As an expat, do you buy underwear in your host country? No? Maybe you don’t speak the language, or you don’t get your jollies trying on a bra behind a drab curtain in the corner of a market stand, or you don’t like the granny styles available, or . . . well, you get the picture. Just for your information, Miss Footloose purchases her flimsies in her native Holland or her adopted USA, where it is a stress-free shopping experience. Well, more or less.
So where am I going with this? On a ramble, I admit. This post is a bit of a patchwork, a few random pieces minimally strung together by the word underwear. A tanga post let’s say. Brief bits.
Of French wine and Dutch underpants
So let’s travel now to the south of France where my mate and I and our two young daughters once spent several nights in a ramshackle cottage we rented from a retired Dutch guy with a pony tail, his scantily clad girlfriend and his twenty-something hunky son. The three of them exuded a kind of hippy charm and professed to like the sun-and-wine soaked south of France better than rain-soaked Holland. Imagine that.
They owned a sprawling ruin of a house which they had baptized with the fanciful name of Maison de la Cascade by virtue of a romantic waterfall splashing away on their property. If you’ve got it, flaunt it, is what I think.
The men had haphazardly erected several primitive shacks which they rented out for the price of five dollars a night, e.i. just about nothing.
The rental included breakfast of fresh baguette and bowls of café au lait the size of small lakes. Dinner was available for a modest additional charge and concocted by the men with much creativity if not culinary skill. The meal was eaten en famille outside at a rough wooden table under a grapevine arbor, accompanied by copious amounts of vin rouge. This wine had been purchased at a local co-op which sold the area’s nectar on tap: Bring your own bottles or containers and pump it out of the vat yourself. It was fabulous. The ambiance at la Maison was five-star. Of course this eluded the girls, who preferred dining in castles, as they had in Spain several days earlier.
Horrors! Quelle horreur !
More creativity was witnessed when we returned from an afternoon excursion and found the sun-bronzed Greek god son sitting at the outdoor table in his Mediterranean blue bikini underpants, deeply engaged in drawing artistic labels for the wine bottles filled with co-op wine: a lovely waterfall with the words La Maison de la Cascade swirling in an elegant arch above it. Each label was a piece of art. Images of this sort stay with me. The daughters, half their genes puritan American, were also impressed. Not by the labels but by the artist sitting there in his underpants!
Fast forward to another lingerie incident abroad:
While living in Armenia, two friends and I visited “our” tailor one day. One friend was a native Armenian, the other hailed from Cameroon, West Africa. Our clothier was a rather unorganized sort with a haphazard approach to business. Each of us was hoping for some progress on our garments which had been languishing on a sagging shelf for some time now. Repeated phone calls had not been very successful in stirring the man out of his (possibly vodka-induced) lethargy.
The tailor’s shop was more like a hoarder’s house than a place of business. Boxes with assorted junk and piles of fabric were sitting around on floors and shelves. The “fitting room” was a sort of sitting room/cum office sporting an ailing brown couch begging for retirement, a threadbare carpet devoid of soul, and a scruffy desk of Soviet vintage. A full length mirror leaned drunkenly against the wall, wiped out from reflecting too many unpleasant images perhaps.
Fortunately, the sewer man had managed to do some minimal work on our outfits. In order to speed things up (so we could go to lunch and celebrate with a shot of vodka), we went into the room together and starting stripping off our clothes for a fitting.
So there we stood in all our baby stretch-mark glory — the European, the African, and the West-Asian — wearing our similarly unexciting underthings. We looked at each other and it came to us in an epiphany: We were really friends now.
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So, do you have an underwear story? Foreign or domestic? Either one will be appreciated, but keep it clean (if possible).
Just trying to post again! Will I succeed?
Well, since you asked …. It was late and we were reading in bed. I asked my husband, If you were to make three pieces of clothing appear in my wardrobe, what would they be? You’d think that it would take a while for a person to consider the limitless possibilities; the amount of thought involved might be overwhelming. But, no, my dearest didn’t miss a beat — or even manage to blink — before he had his answer, Underwear. Well. Go figure. Underwear — as in fine lingerie, which is what I assumed he meant — has got to… Read more »
Oh, thank you for the fun of reading this! Yes, all is perfect: your underwear, your life in Switzerland, and your lovely husband!
Oh yes.. great photo opportunities! Black Africa meets Asia at this market. There is another wonderful stall is run by a charming woman from the Cameroon’s.. she sells the greatest handbags! My travel bag on wheels came from her at £25.00, holds enough for a 10 day trip! I used to travel a lot so know how to squeeeze things in, the wheels are sturdy yet retract and the zip is strong, great bargain! And at the top of the market is The Turkey Food Centre run by Leila.. & what a clever girl SHE is! Full of delicious yumyum… Read more »
What a wonderful selection of comments.. Here in London (uk), there is a street market called Ridley Road, at Dalston Junction. There, in the market, are two underwear stalls.. one selling knickers, the other bras. And SUCH bras! The most glorious you have ever seen, some for ‘every day’ use and some for evening wear, but both types in fabulous colours, you want pale turquoise, primrose, chartreuse, lilac.. they are here, along with white, ecru, cream, ivory, charcoal, black etc, you get the drift! Price.. £2.00 each! Lord knows where they come from.. they do go up to 40″ but… Read more »
Oh, thank you for your comment! That market sound so much fun! I may be in England next year so maybe I’ll have a chance to visit it. It might give me some great photo opportunities 😉
This is a fun blog, I’m glad that I found it and plan to read more. You’ve got yourself a new follower. Happy writing.
Great story! I have never been very particular about clothing of any sort, for the most part, so I have no exciting stories to tell…except for figuring out the NZ bra sizes!
Another great post, Miss Footloose. I love Karen’s comment about being eyeballed for bra size. Makes me think a trip to Egypt might be the easiest way to get a bra for me—plus the fact that they’re made for hot weather. Now that’s a plus. Trying out bras is not allowed where I live as well. I often wonder if that’s why a friend had breast reduction surgery—she said the best part of it was that she hasn’t worn a bra for over two years. Seems a tad extreme to me. Wearing red panties in Mexico is supposed to ensure… Read more »
I remember those men in France in their skimpy Speedos. I used to date one myself. Anyway Judy’s comment on “reinforced soviet bras” makes me laugh. I can visualize them, and how a small gun would pop out if a man tried to get close to the woman’s breast.
Reinforced Soviet bras, what an image. The fashionable young ones in Moscow won’t be wearing them, but I assume in the hinterland they’re still available, with or without attached little guns.
I once had a colleague who seemed to fancy me quite a bit. Of course I was completely oblivious to this, even when he asked me about my underwear size (bra included). Just before New Year’s he handed me a package and out came a bright red little ensemble! The fit was just about right, but I did wonder why he had given them to me. A few weeks later (after he had started ignoring me), I found out that in Italy (where he hailed from), giving a woman red underwear for New Year’s is a sign of love and… Read more »
I love this! Cultural confusion, Italian style. I learned something, and am now forewarned in case an Italian ever gives me underwear. Well, I can live in hope!
I never bought underwear in Mauritania. The market had stalls of new (newish?) underwear, being sold by young men. I could not even meet their eye!
Morocco had those stalls too, and an American friend dared to buy them. Morocco also has French lingerie stores though. Not to mention sales. I love French underwear.
Such a funny topic! So important to us all, our “unmentionables.”
I love all the comments! Underwear clearly stirs up people’s emotions, fears, embarrassments and so on. Just like we were still in nursery school!
I love that story about your epiphany with your friends! I may have told this story before (I’m sure I did somewhere)… When we lived in Japan, my cousin sent me a joke pair of racy underwear from Fredericks of Hollywood (not sure of the spelling). They were black lace and scandalous as all get out and I’d never worn them, but being me I could not bring myself to throw them out. Our daughter was three at the time and she found them. A friend of ours showed up for dinner that same evening and he could not look… Read more »
Thanks for the laugh! What a fun story. I can just see it happen!
I make it a rule when I’m travelling never to try on a bra behind a drab curtain in the corner of a market stand, although I once entered a bar wearing a pair of underpants on my head.
Englishmen are always such a surprise once they venture abroad. Something just breaks free once they’ve left the confines of their island. In case you do need a bra, I hear you can do well at Marks and Spencer’s.
My mind boggles twice.. the first time at the amount of bars you must have visited before you put the underpants on your head and the second time at the mental sight of you putting the underpants on your head and going into the bar. You’re a brave man Ian.
I always carry plenty of clean underwear when abroad, just in case of moral hazards. A girl can never be too careful where elastic is concerned.
Your advice is practical and no-nonsense, and greatly appreciated! A girl can never be too careful while traveling in alien lands.
Here, a gal is not supposed to mix up her undies with the regular clothing. It’s considered ‘dirty’. But MEN can have their underpants washed with other people’s clothing. Can you imagine?!!!
In many cultures women and their bodies are often considered dirty. In some places they are to stay away from the kitchen and cooking during their time of the month, or they are not allowed to enter temples. I wonder how they check?
In Egypt I had the choice between fancy schmancy style stores selling what I’ve been used to at home (La Senza style..) or a stuffy shop full of women in niqaab. So I chose the first one, thinking I’m a cool chick. The bubble burst when the shop girl looked at me as if I were a filthy insect: “42? No, we don’t have sizes that big”. Such a reaction is surprising if you consider Egypt reached position nr. 14 on the WHO’s list of fattest countries this year. It’s quite clear they shop elsewhere, which I do too… Home,… Read more »
Thank you for the warning! It’s so much easier to just shop for your intimates in your home country.
I enjoyed your post, your experience in Tanzania. Married men washing their own undies. What an image! Hope you don’t get more creepy comments!
No, Judy, not mad. Marks & Sparks saved my life in Singapore, where the bras were generally made for the ultra-petite Asian figure (and included an astonishing amount of padding.) Until I discovered the lingerie department at M&S, I despaired of ever finding a suitable home for “the girls.” And then I moved to France, which was lingerie heaven. I still drool a little when I remember going up the escalator of Galeries Lafayette, and seeing all that frothy loveliness coming into view. A lot of it was beyond my price range, but a girl can dream!
Never thought of the small sizes you’d find in Singapore! Buying a simple bra can be a problem of major proportions (no pun intended 😉 when shopping in alien parts, it seems.
Hilarious post! I love it. A really refreshing view on the expat search for clothes in the host country. As Judy says I was always surprised by the number of racy lingerie shops in Arab countries, where most women dress very modestly in public.
The Saudis took it a step further by removing the heads of the mannequins in the windows but then realized there was still too much for the eye so banned the mannequins all together.
I love that mannequin story!
Ha, ha, I really enjoyed this post! Shopping for underwear is one of those small details that assumes incredible importance for us women when we go to live in another country. Stories from my own travels:- In Azerbaijan, when we first arrived in 1996, the only underwear I ever saw was reinforced soviet bras for sale in the market. As I watched the local women examine them I had to wonder, how on earth does anyone buy a bra without trying it on first? Did the stallholders allow them to return it if it didn’t fit? I never did discover.… Read more »
Marks & Spencer underwear has a mythical reputation and even non-Brits are familiar with it! As for Muslim women who are all covered up in black, I understand that underneath, they often sport the latest fashions from Paris or Milan.
Enjoyed the post. Back in the days of expat life I certainly preferred to shop for undies at home, but that was not always possible. There came a point when living in Egypt many years ago that that it was apparent that buying bras could not wait for home leave. After talking with an Egyptian friend and getting the address of “the best shop” I headed out. I already knew that the sizing scheme was totally different so I was prepared to have to try them on behind a curtain in the back. No. Not done that way. When I… Read more »
Hi Karen! Fancy seeing you here in cyberspace! (We knew each other in Indonesian times 😉
I loved your Egyptian tale! I could just see this happen, and how excruciatingly uncomfortable to buy a bra from a man, and then to find he knew exactly what you needed. Great story.
Great post! I love the little details about the family. I could imagine all of it, including the underwear :-)).
p.s. the place sounds so reasonable, could you give more details on the rental?
Thanks! The details are always fun, and it’s what made the incident memorable. The story took place some time ago and I’m afraid they were so reasonable they worked themselves right out of business. I couldn’t find them again when I went looking for them.