Category: travel/perfume

 It’s been a few days now since I got off the train in the Cannes station, wrestled my suitcases (with assistance) on to the bus and was driven the 11km or so and delivered to Grasse.   I had a few hours to put in before I could meet the person whom I’m letting my flat from, so I stashed my luggage in a hotel lobby and set out to get a bite to eat.   I found a little outdoor cafe in the maze that makes up the old part of the city and ordered a sandwich and a cappuccino.  I also needed to use the toilet and asked in my halting French if there was one.  I got the general gist where it was, but needed confirmation.  The woman got quite short with me and the other customers kind of sniggered, which promptly brought on my first emotional breakdown.  I was exhausted and coming down with a nasty cold, and feeling like a fish out of water;  so bee-lined it for the bathroom where I had my first serious cry since the trip began.  Then snuffling a bit, I came out, glowered at the woman a tiny bit, I have to admit, and devoured my sandwich.

 That was my intro to the city.   Needless to say, first impressions are not always correct, and I’ve since discovered that the people here are warm and friendly and only a tiny bit embarrassed about their halting English.  So we reassure each other and I am learning to just wing it, and try out the French I know.  Everyone is very forgiving.  Lessons are going to be a must, I can tell.

In the last few days,  I have spent alot of time walking, getting lost over and over in this ancient maze of a city.  The streets are about 10 feet wide, paved with squares of stone, and the buildings rise straight up 6 to 7 stories high on either side in all their yellow and orange ochre and plaster glory.  All the windows have shutters and it is part of the evening ritual, for me as well, to close them all up for the night.  I wish I could share the sound of the creaking old metal hinges and latches as they clunk into place and draw my attention inward for the night.

 I am falling in love with my flat.   It is very small and on the 4th and top floor of this 17th century building.   It is all white plaster, blue doors and shutters and old old wood beams with a red tiled floor and a tiny loft for my bed.  There are two small skylights and of course, the terrace, or what I would call, a balcony.  There is a dizzyingly steep and narrow spiral staircase to get up here and I need a torch to see.  I seriously get woozy every time I go up or down.   My little square is called the Place Des Artistes because it is where all the artists work and show.  Each little shop is a gallery/studio with the artist working away inside.  There is an exhibition every Friday under the little covered area you see in the photo. (and as you can see, right below my flat)

This is the perfect place to land- right in the most creative part of the city.  I am inspired and thrilled to call this home.  Today, I was walking home after exploring and buying some veges, and I was hit with a wave of absolutely expansive happiness.  It felt too big to contain.  It welled up in me and poured out in this smile that I had to share with everyone I looked at.  I am so happy!

To top it off, I bought a bouquet of mimosa and this something I have only fantasized about being able to do.  They are gorgeous and smell just like the hard pale topaz cystals of mimosa absolute that I have worked with. 

(that reminds me, I haven’t even begun to talk about the perfumeries and scent aspect of this town, but that can wait). 

Slowly, as the days go by, I am beginning to fathom that I am really here.  It’s amazing how we can build things up in our minds so that they reach a state of almost tangible reality, but when it actually happens, it’s hard to comprehend.   But I am here, and it feels wonderful.

       Bon soir, mes amis!

So here I am….finally,  after a couple of years of mulling it over.  I’ve packed up my life, left Canada behind and arrived in France to follow my passion and study perfumery.  The road to get here has been a roller coaster ride of fear, doubt, excitement, and lots of other deeply challenging emotional and mental and physical highs and lows, with some spiritual development (I hope) thrown in for good measure.

 I landed in Paris on the 20th of January with one small and one very large and very overweight suitcase (believe me, it’s cheaper to have 2 huge ones that are lighter, than one that needs two people to lift it…) and as result, opted for the taxi into the city.  I bargained with the driver, (being Saturday) and we settled on the price of 50 euros to get me to the door of the Hotel Eldorado on the Rue des Dames.   We pulled  onto the tiny little street, one car wide, and I was deposited in the tiny reception area.  (my suitcase barely fit).  With great efficiency, I was then taken to my tiny room at the very back of the hotel and that was that.  I had arrived. I sat down on the bed and let it all sink in.   The flight, the very wierd Frankfurt airport, all the hard work and sleepless nights, and the determination that it took to pursue this venture.  I was exhausted and scared and excited and completely overwhelmed by a feeling of the unknown and, of being alone.  But I was in Paris, I’d arrived,  and that was all that really mattered.  Of course, at this point, I had no idea what that even meant!  I may as well have landed on Mars.

Over the next few days, I would master the Metro by getting completely lost a few times,  discover the glorious Musee D’Orsay, happen across an Annik Goutal boutique (heaven), and visit the beautiful Serge Luten boutique in the Salon Du Palais Royale.   I also visited the incredible gardens of the Jardins des Plantes, the Galerie de Mineralogie (for giant crystals ) and the great Galerie de Paleontologie.

On my last evening I took a taxi to the Creed store and attempted to smell each of their perfumes.  I ended up with early onset olfactory fatigue and had to desperately inhale their quite stale coffee beans in order to get through before closing time.  I settled on Royal English Leather, which, unfortunately is way too strong for me, and is now for sale.  (write me)

 I was shooed out at closing and after getting lost one more time in the Metro, retreated to my hotel for one last night of sleep.   Sleep, I might add, that was punctuated about every five minutes by the subterranean rumblings of the Metro itself . 

 (note: I had to move 2 blocks up to the so-called Style Hotel for the last two nights of my time in the city.  I recommend this little place with its clean, simple and  bright spacious rooms, old wood furniture and reasonable rates.  As for the sound of the Metro, somehow its muffled basenote vibrations became soothing). 

 .The morning of the 26th,  I caught a taxi at 5:45am to the Gare du Nord station, enroute to my real destination- Grasse!