Dante perfectly, precisely captured the inner disorientation of the exile when he wrote of a place where "the bread is salty and the steps are hard to climb".
Tasting salty bread was a reminder that he wasn’t in Florence. Climbing stairs built by a different measure than that which your legs learned in childhood told him he wasn’t in his native place.
I am in grocery store New Jersey.
I had constant reminders that this area has a very different make up of ethnic backgrounds than my native Minnesota.
For example, in Minnesota you will find perhaps a few feet of shelf space for canned tomatoes and maybe four, five kinds. Here, a couple dozen varieties in over twenty feet of shelves.
The entire left side is pasta. That would not happen where I am from.
In a cold case here I found this:
Here, you will not find Lefsa.