One of the funniest things about our last house is that I HATED it with a fiery passion when we first moved in. My main complaint was that it was an olfactory assault from start to finish. The living room had a stale fireplace scent. Something large and furry had clearly expired in the refrigerator. The carpets were stained by strangers and smelled like you'd imagine that smelling. The basement was a dank, mildewy stench-pit. Lastly, the well water hadn't been used in three months and was, as you'd expect, stinky. I remember taking a shower before bed that first night and crying because I was scared my hair would smell like well water going forward.
After about a week, everything smelled like I wanted it to--except the fireplace. I scrubbed the fridge, we used enough water to flush the well, the carpets took on our scent and the A/C made the basement livable.
So it's with great optimism that I report the smells of our French apartment. I hope that after three days, it'll start smelling like the Wright Family. Right now it's got a faintly "I didn't cook that" scent. The worst offender is, unfortunately, in the kitchen. There seems to be a garbage chute under the oven. The whole kitchen, well, it reeks. We discovered that if we keep the door shut when we're not in there, you don't notice it in the rest of the apartment. I actually am considering buying some tape to tape it shut. I'll carry out my bags of garbage instead. In the meantime, I breathe through my nose.
But honestly, how ridiculous to have a French kitchen smelling like that? It's not a garbage smell--it's sort of an "interior belly of the building" scent. Creosote, tar from roofing, old dust and heat.
Six days ago, I left that old smelly house--and was sad. My family had inhabited it, taken over the smells and thrived there. I hope to say the same of this apartment--and soon!
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