The Smells of Summer
The Smells of Summer
One of the ways I can tell summer is upon us, besides the obvious rise in temperature, is the smells. The rain, very slowly, is casting occasional storms scenting the air with the wet dirt aroma that wafts from the ground and makes me imagine new beginnings and the shades of green that will arrive persuading the surrounding mountains out of their dull slumber and into their riveting exquisiteness, like beautiful maidens escaping from a tower in which they’ve been locked away.
Yet not all smells are smells of rain, of freshness. The smells of humans; masked often before by the colder weather, embolden themselves with their sour return. Now, when I sit in a taxi, all of my senses are attacked, particularly my nasal cavity, as the heavy musk of perspiring bodies hangs like smoke in the enclosed vehicle.
Of all of the scents, both pleasant and pungent, the one I have to run from, avoid at all cost, is that of cow intestines boiling on the stove. For whatever particular logic it seems that my host mom only eats this specific delicacy in hot weather, thus increasing the noxious odor emitted. I know the intestines have been cleaned, but still they manage to emit a raw perfume of combined staleness and rot, a scent that lies heavily in the air: a seeping smell that slips under my closed doors and through the cracks of my window managing to turn my stomach and kill my appetite for anything, while I sit armed with a cologne bottle intermittently dousing the air around me with artificial fragrance.
One of the ways I can tell summer is upon us, besides the obvious rise in temperature, is the smells. The rain, very slowly, is casting occasional storms scenting the air with the wet dirt aroma that wafts from the ground and makes me imagine new beginnings and the shades of green that will arrive persuading the surrounding mountains out of their dull slumber and into their riveting exquisiteness, like beautiful maidens escaping from a tower in which they’ve been locked away.
Yet not all smells are smells of rain, of freshness. The smells of humans; masked often before by the colder weather, embolden themselves with their sour return. Now, when I sit in a taxi, all of my senses are attacked, particularly my nasal cavity, as the heavy musk of perspiring bodies hangs like smoke in the enclosed vehicle.
Of all of the scents, both pleasant and pungent, the one I have to run from, avoid at all cost, is that of cow intestines boiling on the stove. For whatever particular logic it seems that my host mom only eats this specific delicacy in hot weather, thus increasing the noxious odor emitted. I know the intestines have been cleaned, but still they manage to emit a raw perfume of combined staleness and rot, a scent that lies heavily in the air: a seeping smell that slips under my closed doors and through the cracks of my window managing to turn my stomach and kill my appetite for anything, while I sit armed with a cologne bottle intermittently dousing the air around me with artificial fragrance.
posted by Cait at 9:23 AM
1 Comments:
Hi Cait -
As always I love your stories about village life.
Summer is arriving here in Mozambique, too, bringing with it the same sour smells you describe. It's overpowering, especially going into perpetually croweded places like the notary's office.
About the intestines - makes me think of chitlins in the US. Same stink, likely the same main ingredient.
I see from your photos you were at Blyde River Canyon. I went about a month ago, it was great. Did you do any hikes? We did the leopard trail, all the way down to the bottom of the canyon and back.
Happy birthday!!!!
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