I started noticing them everywhere.
Shopping trolleys — pulled behind people of all ages, moving through streets, markets, train stations. Some modern, some old-fashioned, some elegant, some purely practical. After a while, it felt like everyone had one.
On a sunny Saturday morning, I sat in a café watching people come and go. One after another, they passed by with a trolley in tow. After a while, it almost felt staged — like a scene repeating itself from different directions.
You can buy these trolleys everywhere in France, and some of them are surprisingly expensive. I remember discovering particularly beautiful ones in a shop that sells the same design across different products—wallets, umbrellas, pens, and trolleys alike.
If I were to live in France one day, I’m sure I would buy one too.
My mother once said—when she was over seventy—that she would finally buy a trolley. She hesitated for a long time because, in her mind, a trolley meant being old. Later, she was happy she did. It was a modern model, and she used to say: “This is my Mercedes.”
But in France, a trolley doesn’t mean age. It’s normal. Practical. And somehow — very French.