Fat Ballerinas

every place has its own smell, the doctor’s office, school, home. well a new city comes with its own set of nose ticklings. i never realized how much Phoenix just smelled like dirt, orange trees and asphalt until moving to barcelona. now this city knows what to do with smells…fly them in your face, no hiding here, and pray that it is a pleasant one because its following you down the street for the next block.

it makes you feel that the city is alive, with belches, sweat, perfumes and other bodily functions. some good, some bad, but they are all fascinating. the wafting odor of yummy fried food coming from somewhere inside our apartment building, the acrid cigarette smoke floating out of our local bar, oil and paint vapors from the ‘handy-man’ shop on the main floor of the building, the street’s combination of items, too long forgotten to identify, mixed together with water (it smells “old”), or maybe the market hiding behind the next corner selling fresh fish and olives (very unusual aroma combined at the nostril).

i wonder if i might be able to navigate the streets blindfolded with just my sense of smell? if lost could i find my way home by nose? maybe, but i fear that very soon the smells will disappear as my senses grow bored with them and i am once again forced to rely on my eyes for travel (then again it is a big city and it has a lot of smells). well bring it on! i look forward to the salty beach air, musty dogs, diesel buses, spanish paprika, old wood, laundry drying in the sun, urine soaked bricks, coffee-wine-beer cafe cloud, leather, mold, tobacco, and whatever else this town can cough up.