Smells

The act of walking rewards the walker with a complete sensory experience, a feast for all six senses. Never have I been so aware of my surroundings as I have during these past few months. While I realize and appreciate the fact that walking alone has removed the distraction of communication with another human being, allowing me to silently observe and marvel at the richness of my surroundings, it has also left me bereft of the ability to share in the moment with a friend or loved one.

I have tried, to the best of my ability, to plug this hole in my experience by sharing every sense of the trip with all of you in great detail. We have covered sight thoroughly, as it is the most readily reproduced of the senses, thanks to great advances in photography and data storage. I have described, in certain instances, memorable sounds, and have also recorded a good number of them, though I have not shared any of those recordings with you digitally. By photographing fruit, pastries, and more elaborate dishes, and accompanying those photos with descriptions, I have only conveyed a fragment of the earth-rattling taste explosion here, but short of mailing the food to each of you, that's as close as we can get. I will have certainly tired each of you out at one point or another with tales of hill climbing, marathon walks, and a heavy pack. You also suffered with me in extreme heat, unprotected for hours under a baking sun, and slogging with wet feet in the rain for hours on end. You have even felt the tickle of grass as I napped under trees, so touch is effectively covered. The sixth sense is, by definition, impossible to convey effectively, but your own experiences with it are roughly communicable, and therefore must suffice. Anyways, my sixth sense has mostly come into use as a way of avoiding death by car, and that, I think, is a subject we can avoid discussing.

The one sense that has received little if any mention during my travels is smell. In general, smell tends to be overlooked, taking a back seat to nearly every other sense. However, since I happen to have a particularly keen sense of smell, as well as a sharpened scent-memory capability, I would like to share, at the tail end of my journey, some of the smells that have caught my, er, nose. Let's begin, with no photos to distract us:

1. Newly Washed Clothes - Italy is a land with very few dryers, and so the standard procedure is to wash linens and clothes either by hand or machine, and then hang them outside to dry. The damp, freshly cleaned clothes waft a smell of Marseilles soap, and it is this moist and vaguely floral scent that reminds me most of Italy.

2. Garlic - Walking around towns between noon and three almost always guarantees a heavy, inviting smell of roasted or fried garlic, as the most important meal, lunch, is prepared. It always reminds me of little grandmothers in uniform flower print dresses, and it always succeeds in making me hungry. Just writing about it gets the saliva flowing.

3. Trash - Probably the most common daily smell, it always involves rotting organic matter, and carries for surprisingly long distances. No matter how long you hold your breath, that first intake always involves a little of that sharp, raspy, trashy goodness. Putrid and lingering, pervasive and unsettling, this is unfortunately one of those smells that will also remind me of my walk.

4. Sheep Poop - It smells exactly the way lamb tastes. And I hope I never think of it vice versa.

5. Salt Water - It is no surprise that salt water makes the list, as I have hugged the Mediterranean almost the whole way down. The smell is cool, breezy, and just a bit stale, but at the same time refreshing. It reminds me of algae and sardines, and I miss it when I am away from it for long.

6. My Sweaty Backpack - In six months, I have oozed a lot of stink into my backpack, and have only washed it once. The straps, the hip belt, the interior compartments, and especially the surface that touches my back all reek of acidic body odor, like a basketball jersey crammed into a gym bag in the bottom locker of a men's locker room. You get used to it, I guess, but every time I reenter a room where it has been sitting, I remember it's there, and pity my host.

7. Morning Bakery - There is no smell more mouth-watering to me than the hot, grainy smell of baked bread. Many times my walk has been interrupted at a moment's notice as my nose led me, reeling, into a bakery or pastry shop. It reminds me of floury, aproned women, beaming from ear to ear and offering free samples. The shops are nearly always painted in shades of orange and brown, at least in my memory, and my tummy rumbles just thinking about it.

8. Human Feces - We all know the spectrum of smells accompanying human poop. I have walked by my fair share of it, hanging out in the open sewage pits. This reminds me, oddly enough, of rural Tuscany, and it is always hot outside in my memory. Gross. Why would you share this with us, you ask?

9. Olives - Olive trees, burning olive branches, olives on the ground, olive oil, seasoned olives, and olive oil manufacturing plants. The smell of olives is richly woven into my memory of Italy, especially Liguria, Tuscany, and the Southern regions. It is always heavy, slilghtly acidic, and absolutely enchanting.

10. Cheese - I cannot sum up the smell of cheese, as every cheese is different, and smells vary with the animal that produced it, and also with the temperature of the cheese. Still, it is always around me, and always delicious.

11. Hotel Rooms - On arrival, most rooms smell like surface cleanliness masking years of use and a decaying infrastructure. Sometimes they come with a trace of smoke (bringing up images of a sickly, unkempt skinny man in his late 30s, silently contemplating his own failure as the TV drones in the smoky background), sometimes with a hint of mold, sometimes with the ungodly reek of backed up plumbing. Then again, when the room and the fixtures are new, they smell modern, fresh, and inviting. On departure, they uniformly smell like dirty socks and my sweaty backpack (see No. 6), and with a tinge of shame and guilt, I open the window before leaving.

12 - Greenery Newly Enlivened by Recently Fallen Rain - Humid, slightly cool, relaxing, and delicate, the smell of plants and trees still damp from the rain helps me lose all feelings of discomfort that naturally accompany hours of walking under rain clouds. It reminds me of vigor, health, and brilliant shades of green. I love this smell.

13. Coffee - Pungent, forceful, bitter, and ever alert, to me coffee smells like information, old men, and a moment's rest. I always learn something new, meet someone new, or see something new over shots of espresso in pristine, porcelain cups on little porcelain platters.

14. Cigarettes - Acrid, hot, decrepit, sickening tobacco smoke. Nothing except trash and human poop succeed in making me so sick to my stomach. The smell reminds me of kids with motorcycles pretending to be grown ups, and of hacking, balding old men wearing threadbare sweaters. It should not be hard for you to understand why I consider cigarettes the representation of the antithesis of walking. However, since nothing is cut and dry, it also reminds me of dear friends, of new experiences, and of brisk lamplit nights strolling along cobbled streets.

15. Citrus - *cough* *cough* - Time to clear the air, and nothing succeeds like the spray of citrus emitted by an orange slowly and deliberately peeled. This smell reminds me of wintertime, but also of sunshine, health, and post-prandial satisfaction. To get to the smell of citrus trees, add a layer of sticky dirt which is in its own way pleasant, and picture a vast expanse of land, with mountains in the background. Nothing makes a blue sky smell more blue than a grove of orange trees.

16. Wine - Dizzying, swirling, but never unpleasant, I will always remember that first sniff of a freshly poured glass of wine. It brings to mind the satisfaction of a hard day's walk, of paper tablecloths, sparkling water, and fresh bread. Whether it's fruity, earthy, bitter, chalky, smooth, or just plain smells like a fat bunch of grapes, it is always a delicious companion. When I think back on all the carafes I have finished over a big meal, a meal spent observing the world around me, concentrating on tastes old and new, and meeting new friends, I can't help but smile, a bit lazily, and sit back in my chair. Sleep will fall on me soon, a right earned by miles of walking, the most natural and fulfilling of activities.