Smoke Gets in Your Eyes

The acrid scent of cigarettes used to make me wrinkle my nose in disgust. But as I traveled through Europe, my feelings towards the smell began to change. In Paris, Rome, and Amsterdam, I still found it repulsive. But by the time I reached London and Ireland, I felt a strange temptation to try it myself. It wasn’t peer pressure that enticed me, but rather an overwhelming curiosity about the habit that seemed so common among Europeans. I no longer actively avoided the smell of cigarettes like I would have in the States. Instead, I walked straight through the hazy clouds, almost entranced by the pungent aroma. It was impossible to escape when nearly everyone around me was emitting such fumes. The streets were filled with a unique blend of scents from various brands and blends, each one adding to the bustling atmosphere of European cities.

The city of New York was the setting for our recent trip to visit my brother. My cousin, brother, and I came across a vibrant dance club. Despite the steep $30 cover charge, we couldn’t resist checking it out. Thanks, Marielle, for generously covering the cost for us. Inside, the club offered complimentary earplugs and condoms, a unique feature that piqued our interest even more. My brother and I eagerly snagged a pair of earplugs each before stepping onto the pulsating dance floor. It seemed as though everyone around us was lost in their own world, moving to the beat of the music. The thumping bass reverberated through my chest, drowning out any other sound. I could feel my own heartbeat synchronize with the rhythm. All around me, bodies swayed and twisted in time with the music, eyes closed in blissful surrender to the moment. Arms reached upwards towards the neon lights, hips swiveled slowly, and feet tapped out a steady beat on the ground. It was a whirlwind of movement and energy that swept us up and carried us away into a euphoric state of mind.

We danced for what felt like a short time before deciding to take a bathroom break. Afterward, we explored the club and found an outside area spotted with little fires and groups of people surrounding the warmth. It was late March and still chilly in the early hours of the morning. We spent the remainder of our club time by the fire.

As we exited the club, a tantalizing scent filled my nostrils. Perhaps it was the lingering sensation of the mushrooms and weed we had indulged in earlier, but there was something else too. Intrigued, I followed my nose to a small gathering of people nearby. Among them stood a woman who seemed more like a girl – dressed entirely in black with an air of sophistication and mystery about her. She held a cigarette between her fingers, gracefully bringing it to her lips and inhaling deeply before exhaling a cloud of smoke. The way she moved reminded me of Parisian women, elegant and effortless.

Feeling a little awkward, I hesitantly asked the woman if I could just take a quick sniff of her cigarette. She gave me a strange look, but my mind was elsewhere. As I inhaled the rich, intoxicating secondhand smoke, I felt transported back to Galway, laughing and wandering through the pub crawl with some local guys. Grateful for the familiar scent, I thanked the woman and rejoined my family by the slowly dying fire. My brother and I attempted to revive it, scouring for any scraps of wood we could find. Despite our efforts, the flames continued to dwindle. However, our search did lead us to encounter some intriguing characters roaming around the campsite.

As we chatted with strangers, we met a man who had grown up in a refugee camp. We met a young lady with a lighter, who offered it to everyone in need. It wasn’t just a lighter. This thing was encased in a perfect concrete block. I’m talking a three inch cubed block. It had some heft to it and we discussed its multi-use capabilities. There was the lighter, of course. But the block could be a paperweight, you could smash someone’s face if needed…well, that’s all we came up with.

The lighter was certainly getting its use. Half a dozen people bummed a cigarette from one fellow. I was nearly one of them. But I wasn’t! I smelled the…how do you describe cigarette smoke? Putrid? Depressing? Acrid? Whatever it is, I smelled it just to remind myself that I had been to Europe. What do European cities smell like? Cigarettes.

I’ve developed a fondness for smoking a pipe during reenactments. At first, I would just take a puff from a fellow member’s pipe, but now I have my own that I bought in Gettysburg. My friend Dalton showed me how to pack the tobacco properly into the bowl. Whenever I feel like it, I’ll load up the bowl with a couple of pinches and enjoy the relaxing sensation of smoking. After just a few puffs, I feel a pleasant high, mostly in my head but also in my spine and chest. This type of smoke is one I don’t mind being around at all, especially when it’s the black cordial tobacco that I have on hand.

The sight of a pipe always brings me back to my Civil War reenactment days. Its smooth, curved shape and the rich aroma of tobacco instantly transport me to the excitement and camaraderie of camping with my fellow history enthusiasts. Though I may not have the same appetite for cigars as General Grant, I do appreciate the heady scent of a well-packed pipe. And now, even the smell of cigarette smoke holds a certain nostalgic charm for me. It may not be my preferred vice, but it brings back memories that I can’t help but smile at.

In the end, as I walked away from that dying fire outside the club, the lingering scent of cigarette smoke in my nose, I couldn’t help but smile. What once repulsed me had become a reminder of my travels, of the people I’d met and the experiences I’d had. Like the smoke from a well-packed pipe, these memories curled and swirled in my mind, filling me with a sense of nostalgia and warmth. Perhaps, in some small way, that’s the magic of travel – it not only takes us to new places but also transforms the way we see the world, even down to the scent of a cigarette.