On Saturday I went to a supermarket about 10 minutes away from our apartment. The A2 Supermarket. We walked in and the overwhelming smell of herbs hit me from the right side. I looked over and the basil, parsley, and sage were sitting there. I kept walking through and it was as if my mood changed with every step. My next step gave me that fresh paper smell. I looked down and saw the magazines sitting by the cashier, ready to be read. Next was the tangy orange smell. One thing I love about supermarkets in Paris is that you can squeeze your own orange juice right there in the store. All of the smells in the store were somewhat familiar. But when I walked out, one particular smell threw me into a funk. It was more of a stench. Almost everyone in Paris smokes cigarettes. And there it was. A businesswoman that looked to be in her early 30’s was talking on the phone with her left hand, smoking a cigarette in her right. I hate the smell of cigarettes. It’s dirty and it always puts me off. In general, I love Paris. But the smell of Paris itself is a strange combination of clean and dirty. Every step I took in the supermarket put me in a different mood. That’s how I feel walking the streets of Paris sometimes.
