Ile St Louis

When I was told that I am taken to Grasse Institute of Perfumery, I was thrilled because I had two of my dreams coming true at the same time: becoming a perfumer and living on the Cote D'Azur. On the same time, this meant also being far away my boyfriend and leaving behind the privilege to have an apartment at Ile St Louis.

If you ask any Parisian where they want to live, they would say without any hesitation that the most idealistic location would be the heart of the French Capital, one of the two little islands along the Seine, Ile St Louis. Isolated from the city and only accessible via one of the 5 bridges, it is a village on its own. It has all sort of commerces for everyday needs, it has a pharmacy, two boulangerie, a florists, two butcher, a mini supermarket, many cafés and restaurants, bars, bookstores, antique dealers and art galleries. All these present on the island less than one km square.

I was one of the villageois and it was difficult to leave such an ideal place. I remember seeing the Island at the first time: I was around 15 years old and was visiting Paris with my Mother in the frame of an organised trip. I remember smelling the fresh woody-green breeze mixing with the mineral accords of the Seine while traversing the bridge called Pont Marie. Serene elegance was shooting, as if the island was really floating.

The tourist guide explained us that real estate prices are higher on the Ile St Louis than in Manhattan, stars worldwide are queuing to have the chance to buy any apartment. The owners - mostly rich aristocrats from noble French families - refuse to sell their properties despite the fact that they are not living in them anymore. I remember watching a young lady in her Chanel costume crossing the bridge probably going to work and felt envy. Not the one from Gucci. The one that makes you want to exchange your life for someone else's.

Around 12 years later, I became that young lady bursting out of our building heading to work while being photographed by a few Japanese tourist who probably heard the same speech from their tourist guide and believed that I can only be the offspring of royal French family or some Hollywood stars. Ironically, on that day, I was also wearing Chanel, though it was not a costume, it was No 5.

Before I bumped into our future ex-home, I was already over some serious nervous breakdowns due to my experiences in searching for an apartment in Paris. Though my subconscious have deleted the horrible memories in order to conserve my mental health, I remember my shock when an agent wanted to convince me to rent a flat next to Louvre, which had a huge bathroom and a tiny-filthy bedroom, and I can also recall visiting a loft just above the main street of the prostitute quartier.

When I entered the apartment at Ile St Louis, to my biggest surprise, it was clean, it was new and it smelled like freshly cut tomato leaves. I was charmed. As my boyfriend and I were just out of school and had no money, this apartment was a huge luxury we allowed ourselves, but both of us being far from our home country, we have decided to make rather scarifies on anything else but not on the place we would live at.

I soon fell in love with every square meter of the island. And I felt the island welcomed me with opened arms too: I would consider the old fromager as my grandfather, even though he would look at me strictly if I arrived to his shop only a few minutes before closing. I wouldn't miss waving to the cute butcher every morning, even though I usually was seriously late from work. Every rain-less Saturday morning, we would sit on one of the black iron benches facing the Seine and eat baguette just out of the oven, with creamy goat cheese and fresh ruccola salad as breakfast.
It was in the tiny park on the top of the island were I would cry after an eventual fight with my boyfriend, and it was at the nationwide famous Berthillon ice cream shop where I would take an extra scoop of groseille when we came around again.
It was at the bar at the Rue de Deux Pont where I would have my anniversary usually celebrated and it was at the Pont Sully facing the back of the Notre Dame where my boyfriend would take me for some romantic walk and often stop for red berry - mint flavored kisses.

It was in the church St Louis where I prayed when my brother was in the hospital and I couldn't be with him, and it was also there where asked to have enough courage to leave my secure job and become a perfumer.

The last night I spent on the island, just before travelling to Grasse, I went to the most beautiful spot in Paris, to Pont St Louis.
I wanted to hear the last time the accordionist who played chansons françaises every single night between Ile St Louis and Ile de la Cité. He was playing in the coldest winter evenings and the hottest summer nights, or if it was raining cats and dog. Finding him in every weather conditions on the bridge during my first year livin on the island, I knew that he is the most reliable men I will ever have in my life.

On my last way home via that bridge, I have decided to thank him for his music, for making me feel I was really an offspring of a French royal family while listening to his bitter sweet songs. Or just thank him for being there when I needed to dream. I wanted to say good-bye and tell him he will probably never see me anymore.
It was eleven o'clock, I could bite the smell of winter in the air, and it was just the two of us on the bridge. I put into his hat on the floor a few euros bill instead of the coin I usually offered him. Though he was following my movements with his eyes, he heard me saying good-bye, he didn't stop playing, he continued and just smiled at me.
I was walking home hearing the melody fading away and was feeling already terribly nostalgic to Ile St Louis.

Next day, in the morning, I was already on my way to Grasse on the Route de Soleil. Even though the name of the road means the "Sunny Highway" in french, it didn't stop raining during the 12 hour car trip. Thought the next morning I woke up in this new village of mine, checked out the stunning view of my terrasse, already smelled jasmin in my nose in spite of winter time, and I knew that if I thought leaving Paris was difficult, it will be nothing compared to eventually leaving Grasse.

Inspiration

It was after a concert of Lisa Ekhdal in Nice that I experienced it the first time.

I was driving home around midnight, enjoyed the radio, tried not to fall asleep. Suddenly, there was an issue with the radio, as if some other radio wave would disturb the reception. After a few minutes of disturbed transmission, I have decided to switched it off, and to refresh myself I opened a bit the window.

I sniffed from the fresh humid green air and that sniff has changed my life.

There was no more time, I was not in the road, I was not even too much conscious of driving, and I only sensed this scent. This certainly divine creation, which was so familiar for me.

In a fraction of a second, I was in my home country in the provinces, where I had spent most of my summer holidays of my childhood, in a small village off any existing map.

I was back to being 5 years old, holding my mum's hand, walking towards the castle, touching the rusty, dark green wrought iron fences on our way, caressing animals on my grandmother's court, hiding behind my mum's skirt from curious locals who I didn't know.

I was walking on the white pillared bridge towards the sad willow on the other side of the streamlet, and I smelled that beautiful spring breeze mixing the willow with all my childhood memories from this village.

I was drunk from inspiration. I was stunned, dazzled. I tried to make all this scent mine for the last drop. I wanted to describe it so that I will remember it when it is gone - because I knew it will be gone soon. I desperately searched for raw materials that could add to this effect, but I could only notice Love, Harmony and Peace.

I was not about to drive through any miracle like this, so I stopped the car in the middle of the road, stepped out of it, caring about no horn or insult, I needed to have more of it so that maybe I learn more about its structure.

I sniffed around outside the car, and I realised it was not coming from outside.

The smell was inside my nose. It was inside me. That beautiful divine scent was coming from somewhere deep inside of me.

The miracle only lasted for a minute at most, but it was enough to turn me into an obsessed one, who is searching for that sensation for the rest of her life.
Since than, I am praying every day to God, or anybody "in charge", to show me the smell of Love, Harmony and Peace again.

Are you kidding me?

I happened to get to know that my position in the company has stricty nothing to do with my capacities as a perfumer, since I was hired more or less to be the girlfriend of the boss's son.

I first hoped that this rumeur is just a final attempt from a recently fired family member to throw more dirt on her ex employer, but it actually does makes sense!!!

From the first day on, I felt as if the directrice had said just a bit too many times that his son has prepared the laboratory for me. I also never experienced my boss being ever sooooo nice to me, but the only time when I was supposed to join the group of employees going to see the Nice - Grasse football match with his son.
It finally makes sense that during the first few weeks, I had the impression that nobody dared to talk to me, I got to know the reason for that is everybody being aware that I am "already preserved".
I one time even overheard when one of the commercial said to a guy I worked together for that day that he should pay attention "not to step on the boss' exclusive territory".
I naivly thought that already there is a fight over who is working with me the most, taken into consideration my prescious talent and special sensitivity to scents. Aham, exactly!

During many days, as a first reaction, I felt that it is an absolute injustice, that this company is rotten from inside, the directors are sick, and that I would never "prostitute" myself for my position.

Now, that I had time to digest, I feel rather silly giving so much effort. I realized how much importance I gave to my performance, how much I wanted to prove myself, how much strategies I considered in order to have the opportunity to evolve at Perfumes and Passion ltd.

I remember all the stress when I was late with 20 minutes from work just a few weeks before, I almost cried! I tried to inform every manager while washing my teeth during driving, telling them how sorry I am.
I only managed to talk with half of them, cause the rest of them were late too, but I wanted them to know that I am responsible and that they should know that in 20 minutes they can count on me.

Or I remember that I was seriously sick for 2 weeks before I ended up obliging myself to see a doctor, and I felt terribly guilty staying home for few days until I eventually was able to smell aldehydes and liffarome...

After taking my work and my duties so seriously, I have to face the reality, that my position in the company would never depend on my performance. The only successful strategy is dating the heir apparent to the throne.

Time to send some CVs around.