Pet Peeves

I don't have many, as one might discover by the number of posts I've done on the subject. But they do come up.

My latest one has to do with odors. One might think I'm going to say something about odors of the disagreeable kind, but I'm not.

I think our noses are being overwhelmed by odors of the agreeable kind. I think we are numbing our olfactory senses by being overly concerned with smelling "good."

Think about it. Here's a list - probably not complete - of the layers of smells a single human may have on his or her body on any given day.

We usually start the day with a shower. There's the soap, shampoo and conditioner. Each with its own smell. 

We dry off. Maybe we put on lotion, powder, perfume and/or deodorant. Or all of them.

We brush our teeth and use mouthwash.






Women put on make-up and each item has it's own odor. Maybe they take care of something called, "feminine odor."

Men have shaving cream and aftershave.

There's hairspray and hair gel.

That might cover the bathroom.

Now we get dressed. 

Our clothes have been washed in scented detergent and softened in scented fabric softener and maybe dried with a scented drier sheet. Maybe our clothes have come from drawers with a scented sachet or from a cedar scented closet. 

Maybe we powder or spray our feet  our with some kind of anti-fungal stuff or we put Odor Eaters in in our shoes.

If all of that wasn't enough, we walk through our home which probably has carcinogenic room deodorizers plugged in, or we've sprayed with Febreze.

I tell you, we're numbing our ability to really smell. And I think that could be bad thing.

What do you think? Are you tired of walking through certain aisles at the store and coming away with an itchy nose? Or what about walking past the open doors of a Bed and Bath store? The only time I went in one I lost the ability to choose a soap because after sniffing a few I could no longer tell what they smelled like. 

Downtown Smells - Part Three

The Waterfront of Charlotte Amalie had its own symphony of smells.

First and foremost was the smell of the harbor water; salty, with a trace of seaweed. Because so many fishermen sold their daily catches there, there the distinct smell of fish. Mixed up with fish and salt was the smell of gasoline and diesel produced by the many motor boats which plied the waters.

Sloops from Tortola in the British Virgin Islands and from Puerto Rico used to line the concrete shore, selling everything from bananas to fish. At the far end of this picture, center left, below the hill is French Town. The Russian Embassy was located there.

Down the road from this picture was the Potts Rum factory. To me it smelled just like ripe black olives. Potts Rum is no longer in business, though on St. Croix the finest rum of the Caribbean, Cruzan, is still made eight generations later.

French Town smelled very much like the Waterfront. It is the home of our contingent of French Huguenots, a people who fled France due to religious prosecution. Some of them found their way into the southern United States and are the Cajuns. French Town is a cluster of small homes and businesses separate from, yet next to, the city of Charlotte Amalie. It is right on the water and the Frenchies who live there are the fisherman, whereas those who live up on the Northside of the island are the farmers.

Away from town, down by the airport, was the St. Johns Bay Rum Factory. For a short while we lived right up the hill from it. Talk about a wonderful aroma! If you have never smelled Bay Rum (it’s not something you drink, it’s a kind of perfume) I can only describe it as spicy; a combination of cinnamon and cloves. It is made from the oils of the leaf of the Bay Tree, not to be confused with Bay Laura used in cooking.

Here's a picture of a Bay Tree growing in our yard.

It’s a beautiful tree, with smooth silvery bark and shiny deep green leaves. The company is still in existence, though their operation has moved to Havensite Hall down at the dock where the cruse ships come in.

Lastly, hovering over all these smells; the smell of the bakery, the market, the waterfront, the rum and the bay rum factories, was that of the effluent that flowed right through town and into the harbor.

Yes, that’s right folks. Raw sewage used to be dumped into the harbor and that raw sewage flowed down large open concrete lined drainage ditches called guts.

Whiffs of it could be detected everywhere. When it was particularly strong we called it the Sewer Rose. The guts, thank goodness, are all covered now, and very little sewage finds it way to the harbor now that there is a treatment plant. Yet of all the odors from my childhood, that of the harbor water and the Sewer Rose are the only ones that still remain.

Downtown Smells - Part Two

There was for a time, down by the Catholic Church and the accompanying school of St. Peter and Paul’s, a Coca Cola bottling plant. In that area you could smell the sticky sweet of sugar and the syrup used to make the soda. The formula used in the islands was sweeter than that used in the states and I never developed a taste for it. But the smell from the bottling plant drifted onto to the street with its own distinct aroma. There was also the noise of rattling bottles.

Near-by was the subtle, watery, musty odor that emanated from the ice plant. Here bags of ice and large blocks were made for those who did not yet have refrigeration. The large blocks were also used by the men who sold shaved ice. Their carts smelled of the various syrups they poured over the ice; guava, tamarind, coconut, orange, banana…. These cool treats were the closest any of us got to snow covered with maple syrup.

A block or so away from the bottling and ice plants was Market Square. In its hay day, it was the center of activity. Everything was bought and sold there including a quarter of a million slaves.
Most everyone shopped there on Saturday for fresh fruit, vegetables and fish, including my grandmother and mother, who made the long journey from St. John, coming over on Friday and spending the night at either Hotel 1829 or the Grand Hotel so they could get to Market at the screech of dawn.

All around was the bustle of activity, of people gossiping and laughing and hawking their wares.

The Northside Frenchies came down from their farms up in the hills bringing their produce. Fisherman brought their catches. Women sold jams, jellies, homemade candy, coconut and guava tarts, herbs and spices. You would also see women carrying large baskets on their heads, baskets filled with fruit and vegetables and flowers. You have only to close your eyes and you can easily imagine the accompanying smells weaving themselves into the air. Like warm and cold currents in the ocean, each odor was distinct. Some stronger, some weaker, some heavy, some delicate.

Market Square is still there. And early on Saturday mornings people still sell their wares. While I there this summer I went down Market. But it is a shadow of its former self, with only one row of tables set up and only one stall in the bungalow being used.

Market Square at about 6 AM on a Saturday morning.

Nowadays the bungalow is merely something historic that tourists can take a picture of.

Town has lost its hub.

Downtown Smells - Part One

In the 1950s and 60s there was a cacophony of odors that alternately caressed and assailed your nose as you walked or drove through Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas.

Some odors were confined to certain areas; others seemed to permeate the air and could be sniffed from almost any place in town. One of the most delicious smells that wafted its way up Garden Street towards All Saints where I went to school was that of Lockhart’s Bakery.

It was located on Backstreet, just a few blocks down from the school. They baked all manner of breads and pastries using a traditional wood/charcoal fired outdoor oven. Most everyone knows the warm yeasty smell of baking bread, of bread just pulled from the oven. There is something comforting about it. Now-a-days the closest most children might get to experiencing that kind of odor might be as they walk through the bakery department at a supermarket. But this is usually much too sweet, as they tend to bake lots and cakes, cookies, doughnuts and pies which are stacked in over abundance on counters and shelves.

Lockhart’s Bakery made pastries, but they baked more bread than anything else; long loaves of French bread, soft rolls and hard rolls, loaves of white bread, brown bread, and rye bread. There were several kids who regularly snuck out of school during lunch to run down to the bakery to get one of their hard rolls or buy a pie and then sell a slice to fellow students.

It was a sad day when the bakery closed its doors. If I close my eyes I can almost catch a whiff of wafting wraiths, the ghostly tendrils of fresh baked bread.