Un Jardin en Méditerranée Hermès 2003

Oops! He scared the shit out of me. I almost dropped the bottle after the first sprayer. Where are the citrus fruits, the white-flowering oleander, the view of the blue sea? Instead of in the Mediterranean garden, I'm standing in front of a log cabin. Through the small window, a bearded treasure peeps through, brewing mysterious tinctures against lunar addiction or foot warts in a coniferous forest solitude. It smells strange, incredibly bitter - it must taste bitter, otherwise it doesn't work.

While I am still thinking about how to send the wrong purchase back on the road in the most elegant way, there is already a first change to be noticed. The bitter notes are painstakingly raised like a morning mist, a timid fruity sweetness slowly fights its way out, accompanied by a few flowers. This mixes with herbaceous bitter fog in a way that I find truly remarkable, in the sense of unusual, memorable. In the further process I sniff myself again and again, and slowly my nose believes the Mediterranean garden. I look for an old, scurrilous bank, enjoy the view and even have a glimpse of the sea between the blossoming bushes. The thought of the souk is lost. The pretty bottle now gets a place on the bathroom cornice after all.

What happened olfactorically confuses me. The pyramid already sees the citrus notes in the opening, only at the end the woods and junipers. Something completely different is happening to me. As a somehow still beginner, I find something like this totally exciting. Maybe somebody can explain the fig to me again, I can't really locate it - does it contribute to the bitter notes? In any case, I like the fragrance despite initial doubts, definitely something you don't smell at every corner.