Life in Italy: ‘How our shopping habits have changed since we moved from the US’

Less packaging, more human interaction; it’s not just the quality of the produce on sale that makes visiting Italy’s markets an unforgettable experience. American writer Mark Hinshaw tells us how the way he shops has drastically changed since moving to Italy’s Marche region.

Life in Italy: ‘How our shopping habits have changed since we moved from the US’
Theres much more to shopping at Italy's markets than simply buying produce. Photo: Sunny Savina Bertollini

Sometimes it’s the thinnest of membranes that separate us from each other. 

This came to mind when I was contemplating our dramatic change of shopping habits over the last four years.

For most of my life, I have shopped for food in supermarkets and for clothing in department stores. This is, indeed, the predominant behavior pattern in most of North America. We are thoroughly used to purchasing things for our daily use in packaged quantities, whether it’s carrots in a shallow tub wrapped in clear plastic or a shirt folded, pinned, and tucked neatly into a plastic sleeve. I did not think anything about this until I stopped doing it.

READ ALSO: What you need to know about shopping at Italian food markets

We used to buy water in plastic bottles, along with juice, milk, and other drinkables. But we realized we could buy these things differently. We now fill reusable glass bottles with water every week and buy all our fruit and vegetables from vendors that sell it without packaging.

These are not weekend farmers markets, but shops or trucks where the produce is simply displayed in crates, baskets, or bins. As the customer, you announce what you want and a staff person picks out the items as you observe. 

Photo: Sunny Savina Bertollini

Similarly, we now buy our clothing largely from truck vendors that line the regular street markets in our village and other neighboring villages. The sweaters, shirts and pants are hung off of overhead hooks suspended from the projecting truck canopy, or laid out on tables. If you point to an item of interest, the vendor lays it out and sometimes puts out two or three similar items for us to compare. We are invited to buy it, take it home, try it on and if it’s not satisfactory to bring it back next time. We have done just that several times.

Last weekend a merchant did not have pants in my size and preferred color. This weekend, as we approached his truck, he proudly held up the pants he brought for me.

A lifetime of purchasing goods in the US taught us that opening and touching items for sale meant you were committed to buying them. Initially it made us nervous when vendors would lay open an item; we feared they expected us to purchase it. So we were tentative. Now we just dive right in to see how the product feels in our hands.

READ ALSO: ‘How our village kept its sense of community throughout lockdown’

But here is the real beauty of it all. In each and every one of these exchanges, we have a conversation with another human being. Sometimes it’s short, sometimes it’s long. It might be with the vendor or another customer. Or with a friend or neighbor who also happens to be in the same place. And while walking to or through the market, we run into people we know and have a chat. Sometimes strangers approach us to wish us a good day. Even with masks worn during the pandemic, the eye contact is precious.

While all of these little interactions take place in the public realm they can be personal in nature. Some people stop my wife and ask her about her herbal remedies for aches and pains, describing them in detail. Usually there is an inquiry about a family member not present. Often, I have been asked how I am recovering from an illness or surgery, when that is the case.

These repeated and renewed connections cement the relationships we have with other people in our village and the region. It’s a constant reminder that we are part of a community.

Photo: Sunny Savina Bertollini

Some of these patterns have evolved into rituals. In several towns, we always go to one particular coffee bar. Not just because we enjoy their brand but because we know the proprietors. They now know our preferences and move to meet them as soon as we walk in the door.

Several street market merchants now bring items they know we will like in order to inspect them. Sometimes we make the purchase, sometimes not. But we always express appreciation for the thoughtfulness. It’s one of many tiny social compacts that have accumulated over time.


The absence of packaging involves a more tactile experience. We can see the merchandise. If it’s food, we cannot touch it but we can examine it up close, as the displays are often close to eye level. With some items the merchant will hand us samples; that almost always clinches the sale. With clothing, the merchants will point out the fabric tag and, more often than not, offer a discount, if we are regular customers.

We often remark on the “entertainment value” of buying fruit and vegetables. When the trucks arrive, people gather about and chat, comparing fresh items and animatedly discussing what to buy. We wait our turn while elderly nonnas fill baskets with produce for the family lunch later that day. The vendors crack jokes and play around like kids, joshing with customers, including us. One of them likes to surprise us with new English words he has learned. 

Photo: Sunny Savina Bertollini

There is one additional benefit to this kind of socio-commercial transaction. Everyone involved feels a collective responsibility for the shared public space. If bits of refuse drop, people reach down to pick it up and take it to a waste bin. The merchants sweep the pavement clean when they are done, bringing it back to suiting other uses. And people look after each other, with vigorous people helping the older, less agile.

It is, after all, a shared public living room, with everyone acting as both hosts and guests.

I had never made such a visceral connection between packaging and social life. And how the absence of packaging sharpens the senses while engaging the soul. 

Mark Hinshaw is a retired city planner who moved to Le Marche with his wife two years ago. A former columnist for The Seattle Times, he contributes to journals, books and other publications.

Member comments

  1. Hi Mark,

    Great article. It’s not something I have thought about in as much depth, but I, too, shop at the weekly market here in Alba, whereas it was supermarkets all the way back in Britain. It is a much nicer experience…!
    If you are ever in Piemonte, look me up – [email protected]
    Have a great weekend there!

  2. It just goes to show how supermarkets are destroying the community in the U.S & U.K. We moved to Sicily in 2019 and always shop this way now, even through the pandemic.

Log in here to leave a comment.
Become a Member to leave a comment.


Why Italy’s All Saints and All Souls days have nothing to do with Halloween

Spooky traditions haven’t really caught on in Italy where strong Catholic beliefs mean the country has its own way of honoring the dead, says Silvia Marchetti.

Why Italy’s All Saints and All Souls days have nothing to do with Halloween

Many Italians gathered last night to celebrate Halloween dressed as ghosts, witches, skeletons and zombies. Hotels, restaurants and pubs organised Halloween-themed events with spooky decor and music.

Each year I’m shocked by how Halloween penetrates Italian culture even though it’s a foreign import from Anglo-Saxon countries.

The real Italian festivities this week are All Saints’ Day (Ognissanti) celebrated on November 1st to remember all saints and martyrs during Christian history, and Il Giorno dei Morti o dei Defunti on November 2nd (the Day of the Dead, known elsewhere as All Souls’ Day) to commemorate the beloved deceased ones, mainly family members but also close friends.

While November 1st is a public holiday (and many Italians exploit it as an excuse for a ponte, a long weekend), November 2nd is a working day.

The entire week preceding All Saints’ Day sees cars queuing up to go to the cemetery, people rush to bring flowers and a few prayers to the tombs of deceased loved ones, and streets are often jammed.

For many Catholic Italians, it’s actually the only time of the year they remember to honor their dead, as if ‘imposed’ by their religion. A bit like going to mass on Sundays; if they fail to do so, they might feel guilty or even fear punishment from above. 

After spending an hour or so at the graveyards – places Italians usually tend to avoid – on All Saints Day, after the spiritual duties are accomplished, they might gather for lunch, bringing cakes and pastries.

People in Italy bring flowers to their loved ones’ graves on All Saints’ Day. Photo: JORGE GUERRERO / AFP

In some southern regions so-called ossa di morto (bones of the dead) pumpkin-filled biscuits and raisin pan dei morti (bread of the dead) are bought, while in the north chestnut pies are baked. 

Ognissanti is a very private event that usually involves little or restricted get-togethers, brothers and close relatives share the graveyard trip but then each goes back home, with little feasting on fine food. 

Catholics don’t have any macabre ritual involving leaving an empty place at the table for a spirit to join us. It is a moment of sadness but also of joy because our dead loved ones have ascended to heaven and are all there waiting for us. It’s the celebration of love, rebirth over doom, and the promise of a future reunion with them in heaven. 

That is why November 1st and November 2nd in Italy really have nothing to do with Halloween, which I call the ‘culture of the grave’ and the celebration of ‘scary death as an end to itself’. 

Even though they may partake in Halloween as a mere consumeristic party, Italians are mainly Catholic and believers do not believe in the darkness of the night, in the damnation of the grave, in being haunted by wicked spirits who long to take vengeance on us, in witches flying on broomsticks and terrifying zombies coming out of tombs. 

Pumpkin is something we occasionally eat as a pasta filling; it’s certainly not a decorative spooky element.

Halloween, which in my view is imbued with paganism and the Protestant belief in an evil superior being and naughty spirits ready to strike down on sinners instead of forgiving them, is celebrated in Italy but lacks a religious or spiritual nature. It’s like the Chinese celebrating Christmas for the sake of buying gifts and acting western. 

Halloween deeply affected my childhood. I’m Roman Catholic and I attended Anglo-American schools abroad where Catholics were a minority and each year I drove my mom crazy by forcing her to sew me a ghost or witch dress. She’d take a bed blanket and cut open three holes for the eyes and nose, annoyed that I should be influenced by a celebration that was not part of my tradition. 

In elementary and middle school my foreign teachers would make us decorate classrooms with spooky drawings, bake skeleton-themed biscuits for trick-or-treating, and tell us ghost stories in the dark to create an eerie vibe. 

Once we were also taken to visit a cemetery and when I told my dad about it he got annoyed and did all sorts of superstitious gestures to ward off evil. 

Halloween has always freaked me out but I did not want to miss out on the ‘fun’ for fear of being looked down upon by other kids. And so I too started believing in vampires, zombies, and ghosts, particularly at night when I was alone in my bed and had to turn on the light. Still today, and I am much, much older, I have a recurring nightmare of an ugly evil witch who torments me and chases me up the staircase.

I soon learned that if for Anglo-Saxons a trip to the graveyard is a jolly event, like a stroll in the park, and ‘graveyard tourism’ is on the rise, for Catholic Italians it is a place accessible only during funerals, moments of prayer, or during the week of All Saints and All Souls days. 

Last time I visited Ireland the guide took us to a monumental graveyard with tombs as high as cars, and lavishly decorated. A few of my Italian male friends refused to enter and spent the whole day scratching their genitals to ward off jinx.

Halloween night is said to be when the barrier between the worlds of ghosts and humans comes down. But Italians don’t usually like to ‘party’ and mingle with the dead or other spirits. We instead honor the deceased with our prayers but the boundary remains firm in place: in fact, this is why our graveyards are placed outside of city centres.