We're always happy to confirm rumours which we had started on this place (last December) and this is the latest one: Guerlain teamed again with Baccarat to manufacture a massive flacon for the ultra-exclusive flacon of their new perfume called L'Abeille de Guerlain. The name means of course..."bee" and it's meant to look like a gigantic bee with its wings faceted like precious diamonds.
Only 42 numbered pieces has been made, each containing 245 ml of pure extrait de parfum for 12.500 Euros (Who said there's a financial crisis? And -brace yourselves- it's even more than the initially reported 8000 euros we had stated!). Composed by Thierry Wasser who was aiming to "see a garden from a bee's perspective", that is pollen, chlorophyl, sunny flowers: Mimosa, orange blossom, and jasmine. And a scent of honey which "marries so well with summer flowers". Wasser warns this alloy might "syrupy thick" if not properly treated but tells us the end result "flies like an angel, diffuses without suffocating, twines around the marvellous iris, so precisely powdery". Hmm, I doubt I can say "we will see" at those prices (initial reports talk about an at once carnal and fresh white floral with powdery aspects), although I'm sure a sample might find its way to my desk eventually. Till then!
It's not easy to drift back into routine after immersing oneself into the paradisial and atmospheric Santa Marina, but one has to, I guess. So expect a post later today and hope you have had a great time while I was gone, too!
...and I'll do what I want and what I want right now is vacationing! So depending on whether Internet connection is available while I'm travelling, these pages will be perhaps updated. I will "see" you all shortly. Keep smelling good! Photo taken by robw on flickr, Some Rights Reserved
It's in those terms that Rochelle Bloom, president of the Fragrance Foundation, the educational non-profit center devoted to fine fragrance, explains the fact that 7 out of the 10 top sellers in the US have remained the same in the last 10 years. The notiong of "modern classic", thus defined. The only thing remaining to be clarified is what smells "good". Apparently Forbes reports several interesting tidbits, one of which is that perfume companies are not playing their distribution channels smartly: Mary J.Blige's new fragrance is sold through the Home Shopping Network, so buyers buy before even sniffing! And they do let on about what makes for the popularity stakes: "According to the NPD Group, a market research company that tracks fragrance sales, the top five best-selling prestige fragrance brands sold in U.S. department stores in 2009 were:
1. Chanel's Coco Mademoiselle (2001)
2. Giorgio Armani's Acqua Di Gio Pour Homme (1997)
3. Estee Lauder's Beautiful (1985)
4. Dolce and Gabbana's Light Blue (2001)
5. Chanel's Chanel No. 5 (1921)" White Diamonds by Elizabeth Taylor is a firm favourite in the top-10 of mass appeal, ever since its launch in 1991.
Ancilary products are another way of adding cachet & sales to the scented routine. Nourish your skin with skin care lotion and add Sarah Jessica Parker perfume for extra results.That would be one example of toping up the experience, wouldn't it.
In contrast the Top 10 Best Selling Fragrances in France according to popular L'Internaute are:
1. Angel by Thierry Mugler
2. Lolita Lempicka by Lolita Lempicka
3. Flower by Kenzo
4. Allure by Chanel
5. Coco Mademoiselle by Chanel
6. J'Adore by Dior
7. No.5 by Chanel
8. Shalimar by Guerlain
9. Dior Addict
10. Samsara by Guerlain
The tomatoes have just sprouted; the sun had bathed the nascent roots, the soil had fondled them, moist, warm and fertile. Uncle beckoning us children to the field: "come, eat, fresh from the vine!" Some water, cut in two, the mouth bursting with the flavours of sweet and slightly sour, full of aroma unreplicated in any bought variety. Cucumbers sliced, the fresh, sweet smell permeting the kitchen. The small leaves off the tomato vine are kept for marinades and sprinkling over feta cheese. Folavril. Basil pots on the window ledge. Olive trees all around, shadowing over the dining table, olives on the table in endless varieties: big and blue-black like a bruise, bitter-salty from the brine; small black and wrinkly and very sweet; almond-shaped Kalamata ones, with glistening skins and fatty-bitter taste; green ones looking almost raw, the pit substituted by a whole blanched almond. We accompany with an aromatic Robola wine. Santa Maira Novela Mavrorachi and Sienne l'Hiver transported to a tiny Greek island across the Holy Monastic Mountain of Athos. Cicadas singing incessantly throughout noon and the heat is rising, vehicles coming closer with that "liquid" motion we see on the silver screen when they cross the endless American roads of the west. The turmac is almost melting, the big blue calling, only a fea minutes' drive away on the island. Solace inside a cool white church, fanning oneself with a Spanish fan, putting some ice-soaked hankerchief on the forehead and nape of the neck. Walls smelling of old fresco stucco, remnants of frankincense and melted wax from the beeswax candles put in bronze-bordered sand trays for the pious. Silence.... The old priest, tall and dressed in by now faded black takes off his kalimafhi from his head and sits down, wrought with the heat. He offers us almonds and sour cherries in suryp with a smile: the "spoon sweets" which greeted visitors at even the humblest house, chased by a glass of ice-cold water. Braced, we begin our journey to the edge of the island, all the way to Palaiochora searching for the small fragments of the fort that pirate Hayreddin Barbarossa destroyed in 1539. The countryside is chaotically scattered with wild herbs, thyme, oregano, bay, chamomile, sage, labdanum; we roll the car windows down and inhale deeply this humble marvel of nature. L'Eau Trois, Sables.
Nudists at the "baths" of the Neda river in the south Peloponnese. The foliage in the trees is rustling. The scent of moist soil, the fallen dead leaves mush on the ground. The wind is changing, autumn is coming quickly. Someone is playing melancholic greek songs on the baglama. Pin resin, Fille en Aiguilles.
The children are rolling on bicycles in Keffalonia central square, their silhouettes a dark contrast on the fuschia walls. Housewives are baking baklava, the spices of cinnamon, clove and nutmeg in the air. Some kids are dripping with mastic "submarine" (a dollop of mastic and glycose paste into a glass of cold water and licked off). 06310 Lentisque. Dip in the Aegean sea, salt still remaining on the skin, I can almost lick it off, it's so dense! The laziness of the sun making our limps become putty. The barren rocky terrain scattered with immortelle flowers, dry and dusty. I take a fat piece of watermelon off my bag and a chunck of salty feta cheese kept on a block of ice to cut the sweetness; the sticky red juice is dribling down my chin and on the top of my bikini, mingling with my sweat and my Ambre Solaire, but I don't care. The seaside taverna has already put octopi on the rope, drying them out before they get marinated and smoked for dinner. The salty, inky aroma is wafting thanks to the breeze and the coals are set: the smoky, stinky trail whets my appetite; I'm longing for the anise flavour of ouzo to accompany my fried calamari. I'm longing to have my tanned back caressed by the one awaiting me.
A local is washing the white floor squeeky clean. My eyes dazzle from the reflected white. The sugarcube maze of the town is blindingly white! Greek coffee prepared on the hot sand stove, with lots of kaimak. The table setting simple and chic. The coffee powder remainings crunchy on the tongue before overturning the small demitasse so that the debris drips, its dried out patterns used to tell one's destiny. "You will be successful, you will find love..."
Branches of figs engulf everything with their thick shadow. Their milky sap is still bitter, an edge of coconut smell, the leaves are wide and dusty; they look dusty even if you have just washed them, they feel dusty. We pick the fruit to see whether it's edible, the small sacs haven't really become heavy with those scattered little seeds. Disappointment. The seeds which Minoan inhabitants of Akrotiri, Santorini, used to eat before the great volcano eruption in 1500BC. We contemplate eternity, weary after overlooking another excavation. Philosykos, Premier Figuier, and Un Jardin en Mediterranee. Tall cypresses flanking the cool catacombs in Tripiti on the Milos island, the mineral dryness of Eau de Gentiane Blanche.
The stars are shinning brightly on a pitch black sky, so clear and transparent, you think you can reach out your hand and seize them. The air around is full with the concentrated, heady scent of jasmine vines, A la Nuit. First kisses in the cobblestone alleys, under the rampant bougainvillas, the intoxication of budding love filling the mind. Lovers embracing fondly, tenderly, promising the stars under the bright moon, as deep yellow golden and shiny in August like a konstantinato. Sex on the beach late at night before the break of sun, like the first people on earth. Like the only people on earth...The eternal romance of the Mediterranean and of Greece.
Clip from the Greek film "Epiheirisis Apollon", 1968 or "Apollo Goes on Holiday" 1968 directed by George Skalenakis with Elena Nathanael, Thomas Fritsch, Athinodoros Prousalis etc.
Clip from the Greek film Gorgones kai Mages (Mermaids and Tough Guys) 1968, directed by Yiannis Dalianidis starring Mary Hronopoulou and Lakis Komnenos.
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