Travel: 120 posts

A path leading up to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden’s Cherry Esplanade opens up on a fairy tale view of graceful alleys. With its soft greens and pinks, the wide expanse looks as if it could have been painted either by Monet or by a 19th century Japanese artist.  Under the cherry tree canopy, which is so thick with blossoms that you catch only glimpses of the sky, the light is caressing and delicate. Suddenly I feel that I need a floaty chiffon dress and a wreath of wild flowers in my hair to properly fit into this sylvan setting. Plenty of girls around me are doing just that and strike nymph-like poses to be captured on film. When the gusts of wind grow stronger, you have a sensation of being inside a snow globe, except instead of snowflakes, you feel the brush of pink petals against your cheeks.

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Kerala, the southernmost state in India, has many names. The locals call their land “God’s Own Country.” After crowded, dusty Mumbai, Kerala indeed seems like a paradise to me, a land of lacy, cantilevered Chinese fishing nets, misty lagoons and lakes, verdant rice paddies, tea and cardamom plantations, white temples and churches. Even Malayalam, the most widespread language in the region, sounds unusual to me—mellifluous and nasal, fast-paced and caressing. While I can grasp the rudiments of Hindi and Marathi, Malayalam is completely new to my ears. To be confronted with something so exotic and unusual after what I thought was a good introduction to India over the course of my numerous trips underscores the richness of discoveries this country holds. As my stay in Kerala unfolds, I find that not only are its sounds completely new to me, but also its scents, tastes, and sights. Just like everywhere in India, it is a kaleidoscope of sensory impressions.

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Paris and perfume… These words are synonymous for most perfume lovers, and shortly after creating Bois de Jasmin in 2005, one of my first long articles was devoted to perfume shopping in Paris. Part I and Part II offered a walking tour of the capital’s best fragrant treasures. Since then, I have been meaning to update these posts with a directory of Paris fragrant destinations, based on my visits and new discoveries. This directory will include various perfume shopping destinations as well as my other favorite addresses.

The directory is frequently updated, therefore please check back periodically to see new additions, changes and updates. L indicates Left Bank, and R—Right Bank. If you have your own favorite places in Paris, whether perfume, food, fashion or art related, please do not hesitate to share. Of course, if you visit any of these places and have your own experiences (and updates!), please comment!

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It started, like all overwhelming events, quite unexpectedly. First, the skies were tinged a pearly grey, then suddenly they whitened and broke into a rain of monsoon proportions. The staccato noise of drops hitting the roof, the surprising brightness of sunshine reflecting in the water, the steamy heft of air… Within seconds I knew that I might as well succumb–having discarded my useless umbrella and high-heeled shoes, I simply ran. When breathless and wet, I finally reached the apartment, the rain started to recede, turning mellow. The deep puddles were filled with green leaves and marigold petals, the street looked shiny and clean…

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The announcement came that my flight is going to be delayed by another hour. I actually love airports and have many pleasant memories associated with them, other than those times when I was either being interrogated by Italian custom officials or being taken for a drug smuggler by their American counterparts. Yet, I love the rush of the crowd, anticipation of a new journey, bittersweet pangs of parting, slight fear of take off, and impatience to arrive.

My maternal grandfather was the director of a factory that transformed fighter jets into passenger planes, and I grew up surrounded by airplane parts. The airplane is perhaps the first thing I recall from childhood. I remember floating dahlias from my grandmother’s garden in one of the containers made from a jet fuel cell. The silvery sides reflected intense sunshine, while the inner sides were coated with green slime from the constant contact with water. I would bend over the canister bringing my face closer to the sweet smelling water until my grandmother would warn me that I might fall in and drown. Somehow that did not scare me at all. Instead, I was fascinated by the silver well that tapered towards the bottom.

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