The Smell of Fairytale in Progress
It so happened that close to the time of our arrival in Madagascar Perfume by Suskind has fallen into my lap. Thus my own nose, although not as supernaturally sensitive as Grenouille's, was now sharper and more aware - ready to sniff about my new destination. Which, I was surprised to discover, did not smell to me like anything at all.
What I mean is that I couldn't even say what a stereotype of Madagascar smells like. Mexico, for example, already smells spicy, even before you get there, the Amazon smells of rain, and all of Asia (which I haven't visited yet) smells to me of pure tasteless white starch of rice and plastic made-in-China. Madagascar is such a basketful of bright primary colors - you never even start thinking about how the whole package, a picture perfect lemur hand in hand with a chameleon plus people and all that comes with the civilization, how all that together might smell.
It hits you soon enough though. If diversity in smell is what you look for in Madagascar - Antananarivo's (Tana) bus station will have the biggest diversity... but not the best quality. Piss, rotting food, a pungent sour smell I could only guess came from old cheese, though I was yet to see any, and stale everything, even the stuff that already reeks enough on its own, like a wet cigarette butt in the rotten teeth of an old man. It's not that I hadn't inhaled the wonderful bouquet of odors of a third-world bus station before, it's just that somehow I was not expecting it here.
Yes, this is why fairytales are never meant to be smelled. Vivid colors on pages and screens never imply something that truly stinks. Even that green smoke coming off the witch's cauldron always means something mean is brewing - and even if somewhat stinky, as potions should be, it is never revolting. There is no room for the unpleasantness that comes with stink in fabled myths. That's why they are what they are - enchanting, flawless, and just far away enough for most people to see only the colorful cover. But if you stood close enough to Prince Charming, you'd notice his breath stank. In a hurry to save the fairy princess he had forgotten his toothbrush, not to mention he had been wearing those skin-tight tights for days on end. He is sweating profusely, encapsulating every testosterone-drenched drop of perspiration and leaving it to decompose under his shiny suit of armor until the day he rescues his damsel from that high tower where she had been held captive for years without access to a shower or flush toilet.
I wouldn't describe Madagascar an unadulterated fairytale. It's more like a children's book that had many, though not all, of its masterfully illustrated pages replaced with mind-numbing grease- and sweat-stained documents about sanitation and rural development. The price and sacrifice for progress is sad but unavoidable.
What I mean is that I couldn't even say what a stereotype of Madagascar smells like. Mexico, for example, already smells spicy, even before you get there, the Amazon smells of rain, and all of Asia (which I haven't visited yet) smells to me of pure tasteless white starch of rice and plastic made-in-China. Madagascar is such a basketful of bright primary colors - you never even start thinking about how the whole package, a picture perfect lemur hand in hand with a chameleon plus people and all that comes with the civilization, how all that together might smell.
It hits you soon enough though. If diversity in smell is what you look for in Madagascar - Antananarivo's (Tana) bus station will have the biggest diversity... but not the best quality. Piss, rotting food, a pungent sour smell I could only guess came from old cheese, though I was yet to see any, and stale everything, even the stuff that already reeks enough on its own, like a wet cigarette butt in the rotten teeth of an old man. It's not that I hadn't inhaled the wonderful bouquet of odors of a third-world bus station before, it's just that somehow I was not expecting it here.
Yes, this is why fairytales are never meant to be smelled. Vivid colors on pages and screens never imply something that truly stinks. Even that green smoke coming off the witch's cauldron always means something mean is brewing - and even if somewhat stinky, as potions should be, it is never revolting. There is no room for the unpleasantness that comes with stink in fabled myths. That's why they are what they are - enchanting, flawless, and just far away enough for most people to see only the colorful cover. But if you stood close enough to Prince Charming, you'd notice his breath stank. In a hurry to save the fairy princess he had forgotten his toothbrush, not to mention he had been wearing those skin-tight tights for days on end. He is sweating profusely, encapsulating every testosterone-drenched drop of perspiration and leaving it to decompose under his shiny suit of armor until the day he rescues his damsel from that high tower where she had been held captive for years without access to a shower or flush toilet.
I wouldn't describe Madagascar an unadulterated fairytale. It's more like a children's book that had many, though not all, of its masterfully illustrated pages replaced with mind-numbing grease- and sweat-stained documents about sanitation and rural development. The price and sacrifice for progress is sad but unavoidable.