Central/East European cigarettes

are one of the great vices of my life. I have gone for months/years without really smoking, but the merest hint of an aroma from any vaguely Central or East European fag immediately transports me back to my youth in Petrozavodsk. Proust pondered precisely this in that dreadfully long masterwork of his, but it seems that smell is the sense most closely linked to memory - see here and here.