Bosque Humięcki & Graef 2010

First of all, I would like to sincerely thank Ergoproxy once again for providing this sample. It was a bull's-eye.

When you browse the Humiecki & Graef website for Bosque, you are shown images of two people. Neither particularly beautiful, but neither are they in any way ugly. And both are, apart from the most charming spots (here white bed linen is prominently displayed), completely naked, just as God (here in the form of the photographer) created them.

But Bosque does not smell like beautiful, fresh, flower-pure bed linen. In this lovely blend, there is a little more hidden:
You have spent the whole day at the beach. Of course, you have diligently applied sunscreen. At some point, however, in the late afternoon, it gets too hot in the sun, so you retreat with your lounge chair under the sunshade, skeptically checking your still barely existent tan and looking a bit longingly out at the sea. You hear the waves crashing, you smell the subtle salty note in the breeze that the sea carries with it. Finally, you sit up on your lounge chair, burying your toes a little in the fine sand. A few pages of the book you brought along are still read, but rather half-heartedly. Soon enough, it’s enough, and you head back to the room. Undouched, a little sandy, sweaty, and flattened from sweet idleness, you throw yourself onto the bed, channel surf a bit, and finally doze off, just for half an hour. Maybe a whole one.

Eventually, you give in to the necessity of showering, using After Sun, heading to the buffet, and finally diving into the nightlife.

Suddenly, the next morning, very fine and fleeting, as elusive as the kitten at the bowl of cream, you suddenly find the scent of Bosque. Only when the sun manages to tickle you awake, when the anticipation of freshly squeezed orange juice, sweet pineapple, and juicy watermelon for breakfast lures you out of bed much earlier than usual, does it reveal itself. Then the scent of still fresh, white, starched bed linen, the sea air, the remnants of sunscreen and sweat that you brought with you from dozing the day before, and the fleeting traces of last night’s perfume unite into this sweet, soft, creamy mélange that has been captured in this fragrance.

It is exceptionally beautiful, but exciting? Erotic? No. Unless, of course, you suddenly discover a not yet familiar face in the tangle of sheets next to you. Oh yes... last night at the beach bar, the blond surfer boy/the yoga instructor with long black hair had suddenly asked what kind of outrageously beautiful scent you were wearing. Oh, breakfast can wait a moment longer...

*Erasmus of Rotterdam