My dad once took me on a “smelling tour” of Boston. We walked around and smelled the things there were to smell; the coffee, the seafood, the old buildings, all kinds of things. I thought about that tour today, as I rode about 30 miles through the Loire countryside today. Part of the day was rainy, part of it was just cloudy and misty. I think the weather intensified the smells.
A little description for my dad of the smells: wet earth in the fields we went by, vineyards, the yeasty smell of wine near the wineries, lavender growing near the road, the pungent smell of wet livestock, the large fragrant flower gardens we passed, the fresh-mown grass that edges even the smallest roads, the smoke from a fireplace, wildflowers, a meaty aroma from a house wafting across the road.
Thr French are very sensitive to smell, and appreciate all kinds of scents. They don't distinguish between good and bad ones the way we do.
Dad, I think you are just a little bit French.