“I grew up on the shore of the sea, me, of the cold gray sea of the North, in a little fishing town always beaten by the wind, by the rain and the spray, and always full of the smell of fish, of fresh fish thrown on the wharves whose scales gleamed on the cobblestones of the streets, and of salted fish rolled in barrels, and of dried fish in brown houses topped with brick chimneys whose smoke carried strong smells of herring far away over the countryside. I also remembered the smell of the nets drying along the doors, the smell of the brine from which the land is smoked, the smell of kelp when the tide goes out, all those violent scents of the little ports, rough scents and pungent smells but which fill the chest and the soul with strong and good sensations.”
Guy de Maupassant (1850 -1893) - "Fisherwomen and Warriors, 1887"