Sleepy, at four in the morning, I arrived by boat at the port of Mesta, the famous mastic village of Chios. I had to drive the distance to the capital, about forty minutes, and wait for the hotel I was staying to open. Autumn was coming to its end and a refreshing wind was blowing, so I had the window down. It was there that I was first struck by the smell of the island. The fragrant Chios. We tend to destroy words, degrading their meaning, in order to grab the reader's interest. What a pity; if that was not the case, then the adjective "fragrant" could describe this experience. Then, the smell of Chios would define the word and all the other smells of the world would be judged based on it.