Going to Grasse

27 07 2009

Side trip from the beaches of the Cote D’Azur to Grasse today.  Why leave the poolside, I ask…until we arrived at the perfumerie.The inside was nearly scentless.  Odd for the site of such haute odor, as it were.

First we had a tour of the facility: flower gathering, petal crushing, essence distillation.  A veritable vegetal delight.  Too bad I’m a carnivore.  It seems they are leaving out a broad contingent of possible sales here.  Goat #5; Rooster Persuasion; Joy de Cat.  I’m sure there’s a market, no?

My Contessa sidled up to a tall counter, a woman in a white coat stood by with a small bottle in hand.  Tiny straws were dipped. one by one into a few dozen vessels, the Contessa taking a shallow whiff of each.

Roses, lavander, hyacinth and many too foreign for me to name.  I was still waiting for the Evening au Demi-Glace.  A little behind each floppy ear.  Eau de Veau would certainly be my favorite.Selection complete, the Contessa pulled several 100 euro notes from her purse and we returned to the car.  A brisk wind blew and tall pink flowers tipped their heads to the roadside.  Unable to resist, I sampled a blossom: nothing like the rare essence confined to the tiny bottles.  Vegetal and bitter.

Like wine, I suppose, anything of featured flora is better under the press.  It gives one pause when considering a new venture, though.

How does one press a cat?

Chow.

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La Reserv—ation

20 07 2009

Boat travel in any breeze greater that 5 knots should be prohibited—worldwide.  If the vessel lists, I insist: NO PASSAGE.

While I enjoy licking up most things that end up on the floor, keeping time with seasick people is not a highlight.  At least not after the first two or three victims.

It took me a full day to get my sea-legs, and that was AFTER I left the ship. Remember, I have four of them.  You know how one year to a human is like seven years to a dog? Well, one day of motion sickness to a dog is like seven days to a human.

“Feel” that.

The only upside to the trip was the ending: A private car to La Reserve, jewel on the Cote D’Azur.

A warm, salt-water pool, long lunches on the palatial veranda, speed boats (too fast to sway) along the Mediterranean shore.

Doggy spa treatments at La Petite Chien: sugar scrub on the belly, acu-pressure to points north of the tail, ear massage.AHHHHH.  The buffing of toe nails; the fluffing of chin hairs.  Pellegrino or Evian?  I ask you.

The ferry floor is but a dim memory.  On to the beach a la Francaise.

Chow.








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