Paris Is For Perfume Lovers: Part 3 - Meeting Denyse Beaulieu And The Undinas

Day 3 was dry (hurrah!), and I decided to wear my T K Maxx Toast dress or bust (I am of that age - I shall wear purple!), teamed with a pair of unsensible shoes.  I had arranged to hook up with Denyse Beaulieu (of Grain de Musc and The Perfume Lover fame) for coffee that morning in the 17e district - this was technically not a blind date, as I had briefly talked to her at the launch of Séville à L'aube in London last year.  Greetings over, I lost no time in apologising for the fact that I was wearing the same outfit as the last time she had met me.  'I do have other clothes.' I piped up staunchly.

The three most memorable aspects of my meeting with Denyse were firstly her silver sunglasses, a perfect match for her now luxuriantly long ('fifty shades of grey') hair.  Then there was the surprise fact that she is acquainted with the widow of Alain Robbe-Grillet, an avant-garde French author I studied at university, and thirdly - and most tantalisingly - she had just come back from a press junket the day before, held in a marquee on a rocky promontory in the wilds of Brittany.  The company's in-house perfumer had regaled them with nuggets about his portfolio of materials, while the assembled guests enjoyed a delicious lunch against an idyllic backdrop of waves lapping the shore and glinting in the sunlight.  Her evocative description of the scene made me want to visit the area again, and retest all those Breton coast-inspired scents such as Miller Harris Fleurs de Sel and the Lostmarc'h range.  It also brought back happy memories of childhood bucket and spade holidays in other parts of The Celtic Fringe such as Cornwall and SW Ireland...

After our chat, Denyse was off to visit the Guerlain factory on one of their rare opening days, while I dived on the Metro and made my way to the apartment Undina (of Undina's Looking Glass) and her vSO had booked for their stay, which had been cut short by a day owing to the air traffic controllers' strike.  We had agreed that I would meet them there, to help out with any translation issues during the handover with their landlady.

A near-miss transaction with a possible impostor

Unfortunately, Undina and her vSO were held up in traffic on the way down from the airport in a taxi - I say unfortunately, not because I was in any hurry myself, but because it was clear that the landlady was keen to get the payment for the apartment and shoot off.  Reading between the lines and observing the elaborate care with which she made up her face right there in front of me, I think she had a hot date to go to, which could explain some of her agitation.  I figured that realistically The Undinas could be another half an hour or so, so I tried to stall the landlady by asking her to show me where everything was kept and how every last appliance worked in great detail - TV, washing machine, dishwasher, several coffee machines of varying degrees of sophistication.  'Be most particular about pre-piercing the little plastic container of coffee before insertion.'

Bears a passing resemblance to the designated piercing utensil for the coffee dose thingy 

We also discussed bin and cleaning routines and the fact that the enticing terrace was sadly not weight-bearing; we pored over maps of the local area, and the landlady indicated the best restaurants, the nearest pharmacy, bank and the best bus stops for the most scenic rides.  A good five minutes were killed leafing through the visitors' book together and reading past guest comments.  I volunteered to translate a few of the English ones to gain a bit more time.  Ever the market researcher, I quizzed the lady about the relative breakdown of her client base, the average numbers of guests per rental and seasonal patterns.  She told me about one single woman who came for a month at a time, and a party of five Italians for whom she rustled up an additional roll-out bed.  Then I told her about my hotel, and we discussed the prevailing room rates in that part of Paris versus the rental sector.

Source: Wikimedia Commons via Jebulon

Readers, I did my level best to stall this lady, but it looked like it wasn't going to be for long enough, for after about twenty minutes or so she abruptly interjected: 'Look, I really must be away by 2pm latest, and I need my money.  Have you got the money, or can you go to a cash point and give it me if they don't show up in time, and have them pay you back later?'  So I thought for a moment: 'Was I be prepared to hand over a substantial sum of money in cash to a lady I don't know on behalf of two friends I have never met?'  And the answer was: 'Of course I would!', but as things worked out, the Undinas' taxi drew up just in the nick of time, the lady got paid, scarpered, and all was well.

Well, we assumed all was well, though Undina's vSO sowed a seed of doubt after the landlady's departure.  'Hold on, didn't she tell you on the phone that she was about 60?  That woman was never 60!  She looked a lot younger.'  'Do you suppose she might have had work done?' I inquired helpfully.  Undina's vSO puzzled over this for a moment and replied, with a wry grin: 'I am still not convinced she is the right woman.  D'you realise we may just have gone and paid a big wedge of money to an impostor?'

Source: qype.fr

Lunch - tasty, if somewhat lost in translation

Ever the optimists, we dismissed this thought from our minds and Undina and her vSO set about freshening themselves up and Undina also did a spot of ironing, which in hindsight was another topic I could have used to delay the landlady's departure.  'Where is the ironing board kept?  Is it a steam iron?  Any special water you have to use with that?  Would you mind talking me through the settings?  Is there an instruction book with it perhaps?  And do you have a little tea cloth type-thing for delicate garments?'

Undina and her vSO were understandably hungry from their journey, so our first port of call was a bistro on the nearby square.  Here, on my advice, Undina's vSO ordered 'cassolette', which I had momentarily confused with 'cassoulet', a hearty stew featuring meat and haricot beans.  Undina's vSO quickly detected the complete absence of either, but got sportingly stuck into what turned out to be a mega-cheesy potato gratin dish.

One day, two closed perfume shops and three pairs of shoes

Fortified by our meal, the three of us spent the next few hours walking around the city, loosely following an itinerary I had devised earlier.  The first stop was L'Arc de Triomphe, cunningly chosen for its iconic tourist value and proximity to the Guerlain HQ at No 68, Champs Elysées.   Imagine our dismay to find that Guerlain happened to be closed that day, a Friday!  Perhaps all the staff had gone to the factory with Denyse?  Seems as plausible a theory as any, but what utter and undivided cheek!  Our disappointment was only slightly assuaged by the sight of a spectacular bee bottle hoarding just to the left of the main entrance.

Pictures of bottles are no substitute for the real thing

By the time we had legged it to the Place de la Concorde my feet were killing me, and I gladly succumbed to my second pair of shoes, carried with me for just such an emergency.  These flat leather pumps were a little tight to be honest, but they pinched in different places at least compared to the high heels they had replaced.  And in footwear as in life, a change is as good as a rest.

The joy of Jovoy

We strolled along the linden-lined  rue de Rivoli, talking about the lindens in Undina's native Ukraine, dived up to the Place de Vendôme and then back down to the niche mecca that is Jovoy in the rue de Castiglione, mindful that they shut at 7pm.  I guess we must have had about half an hour browsing in there - by a happy chance there was a selection of seating for non-perfumista spouses, but Undina's vSO ended up engaging in a bit of sampling himself, all-round good egg that he was.  Undina and I worked our way round most of the store in a systematic fashion, with my comrade-at-nose occasionally having to bring me to heel as my natural instinct was to drift off and start exploring things that caught my eye anywhere in the store, much like an overexcited magpie.

I can't tell you exactly what we sniffed but I did retain some favourite blotters, chief amongst which were Ramon Monegal's Ambra di Luna (the highlight of the whole trip, no less - review by The Non-Blonde here), along with two to which Undina drew my attention, namely Xerjoff Fatal Charme and Kind of Blue from their 'Join The Club' range.  There are no available notes for either of those, but they are powdery orientals at a guess?  Undina may be able to help us out here.  Then I do remember being pleasantly surprised by The Vagabond Prince's Enchanted Forest, despite my difficult relationship with blackcurrant.  Aedes de Venustas on the other hand proved to be too tart, despite my easy relationship with rhubarb.

At chucking out time, we mosied along the rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré towards the Palais-Royal gardens.  Pausing outside the now shut Serge Lutens / Shisheido store (try saying that quickly after one too many Pernods!), we peered into the sepulchral and purplish gloom of its baroque interior.  I must say that the Undinas were jolly good sports about this steady procession of closed perfume stores I brought them to - well, two out of three so far.

So we hopped on a tube to St Paul, and I showed my companions the Marais district they nearly stayed in, including the elegant colonnades of the Place des Vosges.  We shared a bottle of wine at a pavement cafe by the statue of the Bastille (thanks, guys!), before heading back to our respective bases for the briefest of pitstops before dinner (and in my case, a change into pair of shoes No 3).

It was late by this time, but the restaurant I had lined up didn't bat an eyelid when I made a booking for 10.15pm.  We rolled out of there at about midnight, armed with a dessert doggy bag, which we shared over a cup of tea at the Undinas' apartment.  Finally, it was time to say our goodbyes, which speaking for myself was quite a wrench.  For despite only having known Undina and her vSO in person for about 12 hours give or take, I had already developed a fierce affection for the pair of them, and very much hope our paths will cross again.  I'll have the cash ready this time, just in case...;-)

And what of Rusty?  Well, apparently he had a live-in carer while his owners were away, as befits a puss with America's Top Feline Model status.  I imagine he might have enjoyed Paris too - there are a lot of sewer rats and any amount of cafes for practising his poses.

Check out Undina's account of her Paris stopover, including a cute shot of Rusty inspecting her holiday perfume bottle!

PS The results of the 'Bonkers at 3.6' prize draw will be coming up next!

Basenotes Mini-Meet Up And That Old "Skin Chemistry" Chestnut

As regular readers know, I travel extensively with my work - indeed I am off to Germany again in a couple of hours - so there will be the usual posting break on Bonkers. One of the perks of all this business travel has been the chance to meet some of my virtual perfumista friends in person: in Germany, Switzerland and the USA so far. But recently it came to my attention that there was another perfumista on my doorstep in Stafford! He contacted me through the Basenotes forum (where he goes by the name of Ralph), and we met for coffee on Saturday. We chose the steps of the art gallery as our meeting point: I said I would be carrying a bright orange Ormonde Jayne bag(!), but thanks to our highly attuned powers of fellow fumehead detection we recognised each other instinctively without the aid of props. : - )

It was a bright, sunny day, and we headed for Starbuck's round the corner, where we whiled away a pleasant couple of hours sitting outside in the main shopping thoroughfare. As is the way with these things, we got straight down to business and it wasn't long before the table was covered with bottles, decants and vials - and the entire smellable length of our arms in various scents - much to the bemusement of the people at adjacent tables.

Ralph had brought along a number of samples for me to test blind and try to identify, a fun challenge at which I failed dismally. Two of these were Montale Black Oud and L'Etat Libre d'Orange Fat Electrician - the oud note smelled familiar, but I couldn't put a name to it(!), though I could at least pick out the vetiver in the sublimely silly Fat Electrician.

Meanwhile, I was keen for Ralph to try three perfumes that I thought were on the turn or completely off: a mini of Jo Malone Lime Basil Mandarin, one of The Different Company Osmanthus, and a bottle of Floris Night Scented Jasmine. The Jo Malone we decided was not off after all, just unpleasantly basil-y! My mini was probably a bit long in the tooth, and it is possible that the basil had become more pronounced over time, but we concluded that the main problem was that it was simply not very nice to start with.

The tests with the Night Scented Jasmine and the Osmanthus were most illuminating. I had given up on the former because it had an oily, alcohol-y smell, and on the latter because of a synthetic, plasticky note. We conducted a side-by-side test, which had the added variable of male versus female skin.

To our surprise, on Ralph's skin both perfumes positively bloomed - the Night Scented Jasmine was a sumptuous floral, while the Osmanthus was fresh and fruity. Needless to say, they were both rehomed immediately. They were later joined by my albatross bottle of Juicy Couture Dirty English, which was like Caron Yatagan on me, but much softer on Ralph's skin. Indeed, given his leaning towards powerhouse fragrances like Aramis and Kouros, it wouldn't have mattered if it had smelt more strongly of Yatagan on him!

So that was all very interesting and satisfactory. After two rounds of drinks at Starbuck's, we sat on a shady bench in the churchyard of St Mary's for a little while, before grabbing a bite to eat in the Soup Kitchen, Stafford's oldest tea rooms, dating back to the 16th century. I had their last portion of soup, while Ralph opted for a sandwich, followed by a cream tea split between two. Well, just a single scone to be precise, because the ones from the Soup Kitchen are noted for being monstrous, tottering Towers of Pisa. We sat by the window upstairs in a relatively secluded spot, where we could carry on the serious business of spritzing and sniffing without raising too many eyebrows.

Four hours simply sped by, and then it was time for me to do some errands in town before the shops closed. Oh, and special commendation is due to Ralph for his tea assembly skills at Starbuck's. As reported in past posts, I am very particular about how my tea comes, and my worst nightmare is a barista pre-adding copious amounts of milk before the tea bag has had a chance to brew; sometimes up to 50% of the liquid content has been cold - or, bizarrely, hot - milk in tea made for me by cafe staff. Ralph, on the other hand, brought me a mug with a tea bag floating in it, plus a small measure of cold milk on the side. Result!

Now, I have just been looking at Basenotes to see if there is a search facility that would enable members to find others based in the same town. I tried inputting "Stafford", but the first hits were for Lee Stafford, the celebrity hairdresser, so I sense that this very specific functionality I have in mind may need more work. I did note that there are currently 53,304 members of the site, with approximately one in ten active (5,162).

So you never know...chances are, there's a Basenoter living near you too!


Photo of Soup Kitchen from stafford-towncentre.co.uk, photo of basenotes logo from basenotes.net, photo of Floris scent from florislondon.com, photo of St Mary's from staffordtown.co.uk, photo of Starbuck's mug from blog.epromos.com.