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Franz Schubert, Trio op. 100-Andante con moto
I took a long time to make this comment. When I bought this fragrance in 2019, my expectations were very high because of the comments here (especially from @Konsalik-though thank you now!). Also because of the very combative naming...
It was probably also due to my very untrained nose at the time that I put the scent down under the category "nice and warm" when I first wore it. I wore it subsequently in monthly intervals. Whenever I was just fed up with the favourites in my collection. My surroundings perceived the fragrance differently. Commentary collection: "old-fashioned", "dusty", "for grandpas" but also "what is it?", "never smelled" and "I would like to be able to wear it", "super classic". I have to admit that Crowdpleasers don't really fit my character. I would love to wrap myself up in Gaultier Le Male, Chanel Egoist and the like. You smell really nice. From my life, character and age, "nice" just doesn't fit anymore. Neither for the people who know me well, nor for myself. With 45 you have already experienced a lot and you have also taken some scars from life with you. These scars are also the edges of my character. And my fragrances should underline this!
Over the last half, Yatagan has become a faithful companion. Not to every situation. Not to every mood. There is too much polarity in the fragrance due to age and ingredients. The polarity of the fragrance is for me now the silent power that rests in it. A silent power that connects and grounds me to my own life story. It simply creates a powerful centre. And I certainly do not want to rest in my middle all the time. But life, which a few years still experience as an adventure. But the old adventurers need more moments of center and congruence from their mid-40s on. In the moment and to their own history
Now how can this fragrance be described? As with all grandiose compositions, this is also extremely difficult for me with Yatagan. The individual components are so masterfully interwoven that no single component stands out strongly, but delivers an olfactory total work of art. It simply smells like Yatagan to me. Very great art. I'll try it anyway..
Preferably with an olfactory experience from my childhood. Friends of our family was a married couple. He was a Viennese ex-diplomat. Born 1910. She a few years younger. Childless. Again and again we were invited as a family in the early eighties to their villa in the 18th district of Vienna. The lady of the house was a world champion cook and hostess. My saliva still runs when I think of her crumble cake. She was also a very well-groomed lady. I remember she always smelled of perfume. I was 8 years old in 1983 and my brother was 6. My younger brother, my mother and the lady of the house were always busy in the garden with the Yorkshire Terrier. Because of my mother's overflowing love of animals, my father was a little saturated with pets. Ditto the master of the house regarding the Yorkshire Theatre. So both were equal in the living room and each took a seat on an armchair. And so was I, at eight years old. I was incredibly fascinated by the furnishings of this living room and the stories of the widely travelled diplomat. I sat silently in the corner and followed my father's intellectual conversation with this gentleman in the three-rowed heron. Of course I did not understand anything. But I didn't care. On the one hand, the diplomat's appearance was unprecedentedly confident. Even my worldly father could forget his immanent fluency in his stories. On the other hand, the diplomat was a passionate pipe smoker. And it was most fascinating for me to witness this celebration of the selection of tobacco, the selection of pipes, the plugging of the pipe and the pleasurable smoking. The whole living room was also decorated with ancient artifacts of his various destinations as a diplomat. One meter high African statues with erect penis, masks in all colors from South America to ward off the evil spirits, burial artifacts from ancient Egypt, coins from ancient Rome and a lot of Greek vases. Also the extensive library contributed its own to my fascination. The diplomat smoked from his pipe and told me about long gone times of his professional life. The smoke of the flavoured tobacco (sherry, whisky?) filled the living room with a pleasant, slightly sweetish smell and entered into a most wondrous olfactory combination with the patina of the artefacts. The living room bordered on the terrace. I remember that the terrace doors were open, and the lavender placed there, animated by the mild summer breeze, made a further contribution to this olfactory event. At some point, the lady of the house came by with the crumble cake freshly freed from the oven. In the wake of the Yorkshire Terrier. So the whole thing still got a slightly animalistic touch.
If I did not have this childhood experience, to this fragrance, I would be unable to describe it adequately.
I'll try a conclusion anyway:
Top note:
steamed vanilla on a barborshop bed
Heart note:
Coniferous wood becomes stronger
Base note:
Amber and musk in the gentle form accompany head and heart
Durability on cotton and linen plus 10 hours
Durability on the skin about 6 hours
Sillage is perceptible at 1.5 m for the first hour. Afterwards the scent projects on the skin. Only perceptible under 20 cm. But this is very, very pleasant because of the amber
When is this fragrance wearable? Always at temperatures below 25 degrees.
When does the fragrance work? Best with a shirt
Who can wear the scent? A man in his mid-thirties. Provided he is not a yes-man and is himself a distinctive personality.
You should have a certain amount of patience to experience this magnificently composed fragrance!
When would I not recommend this fragrance? Not for a rendezvous and not for the gym or a day at the lake in summer...
Person to the fragrance:
https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rudolf_Slatin
Song to the fragrance:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e52IMaE-3As
Drink to the fragrance:
Glenmorangie Nectar d'Or
It was probably also due to my very untrained nose at the time that I put the scent down under the category "nice and warm" when I first wore it. I wore it subsequently in monthly intervals. Whenever I was just fed up with the favourites in my collection. My surroundings perceived the fragrance differently. Commentary collection: "old-fashioned", "dusty", "for grandpas" but also "what is it?", "never smelled" and "I would like to be able to wear it", "super classic". I have to admit that Crowdpleasers don't really fit my character. I would love to wrap myself up in Gaultier Le Male, Chanel Egoist and the like. You smell really nice. From my life, character and age, "nice" just doesn't fit anymore. Neither for the people who know me well, nor for myself. With 45 you have already experienced a lot and you have also taken some scars from life with you. These scars are also the edges of my character. And my fragrances should underline this!
Over the last half, Yatagan has become a faithful companion. Not to every situation. Not to every mood. There is too much polarity in the fragrance due to age and ingredients. The polarity of the fragrance is for me now the silent power that rests in it. A silent power that connects and grounds me to my own life story. It simply creates a powerful centre. And I certainly do not want to rest in my middle all the time. But life, which a few years still experience as an adventure. But the old adventurers need more moments of center and congruence from their mid-40s on. In the moment and to their own history
Now how can this fragrance be described? As with all grandiose compositions, this is also extremely difficult for me with Yatagan. The individual components are so masterfully interwoven that no single component stands out strongly, but delivers an olfactory total work of art. It simply smells like Yatagan to me. Very great art. I'll try it anyway..
Preferably with an olfactory experience from my childhood. Friends of our family was a married couple. He was a Viennese ex-diplomat. Born 1910. She a few years younger. Childless. Again and again we were invited as a family in the early eighties to their villa in the 18th district of Vienna. The lady of the house was a world champion cook and hostess. My saliva still runs when I think of her crumble cake. She was also a very well-groomed lady. I remember she always smelled of perfume. I was 8 years old in 1983 and my brother was 6. My younger brother, my mother and the lady of the house were always busy in the garden with the Yorkshire Terrier. Because of my mother's overflowing love of animals, my father was a little saturated with pets. Ditto the master of the house regarding the Yorkshire Theatre. So both were equal in the living room and each took a seat on an armchair. And so was I, at eight years old. I was incredibly fascinated by the furnishings of this living room and the stories of the widely travelled diplomat. I sat silently in the corner and followed my father's intellectual conversation with this gentleman in the three-rowed heron. Of course I did not understand anything. But I didn't care. On the one hand, the diplomat's appearance was unprecedentedly confident. Even my worldly father could forget his immanent fluency in his stories. On the other hand, the diplomat was a passionate pipe smoker. And it was most fascinating for me to witness this celebration of the selection of tobacco, the selection of pipes, the plugging of the pipe and the pleasurable smoking. The whole living room was also decorated with ancient artifacts of his various destinations as a diplomat. One meter high African statues with erect penis, masks in all colors from South America to ward off the evil spirits, burial artifacts from ancient Egypt, coins from ancient Rome and a lot of Greek vases. Also the extensive library contributed its own to my fascination. The diplomat smoked from his pipe and told me about long gone times of his professional life. The smoke of the flavoured tobacco (sherry, whisky?) filled the living room with a pleasant, slightly sweetish smell and entered into a most wondrous olfactory combination with the patina of the artefacts. The living room bordered on the terrace. I remember that the terrace doors were open, and the lavender placed there, animated by the mild summer breeze, made a further contribution to this olfactory event. At some point, the lady of the house came by with the crumble cake freshly freed from the oven. In the wake of the Yorkshire Terrier. So the whole thing still got a slightly animalistic touch.
If I did not have this childhood experience, to this fragrance, I would be unable to describe it adequately.
I'll try a conclusion anyway:
Top note:
steamed vanilla on a barborshop bed
Heart note:
Coniferous wood becomes stronger
Base note:
Amber and musk in the gentle form accompany head and heart
Durability on cotton and linen plus 10 hours
Durability on the skin about 6 hours
Sillage is perceptible at 1.5 m for the first hour. Afterwards the scent projects on the skin. Only perceptible under 20 cm. But this is very, very pleasant because of the amber
When is this fragrance wearable? Always at temperatures below 25 degrees.
When does the fragrance work? Best with a shirt
Who can wear the scent? A man in his mid-thirties. Provided he is not a yes-man and is himself a distinctive personality.
You should have a certain amount of patience to experience this magnificently composed fragrance!
When would I not recommend this fragrance? Not for a rendezvous and not for the gym or a day at the lake in summer...
Person to the fragrance:
https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rudolf_Slatin
Song to the fragrance:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e52IMaE-3As
Drink to the fragrance:
Glenmorangie Nectar d'Or
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Rouge on your skin
As a rule, the bottle of a perfume is not really noteworthy to me. What good is the packaging if the contents do not fit? At Narciso Rouge, the bottle is something special. Not only that the handling fits and the design is very casual. For me, the bottle expresses what it's all about through design and color. It reflects the fragrance and the possible wearer. More about this later...
The fragrance begins with a rose and iris. Although for me, the iris has the upper hand. Nice powder. Not brutal in appearance, but very perceptible.
After about 20 minutes Madame Moschus enters the stage and Iris and Rose make way for this diva. Without leaving her completely. Here I would perhaps like to note that the scent on the test strip hardly reflects anything of his sensual potency. Narciso Rouge apparently needs skin. And, like a diva, Madame Musk has something to look forward to. It's very worth the wait.
She then asks Madame Tonkaohne to come on stage. A very good team. It's like a duet between Dalida and Mireille Mathieu.
Cedar, vetiver and vanilla are added as background singers.
The concert will last about 6 hours. And this concert will not be boring for me. But also not really loud. There is always a play with sensuality and animal eroticism at this concert. But without slipping into the lowlands of porn and plastic and HD.
So and now we are back to the bottle and the possible carrier.
When I look at the bottle like this, I notice a very clear design language on the one hand. Almost something austere. This austerity and clarity is balanced by the irregularities of the fragrance reservoir. And through the most erotic lipstick red, the basic theme of the fragrance is visually transported.
I find this fragrance very suitable for a woman who is able to use her charms subtly. Older than 35 and stylish in clothing and communication. Flirtatious and funny. Open and curious about the beauties of the world. Enjoyable and emotional. A little diva. And with that lipstick red.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sCbzWiJLVhk
The fragrance begins with a rose and iris. Although for me, the iris has the upper hand. Nice powder. Not brutal in appearance, but very perceptible.
After about 20 minutes Madame Moschus enters the stage and Iris and Rose make way for this diva. Without leaving her completely. Here I would perhaps like to note that the scent on the test strip hardly reflects anything of his sensual potency. Narciso Rouge apparently needs skin. And, like a diva, Madame Musk has something to look forward to. It's very worth the wait.
She then asks Madame Tonkaohne to come on stage. A very good team. It's like a duet between Dalida and Mireille Mathieu.
Cedar, vetiver and vanilla are added as background singers.
The concert will last about 6 hours. And this concert will not be boring for me. But also not really loud. There is always a play with sensuality and animal eroticism at this concert. But without slipping into the lowlands of porn and plastic and HD.
So and now we are back to the bottle and the possible carrier.
When I look at the bottle like this, I notice a very clear design language on the one hand. Almost something austere. This austerity and clarity is balanced by the irregularities of the fragrance reservoir. And through the most erotic lipstick red, the basic theme of the fragrance is visually transported.
I find this fragrance very suitable for a woman who is able to use her charms subtly. Older than 35 and stylish in clothing and communication. Flirtatious and funny. Open and curious about the beauties of the world. Enjoyable and emotional. A little diva. And with that lipstick red.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sCbzWiJLVhk
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DER Bückdich fragrance
When you shop like this in perfumeries or drugstore chains, it always pays to bend down. At the bottom are the good guys. Above the current one. This is what the companies pay for. At head height is the best marketing place. Only if something sells well over the decades... Then it comes near the ground. But you don't take it off the market. Because so many find these scents cool and overwhelming
Kouros is downstairs. Paloma Picasso is downstairs. Lou Lou's downstairs. And a lot of them. Bend over! Br />
Above all, bend over for Tabac!
No kneel down! Raise your hands and pray!
A world-class fragrance! In everything!
He is so world class that it is difficult to describe him. What does he smell like? Well, like tabac, like Kouros just smells like Kouros. This is the top tier. If components cannot be described because the composition itself defines an odour!
Still, I'll try:
Powdery, soapy. Freshly washed. Animalistic.
Should anyone here think about what I know of a fragrance and does not have Tabac in the collection. I can't really take men like that seriously. The best everyday fragrance ever! Compliments also when leaving. Durability top! Sillage just right! Price performance for me only beaten by Midnight Oud.
Kouros is downstairs. Paloma Picasso is downstairs. Lou Lou's downstairs. And a lot of them. Bend over! Br />
Above all, bend over for Tabac!
No kneel down! Raise your hands and pray!
A world-class fragrance! In everything!
He is so world class that it is difficult to describe him. What does he smell like? Well, like tabac, like Kouros just smells like Kouros. This is the top tier. If components cannot be described because the composition itself defines an odour!
Still, I'll try:
Powdery, soapy. Freshly washed. Animalistic.
Should anyone here think about what I know of a fragrance and does not have Tabac in the collection. I can't really take men like that seriously. The best everyday fragrance ever! Compliments also when leaving. Durability top! Sillage just right! Price performance for me only beaten by Midnight Oud.
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Heavy Metal to Salvador Dali
Now I have smelled a few fragrances in the last decades. But I have a hard time with this one
The company Wiener Blut has been around for a few years now and received praise after praise after praise from the Viennese lifestyle press. Wiener Blut is placed in a high-priced segment and can only be purchased in a few places in Vienna. The concept is roughly: to make the world of Viennese fragrances around 1900 tangible. Balls, monarchy, kuk, sissy and consorts. A good concept, actually. For me as a fan of time travel fragrances, of course, very appealing. It would even be ingenious if old creations were to be reissued. Border genius!
Unfortunately, I do not have a reference to it. No reference is made to these formulations. So it may or may not be. Today's perfumers are booked. The result should refer to Vienna around 1900.
As written, I miss the reference to the fragrances of that time. In my collection there are a few older creations. Caron pour Homme M, Alt Innsbruck, Floid and of course "the fragrance to enslave them all" Knize 10, all extreme fragrances. But all of them very dressing for the right man and should not be missing in any collection.
Now for the ex voto...
According to the price, the bottle comes in great packaging. And the bottle is very, very casual. Hand-blown glass supposedly. Great shape. Handy. Great.
Only the writing on the glued label blurs on contact with liquid...For me a shortcoming.
The fragrance opens with an extreme top note. Here it is indeed advisable to act economically. For yourself and the dear people around you. Super, super resinous. Then rubber comes to resin. Later wood. Yeah, sandalwood. I'm having a hard time, guys. I don't know anything about mastic resin or similar scents. I just stay in my emotional world. Fragrances are always very emotional.
Ex Voto is for me an Arschtreter smell...I don't get anything mystical and also no Siegmund Freud and certainly no Sissy...smoke, resin, wood, rubber
For me, the scent does not fit at all into the marketing of Wiener Blut. From another company with the appropriate marketing channel, this fragrance would be ultra macho. The scent that man puts on when man just wants to smoke.
Lot of drugs, alcohol, cigarettes and a violent concert. Death metal, grindcore, industrial. Like that. The location is full. The urinal is clogged. Edding out while pissing and write "Fuck you" on the wall of the house.
But:
He's getting quiet. Ex Voto is taming up. And then he is the super companion for an opening. Then the would-be art-obsessed lawyers ask "What is that? So interesting! Never smelled!"
Very nice. Associations are then made with a workshop that restores old furniture and antiques.
The bottom line:
A somewhat difficult smell. The man himself must grow. From heavy metal to vernissage. From brood species to
Dali.
I think he's terrific to me. He gets exactly the place in my collection next to Knize Ten and Alt Innsbruck.
And children: no compliments from womenfolk or influencers. Lovin it!
The company Wiener Blut has been around for a few years now and received praise after praise after praise from the Viennese lifestyle press. Wiener Blut is placed in a high-priced segment and can only be purchased in a few places in Vienna. The concept is roughly: to make the world of Viennese fragrances around 1900 tangible. Balls, monarchy, kuk, sissy and consorts. A good concept, actually. For me as a fan of time travel fragrances, of course, very appealing. It would even be ingenious if old creations were to be reissued. Border genius!
Unfortunately, I do not have a reference to it. No reference is made to these formulations. So it may or may not be. Today's perfumers are booked. The result should refer to Vienna around 1900.
As written, I miss the reference to the fragrances of that time. In my collection there are a few older creations. Caron pour Homme M, Alt Innsbruck, Floid and of course "the fragrance to enslave them all" Knize 10, all extreme fragrances. But all of them very dressing for the right man and should not be missing in any collection.
Now for the ex voto...
According to the price, the bottle comes in great packaging. And the bottle is very, very casual. Hand-blown glass supposedly. Great shape. Handy. Great.
Only the writing on the glued label blurs on contact with liquid...For me a shortcoming.
The fragrance opens with an extreme top note. Here it is indeed advisable to act economically. For yourself and the dear people around you. Super, super resinous. Then rubber comes to resin. Later wood. Yeah, sandalwood. I'm having a hard time, guys. I don't know anything about mastic resin or similar scents. I just stay in my emotional world. Fragrances are always very emotional.
Ex Voto is for me an Arschtreter smell...I don't get anything mystical and also no Siegmund Freud and certainly no Sissy...smoke, resin, wood, rubber
For me, the scent does not fit at all into the marketing of Wiener Blut. From another company with the appropriate marketing channel, this fragrance would be ultra macho. The scent that man puts on when man just wants to smoke.
Lot of drugs, alcohol, cigarettes and a violent concert. Death metal, grindcore, industrial. Like that. The location is full. The urinal is clogged. Edding out while pissing and write "Fuck you" on the wall of the house.
But:
He's getting quiet. Ex Voto is taming up. And then he is the super companion for an opening. Then the would-be art-obsessed lawyers ask "What is that? So interesting! Never smelled!"
Very nice. Associations are then made with a workshop that restores old furniture and antiques.
The bottom line:
A somewhat difficult smell. The man himself must grow. From heavy metal to vernissage. From brood species to
Dali.
I think he's terrific to me. He gets exactly the place in my collection next to Knize Ten and Alt Innsbruck.
And children: no compliments from womenfolk or influencers. Lovin it!
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Friday noon in Beaumont
It is Friday. A Friday in mid-June. And like every Friday, Martin comes to the market place of Beaumont at 10:00 am. Because Friday is market day in Beaumont. And Martin combines his purchases of the regional products of the Perigord with some hours of writing some pastis and studying the many people who visit the market. Most people know Martin and most people know Martin. Over the years that he has brought it to a certain popularity. Although Martin is British. In Beaumont, however, this hardly bothers anyone anymore. It was the influx of British people that invigorated the city. And Martin's popularity is based above all on the fact that Martin pays homage to his love of Perigord and Beaumont through detective novels and cookbooks. Although he's British.
This popularity has its drawbacks. Meanwhile he is discovered again and again by tourists and asked for a selfie and or autograph. That's why Martin is always looking for a place on one of the open tables in the cafés, which is a little bit out of the way. And he never takes off his old Ray Ban and his Panama hat either.
Actually Martin moved here years ago to find a place of peace and quiet. Martin had grown tired of constant air travel and appointments as a top journalist. The hectic pace of big cities like New York, London, Tokyo and similar metropolises gave him a headache. Here in the Perigord Martin came to rest and enjoy. To enjoy the excellent cuisine of the Perigord, to enjoy time.
Martin has taken a seat and placed his well-behaved Caran d'Ache fountain pen with its writing pad ritualistically in the middle of his little table. Martin appraises the market place. The hustle and bustle is just beginning. Not all stands are filled yet. On the one hand it is still being unloaded and on the other hand the first purchases are already being made. The peak of the operation is still in the distant future. In the evening, there is always a lot going on and then it turns seamlessly into a convivial party. Until then Martin has enough time. Time to see who is already here from the protagonists.
Of course, the local gigolo who wants to stay forever prances around one or the other of the well-to-do Brits. Well-off and between 50 and 60 is his territory. No one actually knows his real name. He's Italian, way too loud, and everyone just calls him "Gio." Martin fervently hopes that he can bite into a victim. This italo babble pulls the last nerve out of Martin. Similarly superficial, only more exhausting is the way Martin's eyes see Mr. Creed entering the marketplace. Martin pulls the Panama lower. Much deeper... Mr. Creed is over 60, but he thinks he's 35. Mr. Creed was very successful with his consulting firm. And this must be displayed constantly. An old man with no depth and too much money. A master of brutal and senseless small talk. Martin slides deeper on his chair. Much lower.
Martin almost slips from his chair when the nice waitress of the café, Viviane Belle her name, wants to take the order. Viviane is also not a light, only Viviane is wonderfully fresh. Martin is always happy about the a little too bright make-up and her two really well placed mandarins... Martin is also already in the Ausgedinge, but not completely averse to the beauties of life.
"A Pastis, as always!"
In the meantime it has become pleasantly warm. So warm that one can guess the coming heat of the afternoon. At one of the next stands, bouquets of lavender are unloaded from a delivery van. Freshly harvested. Lavender like only here. So powerful and so fresh. A light gust of wind carries the smell, better a dense cloud of smell to Martin. Martin forgets his camouflage mode, straightens up in his chair and pushes the Panama hat backwards. This lavender smell only exists here. Here in June. Martin closes his eyes and breathes in as deeply as possible. Lavender, the warmth of summer. The power of the historic site. How many people have made Martin equal over the centuries? In June. In Beaumont. At the marketplace.
How many people have stood up and felt like Martin royal with this royal scent?
Martin takes his Pastis glass with closed eyes and leads it to his nose. Another deep breath. The lavender mixes with the aniseed. With the soap of pastis. With the warmth of summer. Martin actually feels like a king. King over the moment of pleasure. It's because of those moments Martin is in Périgord. Is Martin in Beaumont.
The gust of wind has passed. Martin opens his eyes after a small sip. The lavender, however, remains powerfully with him. Has found his place in his linen suit. Martin's ready. Martin puts his hat aside, opens his notepad, picks up the pen. Martin starts to write his new novel.
"It's Friday. A Friday in mid-June..."
This popularity has its drawbacks. Meanwhile he is discovered again and again by tourists and asked for a selfie and or autograph. That's why Martin is always looking for a place on one of the open tables in the cafés, which is a little bit out of the way. And he never takes off his old Ray Ban and his Panama hat either.
Actually Martin moved here years ago to find a place of peace and quiet. Martin had grown tired of constant air travel and appointments as a top journalist. The hectic pace of big cities like New York, London, Tokyo and similar metropolises gave him a headache. Here in the Perigord Martin came to rest and enjoy. To enjoy the excellent cuisine of the Perigord, to enjoy time.
Martin has taken a seat and placed his well-behaved Caran d'Ache fountain pen with its writing pad ritualistically in the middle of his little table. Martin appraises the market place. The hustle and bustle is just beginning. Not all stands are filled yet. On the one hand it is still being unloaded and on the other hand the first purchases are already being made. The peak of the operation is still in the distant future. In the evening, there is always a lot going on and then it turns seamlessly into a convivial party. Until then Martin has enough time. Time to see who is already here from the protagonists.
Of course, the local gigolo who wants to stay forever prances around one or the other of the well-to-do Brits. Well-off and between 50 and 60 is his territory. No one actually knows his real name. He's Italian, way too loud, and everyone just calls him "Gio." Martin fervently hopes that he can bite into a victim. This italo babble pulls the last nerve out of Martin. Similarly superficial, only more exhausting is the way Martin's eyes see Mr. Creed entering the marketplace. Martin pulls the Panama lower. Much deeper... Mr. Creed is over 60, but he thinks he's 35. Mr. Creed was very successful with his consulting firm. And this must be displayed constantly. An old man with no depth and too much money. A master of brutal and senseless small talk. Martin slides deeper on his chair. Much lower.
Martin almost slips from his chair when the nice waitress of the café, Viviane Belle her name, wants to take the order. Viviane is also not a light, only Viviane is wonderfully fresh. Martin is always happy about the a little too bright make-up and her two really well placed mandarins... Martin is also already in the Ausgedinge, but not completely averse to the beauties of life.
"A Pastis, as always!"
In the meantime it has become pleasantly warm. So warm that one can guess the coming heat of the afternoon. At one of the next stands, bouquets of lavender are unloaded from a delivery van. Freshly harvested. Lavender like only here. So powerful and so fresh. A light gust of wind carries the smell, better a dense cloud of smell to Martin. Martin forgets his camouflage mode, straightens up in his chair and pushes the Panama hat backwards. This lavender smell only exists here. Here in June. Martin closes his eyes and breathes in as deeply as possible. Lavender, the warmth of summer. The power of the historic site. How many people have made Martin equal over the centuries? In June. In Beaumont. At the marketplace.
How many people have stood up and felt like Martin royal with this royal scent?
Martin takes his Pastis glass with closed eyes and leads it to his nose. Another deep breath. The lavender mixes with the aniseed. With the soap of pastis. With the warmth of summer. Martin actually feels like a king. King over the moment of pleasure. It's because of those moments Martin is in Périgord. Is Martin in Beaumont.
The gust of wind has passed. Martin opens his eyes after a small sip. The lavender, however, remains powerfully with him. Has found his place in his linen suit. Martin's ready. Martin puts his hat aside, opens his notepad, picks up the pen. Martin starts to write his new novel.
"It's Friday. A Friday in mid-June..."
7 Comments
