Why I Drag a Suitcase to Italy for Groceries

Everyone loves the convenience of a quick grocery store run. I, too, once lived that life of luxury. Living a mere two-minute walk from Carrefour, I thought I had made it. I could roll out of bed, grab a pain au chocolat and be back before my coffee cooled. 

Then, I saw my receipt. After discovering the stark price differentials between my local French aisles and the Lidl in Ventimiglia, I officially converted. I am now a loyal Italian commuter, and I’ve made peace with the fact that buying oat milk now consumes two hours of my life.

The Math (Why I Choose Suffering)

My conversion to Lidl wasn’t spiritual; rather, it was mathematical.

In Menton, buying oat milk is an act of financial recklessness, with prices hovering north of €2. In Ventimiglia? That liquid gold is a cool €1.59. Then, there is the protein situation. A salmon fillet at Carrefour will set you back €6 to €7, leaving you weeping into your wallet. In Italy, that same fillet is yours for just €4.99.

The real victory is in what you actually bring back. You cannot find Guanciale at the local Carrefour—it simply doesn’t exist. In Italy? It is €2.19. Throw in 99-cent Mortadella and suddenly, dragging a suitcase across international borders feels less like a chore and more like a high-yield investment strategy.

Where’d All the Time Go?

When I say that this journey takes hours, my friends back in Singapore assume I am stuck on a regional train for half the day. I’m not. The train ride itself is a breezy 14 minutes. But it’s all the small steps added together that make this take hours.

Once you step off of the train in Ventimiglia, it is a 19-minute trek to get to Lidl. Walking through the streets of Italy, you are fueled only by the promise of cheap pasta and the knowledge that every step is saving you 50 cents. After the return trip comes the final battle: dragging the haul up the hill to my apartment in Menton.

The trek is a time investment, but the receipt speaks for itself.

The 25kg Beast

I don’t use a backpack. I don’t use a tote bag. Instead, I use a full-sized, hard-shell 100-liter suitcase.

You may look silly rolling a massive suitcase onto the train for a pack of pasta, but when you are hauling a month’s worth of groceries, you will feel incredibly smug while everyone is struggling with ripping plastic bags. My friends may laugh, but they are the ones losing circulation in their fingers while carrying plastic bags. The suitcase is the only vessel capable of handling the volume of my operation. However, the real price I pay for these savings is the sheer, unadulterated noise. The plastic wheels rumble over the uneven pavement with the subtlety of a tank battalion, creating a tectonic shudder that announces my arrival from three streets away. But the greatest test of character comes at the end of the journey, when I have to drag that fully loaded, 25kg box of lead up the hill to my apartment. It builds character. Or trauma. I haven’t decided which one yet.

The List is Law

The most dangerous part of the trip isn't the travel — it's the store itself. Lidl is designed to destroy your focus and waste your time.

So, you have to make a list. This is a non-negotiable.

If you walk into that Lidl without a strict plan, you will be shopping for an hour. You will enter a fugue state. You will stand in the pasta aisle, debating the merits of five different types of pesto until your vision blurs. You will be seduced by the bakery section, which smells like butter and bad decisions and convince yourself that you need three different types of focaccia for the journey home.

You don’t need all that focaccia. Write down what you need, get in, execute the plan and get out before you lose your focus and, more importantly, miss your train home.

The Verdict

Let’s be honest: commuting to another country just to buy groceries is objectively absurd. Normal people don't need a passport and a suitcase to buy milk. But normal people are also paying €7 for salmon, so I’ll take the trade-off. It’s a trek, a workout and occasionally a public embarrassment, but for that €2.19 guanciale? I’d walk twice as far.

Photo Source: Shirley Marie Victorio