We Are What We Eat

How long does it take until you start smelling like the country you’ve moved to?
Nine days.
Really it’s only upon exercising or showering that you start to notice your own natural scent. This morning I repeatedly detected a scent of rice, almond and soy around my immediate milieu. Upon showering I could no longer deny it: that scent was coming from me.
Scents are an interesting notion. When a former lover came from Italy I could smell every Italian product on his body and he smelled like freshly picked vegetables and lemons. When my other lovers and friends have eaten meat I can smell it on them from 10 feet away (because I’m a vegetarian my olfactory senses pick this up faster). It’s the same idea as when someone’s been drinking profusely they reek of alcohol the next day, or when you’re sick you smell...well.. a bit acrid.
Other countries arouse one’s sense of smell easily. Here in Huludao, China, a walk down the old part of town, which might be considered the city center, tickles, itches, bumps and burns the ole’ snout. Some street vendors sell what translates to “stinky tofu.” Yes, it is appropriately named. A friend offered me a sniff from his handful of it, and the immediate image of someone’s rump came to mind. The scent of green tea, however, makes ones eyes glaze over with its earthy, warm, lightly lusciousness, almost to the point where you feel healthy just sniffing it. Large, branch-like chunks of ginger are a combination of sweet spice and can be found anywhere from the fresh fried rice I made last night to the dishwashing detergent I used to wash my dishes afterward. The bountiful ears of corn, also sold by street vendors, touches the sweet side of the olfactory palette as well.
My American roommate arrives tomorrow from Dallas. I wonder if I’ll detect a hint of jalepenos and refried beans on her. I wonder how long it’ll take her to discover she’s starting to smell Chinese.