For some reason, we often tend to see the present status of our lives as “final”. As in the scene of a movie that happens in the last 10 minutes where the ultimate tragedy is revealed, or a sudden turn in events change the lives of the characters and the movie ends with us knowing that “they deserved that” or “oh, how sad that it finished like that”. Perhaps it’s because we hear or see it in the movies and soap operas of life and somehow we ourselves want to relive these feelings. Perhaps we want to apply an existing, known framework to our lives and feel good about it (i.e. have the feeling that we are reliving the lives we have seen elsewhere). Or perhaps it’s because sometimes we want to feel a bit tragic and sad – we might have this occasional desire to stir up a bit of drama around us and lament and release a sad half-cry of “This is how I ended up!”.

In any case, often when the weight of the struggling falls on our shoulders and we fall on our knees, we like to spend a good amount of time with desperate sobbing. That is definitely a good thing – it reminds us of the pains, challenges, and problems that our life and the lives of others are full of. Yet, even in this moment we should not forget that you never know what comes the next second.

Maybe it’s a new opportunity.

Maybe it’s a new, even bigger challenge.

Maybe it’s a new person.

And maybe it’s an omnipotent smell of dead fish.

Fresh fish. Frozen fish. Baked fish. Steamed fish. Smoked fish. The small, open-air market I entered was monotonously colorful. I have never seen one type of fish prepared in so many ways. Actually, I’ve never smelled so much fish. Even Tsukiji, the largest fish market in Japan felt like a hamster poo compared to a huge pile of cow manure.

I walked through the small shop stalls only to uncover more and more fish. Omul, the far cousin of salmon, living in the lake was definitely a hero of the market. Or at least, fresh, frozen, baked, steamed, and smoked hero. The shop stalls were intertwined with other group of stalls – small shops that were trying to sell wooden figures, colorful necklaces, and other things. Thinking of it, one could fine similar, if not exactly the same souvenirs in other places as well – starting with Beijing and not necessarily ending with Prague (thinking of it, as this place is more or less in the middle of these two cities, it might as well be the original breeding ground for random souvenirs).

I was taking a slow walk through the market, when something hit me in my nose. A fragrance. Not a smell. Fragrance. This one was different. Definitely not fish. More like a forest. It felt a little bit cold, but still refreshing, and somehow comforting. A wooden, spicy cedar base combined with a light melody of vanilla and something citrus-y, yet mature, feminine, and sensual.

I had no idea why but this smell has become the love of my life and I knew that all I need to do now is to find the source. Judging from the sample of beings present at the market I knew that at the source of the fragrance I would find most probably either a grandma or a fish. But I didn’t want to give up.

I was quite surprised that it ended up to be a dog. I sat on my knee and asked: “Where is your master?”

The dog looked at me with a soft “Woof.”

I repeated the question: “Doggie, show me, where is your master?”

The dog threw me a wise and understanding gaze, produced another happy “woof”, sat on its butt, and started to viciously lick its balls.

Hm. Never mind then. The dog and smell were definitely coming from the stall in front of which I was standing. decided to spend some more time at the stall in the freezing cold and see how the situation plays out. I kept looking at the figures and bracelets for 2 minutes when suddenly I heard a young, feminine voice:

“Those green ones are 100 rubles a piece, why don’t you try them?”

What followed was not reality. The next few moments were basically copy-pasted from a movie. Take any cheesy film scene, sit down, hit the big replay button. Choose Bill Withers’ “Just the two of us” for the background music, turn on a slight slow-motion effect. Enjoy and get ready to shed some tears.

Oh, her green eyes and well defined lips, smiling at me. Among all those babushkas and dead fish, this young girl was a beacon of clarity. I immediately fell in the illusion of love. I didn’t care about where she came from, who she was, if she liked to torture small children, dogs, or if she was an bank executive (ewww).

Metaphorically speaking, I opened my hand and let go of the thin string attached to my heart. My heart started to slowly raise into the sky, unbothered by all the unknowns.

Physically speaking, I started to chew faster the big portion of smoked omul in my mouth and gulped it down.

I delightfully failed to not look too awkward but we managed to start a conversation.

A slow, cautious, yet slowly accelerating, and warming conversation. About bracelets and necklaces. About dogs. About travels. About life. About our opinions. About love and relationships.

And then, after an hour of freezing, smiling, and enjoying ourselves, she had to go to catch the bus back home and I said that it was a pleasure spending the time together with her. She left, and I’ve never seen her again.

I filled the evening with another walk on the Baikal lake and shooting some pictures of the quickly approaching dusk.

This day, I thought I understood what love means.

Oh my. There we go again, perceiving our lives as final.

How stupid, how utterly stupid we are.