A new sense of smell

Being my first international cross-cultural experience, I was not sure what to expect.  Sure, Sam gave us the itinerary and syllabus for this journey.  I expected to see and hear a foreign language.  I expected to encounter and taste foreign foods.  I expect to learn about and experience cultural and religious customs very different from my own.

But what struck me first and foremost from the moment we got off the plane (and continues to captivate my attention), is what my good old olfactory senses pick up. 

A hint of sulfer in the water, the aroma of Icelandic coffee, the fragrance of a glacial wind, the smell of hangikjöt, the volcanic ash-laced soil, even a faint bit of neftόbak – all of it hits my nose like a ton of bricks!

I’m not gonna lie, I didn’t think the first thing I would be compelled to write about in this cross-cultural experience would be the smells of Iceland.

But here’s the thing - for many years my sense of smell has been almost non-existent; I’ve long associated it with sinus issues that I can only vaguely claim I inherited from my father.  Given this assumption, it’s no wonder that up until we arrived in Iceland I was so preoccupied with what I would hear, see, taste, and feel – that I was completely taken aback by what my nose was teaching me.

Often when we talk about expanding our cultural horizons or our worldview, we use words like “view”, “lens”, and “vision” – words and language that draw attention to what we see.  Yet these experiences that expand our understanding of ourselves and the world can’t help but transform all the ways we perceive and experience the world.

So, perhaps my nose wasn’t broken after all?

I’ve been told that smell is the sense most strongly associated with memory.  If that’s true, then I suspect that Iceland, like neftόbak, will be in my nose (figuratively) for a long time.

To close, I’ll borrow a prayer/blessing from John O’Donohue’s book, To Bless the Space Between Us, called “For the senses” – a prayer I offer for my companions in this Icelandic journey.

May the touch of your skin

register the beauty

of the otherness

that surrounds you.

May your listening be attuned

To the deeper silence

Where sound is honed

To bring distance home.

May the fragrance

Of a breathing meadow

Refresh your heart

And remind you you are

A child of the earth.

And when you partake

Of food and drink,

May your taste quicken

To the gift and sweetness

That flows from the earth.

May your inner eye

See through the surfaces

And clean the real presence

Of everything that meets you.

May your soul beautify

The desire of your eyes

That you might glimpse

The infinity that hides

In the simple sights

That seem worn

To your usual eyes.