Mediterranean

When the breeze is from the east, off the Mediterranean, the scent of salt, and that indefinable complex odour of boats in harbours. Somewhere a boat was going out for a cruise, or returning from a dawn fishing trip: a whiff of exhaust.

When the breeze is from the west, just the smells of the square rising up, because the balcony is protected from this breeze. Therefore: an invisible cloud of garlic cooking in oil as a chef in one of the restaurants down below prepares a dish. Humid wafting of a bucket of washing water as one of the young women cleaning tables below throws her pail of water on the hot brick of the square. A motorcycle weaves slowly across the empty expanse: exhaust. An early meal of fish cooking: dorade, thon, rouget, sole - peppery, traces of basil. At stiller moments, an elusive gust of lavender from the large planter outside the café below.