Wanderlust Never Smelled So Sweet
As I walked out of my office building the other day I was suddenly hit by a slightly sweet and very nostalgic odor. What was that? Instantly, it transported me to what must have been an endearing part of my childhood (nostalgia is always endearing, no?). I stopped and tried to retrieve the memory associated with that smell.
Just as suddenly I began to laugh. Of course! A hot and humid day, with the air a tinge of moist brown: it was smog, that ozone ground cover that reunited me with my past.
There is a strong correlation between smells and memory. Jordan Gaines Lewis writes in the Psychology Today:
The answer is likely due to brain anatomy. Incoming smells are first processed by the olfactory bulb, which starts inside the nose and runs along the bottom of the brain. The olfactory bulb has direct connections to two brain areas that are strongly implicated in emotion and memory: the amygdala and hippocampus. Interestingly, visual, auditory (sound), and tactile (touch) information do not pass through these brain areas. This may be why olfaction, more than any other sense, is so successful at triggering emotions and memories.
Growing up in the San Fernando Valley in the 1960s the narrow boundaries of my life were immersed in Southern California’s nasty air quality problem. And the Valley was the worst. I remember authorities informing this young asthmatic that pollution could actually improve respiratory problems like mine. Breathing bad air could miraculously make me immune to its effects! What were they thinking? (Luckily, I not only survived but grew out of that terrible disease.)
And what was I thinking now?
When the temperature hits about 80°F/27°C my sense of smell makes me prone to another disease: The Wanderlust. I am ready to move to anywhere but where I am right now. The Wanderlust is a chronic and incurable disease, one I’ve had to live with most of my life. And an attack can occur with just the slightest provocation — any trigger can bring on a Walter Mitty outbreak.
Abruptly I can be transported back to high school where I spent my summer days in residence at the beach at Playa del Rey, adjacent to the L.A. airport. The beach was a place to escape the Valley’s dirty air and my family’s dirty little secrets. I would spend my days laying on the sand, watching airplanes taking off for destinations unknown. At 17 I was ready to bolt my childhood. I would have given anything to be on one of those planes and I would have gone anywhere (even to Cleveland I remember thinking). The midwest seemed exotic and inviting. Such are the ways this disease presents itself in the young.
A year later when I actually caught my flight out of town to “exotic” East Lansing, Michigan my new college buddies thought I was nuts to leave L.A. for the cold steppes of Michigan State. But to any 18 year old, home, no matter where it is, is a place to get away from. I learned to live with my chronic wanderlust. And this was my first shock therapy treatment.
Hot town, summer in the city
Back of my neck getting dirty and gritty
Been down, isn’t it a pity
Doesn’t seem to be a shadow in the city
Today, as the dog days of summer approach, I find myself setting my summer song playlist to repeat. Summer in the City mixed with the pungent scent of street-level sewage immediately transports me to far off and exotic places. Now that I’m older, I won’t accept just any place (sorry Cleveland). Lately I’ve been dreaming about catching the next flight to Shanghai. To be suffering The Wanderlust means journeys like this are easy and can happen at any moment. No packing and no applying for vacation leave. You’re simply there.
Paris? Munich? I think I’ll pass on the real thing this summer. Instead, I’ll imbibe with a glass of chilled French Côte de Beaune white burgundy or try my hand at making some Bavarian Schweinebraten. The world being the way it is these days, this seems the safest way to travel. These daily trips to the impossible only last a second or two, my brain’s version of a spur-of-the-moment weekend getaway. And I only fly First Class when the temperature climbs.
Shanghai in July? The last time I was there it was the hottest and smoggiest summer since the Revolution. Sweet.
