If you’d told me five years ago that I’d be hoarding scent memories in a Notes app doc titled “Trip Smells,” I would’ve laughed, politely, and then asked if you needed directions back to Pinterest circa 2013. But here we are. And I mean this in the least woo-woo way possible: starting that list has become one of the most grounding, emotionally rich, and creatively rewarding travel habits I’ve ever picked up.
It began accidentally. I was sitting in a café in Lisbon, drinking a way-too-hot bica and trying to write in a journal that still had the crispness of an unused planner. Somewhere between that first sip and watching a woman hang bedsheets out her window, I caught a whiff of laundry detergent and motorbike exhaust. And just like that—one sniff—I was back in Naples, 2016, on a side street where I'd eaten the messiest pizza of my life and tried not to cry in front of a guy I thought I loved.
That scent whiplash was oddly comforting. And it got me thinking: smell is one of the most powerful emotional memory triggers we have. Why wasn’t I tracking this? I started a note on my phone titled “Trip Smells,” and I haven’t stopped adding to it since.
And it’s become more than just a fun sensory game. It’s a way to remember trips as they actually felt—messy, textured, layered—not just how they looked on my phone. Here’s what I’ve learned, why it’s worth trying, and how to start your own scent memory list next time you travel.
Trip Trick: Always carry a tiny roll-on perfume or essential oil blend with you—and use a unique one for each trip. Scent association works best when the smell is distinct and not already tied to other memories.
We all know smell is tied to memory. But the extent to which scent links to emotional recall is… wild. Scientists call it the Proust phenomenon (named after the French author who famously spiraled into a thousand childhood memories after tasting a madeleine). Smells are processed by the olfactory bulb, which is directly linked to the amygdala and hippocampus—regions of the brain deeply involved in emotion and memory. In plain terms: scent skips the line and hits you right in the feels.
What this means for travel is that scent doesn’t just help us remember moments. It helps us re-feel them. That late-night tuk-tuk ride in Bangkok? The combination of sweet coconut, pavement heat, and incense smoke will bring it back faster than a thousand selfies ever could.
Triptuition: When was the last time you paused to smell a place? Not just admire the view or snap the photo—but actually let your senses log the moment?
My list is nothing fancy. It lives in my phone’s Notes app, and each entry starts with the city and year, followed by a short list of scents I remember—good, bad, or just weirdly specific. Here’s a peek at a few real entries:
Tokyo, 2019:
Barcelona, 2022:
Sometimes I add a quick sentence, especially if the smell was tied to a particular moment. But mostly, the list works because it’s intuitive. I’m not trying to make a mood board. I’m just keeping a loose record of what the trip felt like through my nose.
Trip Tale: In Morocco, I kept smelling something familiar in the souks—earthy, dry, slightly sweet. It took me three days to realize it was saffron, the same scent in a fancy face mask I’d been using back home. Now, every time I open that jar, I don’t think about skincare—I think about dusty pink alleys and bright tapestries.
After a few trips, I realized the list was doing more than helping me remember places. It was making me notice places differently, in real time. I started walking slower, taking deeper breaths, stepping off the main path to explore markets, gardens, back alleys. I wasn’t just collecting moments—I was curating little scent vignettes, and somehow that felt more personal.
The weirdest part? It also helped with trip planning. When I looked back at places I loved most, I saw patterns in scent. I clearly lean into coastal cities, citrusy air, and places that smell a little chaotic—in the best way. That gave me a new lens for choosing future destinations that feel like me, not just look cool online.
It also makes souvenirs more fun. I’ve started picking up candles, oils, spices, and tiny scent bottles from places I love. They don’t take up much room in my luggage, and they instantly take me back when I’m home.
Trip Trick: Ask locals what scent they associate with their hometown. It’s an unexpectedly lovely icebreaker—and it’ll lead you to markets, florists, or street vendors you might’ve missed.
You don’t have to be a perfume collector or aromatherapy devotee to do this. The beauty of the “Trip Smells” list is that it’s yours—it can be as detailed or chaotic as you want. But if you’re new to the idea, here’s how to ease in:
1. Start paying attention at key moments. When you arrive somewhere new, when you wake up on your first morning, when you’re waiting in line for something—pause and sniff. Don’t overthink it. Just notice what’s around.
2. Capture it in the moment (or shortly after). Use your phone, a notebook, whatever you’re already carrying. Add a few quick notes. The sooner you record it, the more visceral it’ll feel later.
3. Let it be messy. You don’t have to know what every scent is. “That weird flower on the terrace” is just as valid as “jasmine” or “cedarwood.” The point is that you know what it means.
4. Bonus: Pair your trip with a new scent. Bring a travel-size perfume or essential oil you’ve never worn before, and use it exclusively on that trip. Later, that scent becomes an emotional shortcut to the entire experience.
Triptuition: What if your next trip wasn’t just something you remembered in photos—but something you could feel again, years from now, with just one deep breath?
We often think of beautiful places as being visual. But here are a few scent-rich spots to explore next time you travel:
Starting a “Trip Smells” list wasn’t some grand plan—it was a small, curious act. But it shifted everything. It brought me back to the present in places I might’ve otherwise rushed through. It made my memories richer and more detailed. And it helped me remember why I travel in the first place—not just to see new things, but to feel them fully.
Now, when I open that list, I don’t just recall places—I feel them again. The warm pavement in Rome. The eucalyptus in a New Zealand Airbnb. The unmistakable combo of leather and sugar from a Parisian café booth. I’m back there in seconds.
And no, it’s not scientific. It’s not productivity-boosting or Instagram-worthy. But it is deeply, strangely powerful.
If you’re someone who travels for meaning, for richness, for the in-between moments that make trips feel yours—this practice is for you. It’s niche. It’s weird. And that’s why it works.
You don’t need to be a poet or a perfumer. You just need to pay attention. Your nose already knows how to remember the good stuff. You just have to let it lead.
And if you do try it, months or even years from now, when you open that note and read, “laundry detergent and motor oil—Lisbon,” you’ll get it.
You’ll be there again. And that, honestly, is one of the best souvenirs you can take home.
