across the UK, Marmite is a food you either like or loathe, love or hate.
It's a polarising delicacy, dividing the country's taste buds and leaving large numbers of children hooked from an early age. I was one such child, raised on the wholesome goodness of this tar-like creation, unable to resist its gloopy touch each and every single day.
On this first trip abroad without the comfort of my immediate family, I sought solace in my favorite spread, Marmite.
As long as I could have my regular Marmite sandwiches, I'd be alright. I might well be scared of being far from home, but I'd be okay.
And I was.
Reminders of home
My illogical passion for Marmite was such that until I left the UK in 2003, I was still reaching for it on a daily basis, lathering my wholemeal sliced bread with the rich, gooey liquid-like stuff.
When we moved abroad, it was one of many things I missed from home. I stuffed my suitcase with jars and jars, and after arriving in Canada, searched high and low for any sign of the British black gold.
Occasionally I'd discover a jar or two, ridiculously overpriced and often neglected at the back of a Canadian grocery store. My parents would send over extra supplies and sometimes a jar would turn up hidden among my Chrissy presents.
Over time, my need for it somehow dropped away.
Standing there in that Australian supermarket, I felt a twinge of sadness at realising my inexplicable hunger for Marmite had disappeared. And I didn't really miss it. I'd replaced it with a local variation but the meaning ran deeper than mere culinary choices.
As my burning desire for Marmite diminished, so too had my need for other British things from home. Those small reminders I initially craved had become less vital in my new life.
I'd grown apart from my former home. I was inadvertently moving on.
Out of sight, out of mind
If I could move on from my childhood love of something this dear and special to me, what else had I moved on from? Favourite pastimes and practices, old friends, worse still... family?
Out of sight, out of mind never felt truer in that supermarket aisle. So much of me had changed over the course of the past ten years and I wondered what else I'd forgotten about.
I had clear and cherished memories of celebrations at Christmas, the weekly shows on TV, even the way people spend their time down the local pub or walking the dog through a farmer's field. Now the memories are no longer as vivid and it takes a jar of Marmite in a supermarket aisle to bring them all rushing back.
I wonder if it's part of the process of living away.
After greater periods away, you adjust and connect more deeply to your new life. Meanwhile, you move on from the old.
If I could pick things up from my former life and bring them over here - the people, the places, customs and traditions - it might be a good thing. If I could pull everything into one place, no longer split between countries and continents, maybe the ghosts of my past would become part of the present.
But they won't because of a decision I made many years ago. A decision I'm thankful for but a decision in which I said goodbye to many things and many people, including a precious, much loved yeasty friend.
What do you still miss from home? What would you miss if you ever moved away? And do you love or loathe Marmite?
Former expatriate, Chris Boyle, spent years living in Japan. He experienced first-hand the challenge trying to get products from home shipped to him abroad. Upon returning to the United States in 1996, Boyle received so many requests from friends and acquaintances to send groceries and U.S. goods that he founded a package forwarding service called Goopping.com.
This service enables expats or citizens living outside of the U.S. to purchase any U.S. groceries or products and have them shipped right to their door, whatever country they are in. Everything from Pop-tarts to Sephora, Nike to Reese’s, U.S. products and prices are made available to anyone living outside of the U.S.
Boyle created the site to work like this: When you register with Goopping.com, you get a free U.S. shipping address. When shopping online from a store that either won’t ship internationally, or charges very high shipping rates, simply enter your U.S. Goopping address as your shipping address. The store delivers your purchases to your Goopping address and Goopping combines all your purchases into one. They then forward these U.S. products right to your door anywhere in the world.
Goopping also offers a Buy-for-Me service so you can request they make a purchase for you. This is useful if a store won’t accept your international credit card. Because of the high volumes Goopping ships, the site can provide and shoppers with the lowest forwarding rates in the industry.
Just a little expat-experience making life easier.
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