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I exercised as the sun rose， on grassy smelling fields. I walked through the salty air on a warm， sandy beach. It was the best Christmas present I could give myself.太陽升起，在氤氲着青草味道的田野上锻炼身体;海风拂面，在温暖的沙滩上信步闲游。这是我赠予自己最好的圣诞礼物。
I’m no Scrooge1， but this December， I kept my fake， plastic smelling Christmas tree and all its baubles boxed up in a drawer under my bed.
I inherited the tree from my grandfather. The tree is fibre optic and when it’s turned on twinkles red， green， purple， white and blue. If you lean in close， you can smell its branches—they have a faint but strange tangy odour and remind me a little of rubber， and glue.
When I smell plastic things like my Christmas tree， I think of my grandfather， and how I struggled to talk with him towards the end of his life. Sometimes， I tell myself that the emphysema made breathing and talking difficult for him and awkward for us both. But most of the time， normally when I’m putting up my fake little tree， I find myself wishing I’d had the guts to say more.
Real Christmas trees like pines release hydrocarbons into the air that help create a sharp and sweet smell. It’s a scent beloved by many， associated with the fun of decorating its feathery green branches with tinsel， or placing gifts around its trunk.
Of course， the smell of a pine tree is only one scent in the rich aromatic experience of Christmas. Many foods eaten at Christmas have distinctive scents. There is the meaty and fruity smell of honey glazed ham. Fresh lobster has a strong， fishy odour. And the smell of gingerbread is powerful and spicy.
The smells of Christmas trees and food reflect some of the best things about Christmas—of celebrating with loved ones as another year draws to a close， and of giving to others without expecting anything in return.
Not everything smells like Christmas cheer when Santa comes to town， however. In fact， many smells of December are downright rank. Like the acrid pungence of vomit from a drunk train passenger who had too much booze at a work Christmas party. Or the fetid stink released from garbage cans filled with large amounts of rotting leftover food. Just waiting in a shopping centre queue on a hot day can have its own oppressive odour as the heavy stink of sweating human bodies mixes together in the air. And few smells are more abrasive than the stinging whiff of urine soaked alleyways and gutters in the city after a night of Christmas partying.
Many smells of Christmas are on the nose2， and they are visceral reality checks for when the forces of commercialisation overtake a time of celebration. Comfort and joy are not found with others， but in consumer goods， and sometimes to excess. The world is filled with scents that might be doing us more harm than good， a phenomenon which Kate Grenville writes about in her book， The Case Against Fragrance. Grenville traces the business interests driving the development of products like air fresheners， scented candles and incense， and the health risks associated with these products， noting that：
“Aromatherapy has a lot to answer for3： there’s a vague assumption that any kind of scent in the air must be good for you.”
Christmas has its own aromatherapy of sorts4， one created from food and drink， decorations and presents， a smellscape that， when indulged too much， is all about money， and not the people close to us.
As trite as this sounds， this December I tried to buy less and spend more time outdoors， away from the smells of Christmas cheer.
I avoided the mouthwatering aroma of cookies and cakes baking in the oven. I missed out on catch-ups5 at the pub and drinking those citrus-smelling craft beers.
Instead， I exercised as the sun rose， on grassy smelling fields near my home. I walked through the salty air on a warm， sandy beach. And I went bushwalking with someone I love.
We walked through the giant trees of the dense bush， up rocky paths， and to the top of a tall hill. The air was crisp and carried a warm hint of eucalyptus. We sat down and in silence stared at the tiny streets and buildings of the city far below us. I forgot about work， whether my family would like the presents I’d bought them， and my worries about money. The best and the worst things of a manic year seemed to fade away.
I felt grateful for my time in the rough beauty of the Australian bush with its refreshing， earthy aromas， and to simply be alive and present with someone who cared for me. It was one of the best Christmas presents I’d ever given myself.
I broke a tradition this year by not putting up my grandfather’s fibre optic plastic-smelling Christmas tree. But I know he would understand that I needed more than a scent-inspired， nostalgic connection to the past.
Christmas is over now， but I wish I could have just one more day with my grandfather spent walking in the bush. We wouldn’t need presents， or a Christmas tree， real or fake. Just each other.
我并非吝嗇鬼斯克鲁奇，但是今年12月，我将散发着塑料味儿的假圣诞树和树上的装饰球都装箱收进了床下的抽屉里。
这棵圣诞树是祖父留给我的，光纤材质，一通电就会闪起红、绿、紫、白和蓝色的光。俯身靠近能闻到树枝的气味——不甚浓烈但却怪异刺鼻，使我想起橡胶和胶水。
一闻到我家圣诞树那般的塑料制品的味道，我就会想起祖父，还有在他生命即将走到尽头时我想尽办法只为和他多说几句话的日子。有时，我会告诉自己，祖父得了肺气肿，呼吸和说话都有困难，我俩交谈起来也有诸多不便。但多数时候，通常是摆出这棵小小的假圣诞树时，我真希望自己当时能勇敢点儿，和祖父再多说些什么。 真正的圣诞树，比如松树，会释放碳氢化合物到空气中，散发出浓烈的辛香。许多人都喜爱这香气，它让人联想到用金箔装饰圣诞树羽状绿色树枝的快乐，或在树干周围放置礼物的乐趣。
当然，圣诞节的芬芳千千 万，圣诞树的松香不过是其中一种。许多圣诞美食都有独特的气味。蜜糖火腿有肉香味和水果味，新鲜龙虾有浓浓的海鲜味，姜饼有呛人的辛辣味。
圣诞树和食物的气味可以反映出圣诞节最美好的一些东西——比如临岁末与家人同庆，比如慷慨给予不求回报。
然而，当圣诞老人造访小镇时，那里的气味却不尽如圣诞氛围那般令人愉悦。实际上，12月的许多气味着实难闻，比如公司圣诞聚会喝多了的醉酒乘客留在车厢里的呕吐物的恶臭，或者塞满腐烂剩菜的垃圾桶散发的馊臭。甚至稍热的日子在购物中心排队等候也会闻到令人不适的味道，那是空气里混杂着人们身上浓重的汗臭。还有彻夜的圣诞聚会结束后，城市的小巷和沟渠里熏得人眼痛的尿骚味，简直没什么比这更让人难以忍受了。
圣诞节的很多气味是刺鼻的，当商业化的力量主宰了节庆时刻，这些气味就是对现实的真切反映。慰藉和喜悦来自消费品而非与他人相处，这势头有时甚至过度了。
这世上如今四处弥漫对人或许弊大于利的香气，凯特·格伦维尔在《反对香水的理由》一书中提及了这一现象。格伦维尔追查了空气清新剂、香薰蜡烛和熏香等产品开发背后的商业利益，以及与这些产品相关的健康风险，她指出：
“芳香疗法要承担很大的责任：该疗法笼统地假设空气中的任何气味都绝对有益于身体健康。”
圣诞节勉强算有自己的芳香疗法，治疗气味来自食物和饮品、装饰品和礼物。若过分沉迷其中，这些气味便全与金钱而非我们亲近的人有关。
听起来有点儿俗套，今年12月，我尽量减少购物，增加户外活动时间，远离了圣诞狂欢的那些气味儿。
我避开了烤箱烤制饼干和蛋糕时令人垂涎欲滴的香气。我放弃了在酒吧和朋友叙旧、喝柑橘味精酿啤酒的机会。
反之，日出时分，我在家附近的田野里闻着草香锻炼身体;迎着海风，我在温暖的沙滩上漫步。我还与所爱之人一起去丛林远足。
我们穿过巨树林立的茂密丛林，沿着多石的小径向上攀爬，登上了高高的丘顶。空气清新干冷，带有丝丝温暖的桉树味。我们坐了下来，在静默中凝视着远在脚下的城市里那小小的街道和建筑。我忘却了工作，忘却了家人是否会喜欢我买的礼物，也忘却了对金钱的思虑。这忙乱的一年里最美妙和最糟糕的事似乎都就此消失不见。
我十分感恩能享有这样一段时光，沉浸于澳大利亚丛林的原始之美，呼吸着清新的泥土芬芳，簡简单单地活在世间，与在乎自己的人相伴。这是我迄今给予过自己最好的一份圣诞礼物。
今年，我打破了传统，没有把祖父那塑料味儿的光纤圣诞树摆出来。但是我知道他会理解，我需要的绝不仅仅是靠气味激发的对过去的怀念。
圣诞节已经过去，但我真希望能再和祖父一起在丛林中漫步，哪怕一天也好。无需礼物，也无需或真或假的圣诞树。只需彼此相伴。
（译者为“《英语世界》杯”翻译大赛获奖者;单位：中南大学）
I’m no Scrooge1， but this December， I kept my fake， plastic smelling Christmas tree and all its baubles boxed up in a drawer under my bed.
I inherited the tree from my grandfather. The tree is fibre optic and when it’s turned on twinkles red， green， purple， white and blue. If you lean in close， you can smell its branches—they have a faint but strange tangy odour and remind me a little of rubber， and glue.
When I smell plastic things like my Christmas tree， I think of my grandfather， and how I struggled to talk with him towards the end of his life. Sometimes， I tell myself that the emphysema made breathing and talking difficult for him and awkward for us both. But most of the time， normally when I’m putting up my fake little tree， I find myself wishing I’d had the guts to say more.
Real Christmas trees like pines release hydrocarbons into the air that help create a sharp and sweet smell. It’s a scent beloved by many， associated with the fun of decorating its feathery green branches with tinsel， or placing gifts around its trunk.
Of course， the smell of a pine tree is only one scent in the rich aromatic experience of Christmas. Many foods eaten at Christmas have distinctive scents. There is the meaty and fruity smell of honey glazed ham. Fresh lobster has a strong， fishy odour. And the smell of gingerbread is powerful and spicy.
The smells of Christmas trees and food reflect some of the best things about Christmas—of celebrating with loved ones as another year draws to a close， and of giving to others without expecting anything in return.
Not everything smells like Christmas cheer when Santa comes to town， however. In fact， many smells of December are downright rank. Like the acrid pungence of vomit from a drunk train passenger who had too much booze at a work Christmas party. Or the fetid stink released from garbage cans filled with large amounts of rotting leftover food. Just waiting in a shopping centre queue on a hot day can have its own oppressive odour as the heavy stink of sweating human bodies mixes together in the air. And few smells are more abrasive than the stinging whiff of urine soaked alleyways and gutters in the city after a night of Christmas partying.
Many smells of Christmas are on the nose2， and they are visceral reality checks for when the forces of commercialisation overtake a time of celebration. Comfort and joy are not found with others， but in consumer goods， and sometimes to excess. The world is filled with scents that might be doing us more harm than good， a phenomenon which Kate Grenville writes about in her book， The Case Against Fragrance. Grenville traces the business interests driving the development of products like air fresheners， scented candles and incense， and the health risks associated with these products， noting that：
“Aromatherapy has a lot to answer for3： there’s a vague assumption that any kind of scent in the air must be good for you.”
Christmas has its own aromatherapy of sorts4， one created from food and drink， decorations and presents， a smellscape that， when indulged too much， is all about money， and not the people close to us.
As trite as this sounds， this December I tried to buy less and spend more time outdoors， away from the smells of Christmas cheer.
I avoided the mouthwatering aroma of cookies and cakes baking in the oven. I missed out on catch-ups5 at the pub and drinking those citrus-smelling craft beers.
Instead， I exercised as the sun rose， on grassy smelling fields near my home. I walked through the salty air on a warm， sandy beach. And I went bushwalking with someone I love.
We walked through the giant trees of the dense bush， up rocky paths， and to the top of a tall hill. The air was crisp and carried a warm hint of eucalyptus. We sat down and in silence stared at the tiny streets and buildings of the city far below us. I forgot about work， whether my family would like the presents I’d bought them， and my worries about money. The best and the worst things of a manic year seemed to fade away.
I felt grateful for my time in the rough beauty of the Australian bush with its refreshing， earthy aromas， and to simply be alive and present with someone who cared for me. It was one of the best Christmas presents I’d ever given myself.
I broke a tradition this year by not putting up my grandfather’s fibre optic plastic-smelling Christmas tree. But I know he would understand that I needed more than a scent-inspired， nostalgic connection to the past.
Christmas is over now， but I wish I could have just one more day with my grandfather spent walking in the bush. We wouldn’t need presents， or a Christmas tree， real or fake. Just each other.
我并非吝嗇鬼斯克鲁奇，但是今年12月，我将散发着塑料味儿的假圣诞树和树上的装饰球都装箱收进了床下的抽屉里。
这棵圣诞树是祖父留给我的，光纤材质，一通电就会闪起红、绿、紫、白和蓝色的光。俯身靠近能闻到树枝的气味——不甚浓烈但却怪异刺鼻，使我想起橡胶和胶水。
一闻到我家圣诞树那般的塑料制品的味道，我就会想起祖父，还有在他生命即将走到尽头时我想尽办法只为和他多说几句话的日子。有时，我会告诉自己，祖父得了肺气肿，呼吸和说话都有困难，我俩交谈起来也有诸多不便。但多数时候，通常是摆出这棵小小的假圣诞树时，我真希望自己当时能勇敢点儿，和祖父再多说些什么。 真正的圣诞树，比如松树，会释放碳氢化合物到空气中，散发出浓烈的辛香。许多人都喜爱这香气，它让人联想到用金箔装饰圣诞树羽状绿色树枝的快乐，或在树干周围放置礼物的乐趣。
当然，圣诞节的芬芳千千 万，圣诞树的松香不过是其中一种。许多圣诞美食都有独特的气味。蜜糖火腿有肉香味和水果味，新鲜龙虾有浓浓的海鲜味，姜饼有呛人的辛辣味。
圣诞树和食物的气味可以反映出圣诞节最美好的一些东西——比如临岁末与家人同庆，比如慷慨给予不求回报。
然而，当圣诞老人造访小镇时，那里的气味却不尽如圣诞氛围那般令人愉悦。实际上，12月的许多气味着实难闻，比如公司圣诞聚会喝多了的醉酒乘客留在车厢里的呕吐物的恶臭，或者塞满腐烂剩菜的垃圾桶散发的馊臭。甚至稍热的日子在购物中心排队等候也会闻到令人不适的味道，那是空气里混杂着人们身上浓重的汗臭。还有彻夜的圣诞聚会结束后，城市的小巷和沟渠里熏得人眼痛的尿骚味，简直没什么比这更让人难以忍受了。
圣诞节的很多气味是刺鼻的，当商业化的力量主宰了节庆时刻，这些气味就是对现实的真切反映。慰藉和喜悦来自消费品而非与他人相处，这势头有时甚至过度了。
这世上如今四处弥漫对人或许弊大于利的香气，凯特·格伦维尔在《反对香水的理由》一书中提及了这一现象。格伦维尔追查了空气清新剂、香薰蜡烛和熏香等产品开发背后的商业利益，以及与这些产品相关的健康风险，她指出：
“芳香疗法要承担很大的责任：该疗法笼统地假设空气中的任何气味都绝对有益于身体健康。”
圣诞节勉强算有自己的芳香疗法，治疗气味来自食物和饮品、装饰品和礼物。若过分沉迷其中，这些气味便全与金钱而非我们亲近的人有关。
听起来有点儿俗套，今年12月，我尽量减少购物，增加户外活动时间，远离了圣诞狂欢的那些气味儿。
我避开了烤箱烤制饼干和蛋糕时令人垂涎欲滴的香气。我放弃了在酒吧和朋友叙旧、喝柑橘味精酿啤酒的机会。
反之，日出时分，我在家附近的田野里闻着草香锻炼身体;迎着海风，我在温暖的沙滩上漫步。我还与所爱之人一起去丛林远足。
我们穿过巨树林立的茂密丛林，沿着多石的小径向上攀爬，登上了高高的丘顶。空气清新干冷，带有丝丝温暖的桉树味。我们坐了下来，在静默中凝视着远在脚下的城市里那小小的街道和建筑。我忘却了工作，忘却了家人是否会喜欢我买的礼物，也忘却了对金钱的思虑。这忙乱的一年里最美妙和最糟糕的事似乎都就此消失不见。
我十分感恩能享有这样一段时光，沉浸于澳大利亚丛林的原始之美，呼吸着清新的泥土芬芳，簡简单单地活在世间，与在乎自己的人相伴。这是我迄今给予过自己最好的一份圣诞礼物。
今年，我打破了传统，没有把祖父那塑料味儿的光纤圣诞树摆出来。但是我知道他会理解，我需要的绝不仅仅是靠气味激发的对过去的怀念。
圣诞节已经过去，但我真希望能再和祖父一起在丛林中漫步，哪怕一天也好。无需礼物，也无需或真或假的圣诞树。只需彼此相伴。
（译者为“《英语世界》杯”翻译大赛获奖者;单位：中南大学）