Capital Adventures, Continued

Note: Was supposed to post this but forgot...

It's approaching 10pm, traffic streams across the Scott Key bridge over the Potomac.  I stand on my hotel room balcony as airliners flying the arrival route into Ronald Reagan airport howl past overhead, landing lights blazing in conical beams.

Back home, it's two hours earlier and had I been there I would have only recently returned from work to feed Their Majesties, the cats of the house.  As it is, I miss the Missus, thankful however for the time away from those pestilential felines.  Whatever you do, please don't tell them you read that.  Such heresy is usually punishable by scratches a-plenty.

Today after class, I took the DC Circulator and visited a store called Blue Mercury for a sampling of their fine perfumes.  From the sales chicks's expressions, I could tell it wasn't often they received a customer who looked quite like me but I forged ahead anyway when I saw the bounty of fragrance bottles arrayed in a sight for sore eyes.

The fragrances from the imperial house of Creed glinted their welcome while the coy bottles from L'Artisan Parfumeur winked and skittered away snickering.  But wait, where were those gorgeous beauties from Diptyque?  I overcame the butterflies of doubt and asked where I might find a bottle of the mighty sandalwood in Tam Dao.  The lady behind the counter seemed surprised I knew about TD and dug into the shelves underneath to reveal a small familiar white box.

Ah yes.  Warmth flooded over as I announced rather grandly that this bottle was going back to Boise with me, causing a wry smile on the lady's face.  Can I take a look around then?  Sure, take your time, look around.  Permission granted!  I put down my book bag and attacked the Creeds.

Names I'd learned from Basenotes stood emblazoned on those flacons: Erolfa, Silver Mountain Water, Green Irish Tweed, Himalaya, Original Vetiver, Original Santal, Millesime Imperial, Tabarome.  Yummy!  With a tingle of delight, I started spraying each one on strips, labeling them as I did.

Yes, you just read ‘tingle of delight,’ what of it?  Big men also feel tingles, my friends, and yes, even of delight.

Okay, right off the bat, Green Irish Tweed kicks butt with its heady twinges of violet and somber, dark greens.  Millesime Imperial's subdued brashness fills the senses like a the rays of a winter sun while the scrumptious Original Santal gives off a wonderful, sublime mellowness that I found surprising considering its fiery red bottle.  This is some quality stuff!

More!  What else you got, ladies?  Serge Lutens!  Wow.  Okay, any Fumerie Turque?  No?  Damn!  I was going to ask for Musks Kublai Khan when I realized those were in the non-export line and wouldn't be available.  Oh well, there's the sultry brown of Ambre Sultan to give me comfort, the grace of Cedre and the sickly sweetness of Arabie as well.  Datura Noir is quite good and Louve is divine although a bit more feminine than I like for myself.  Lys was a bit too flowery for me as well even though I still liked it enough.

At parfum strength, spraying these instantly filled the store with a silky headiness that could blow out one's nostrils so I decided to stop smelling them directly after spraying.  I started spraying the strips, labeling then putting them in the pages of a book I was holding.  I would take the time to go over for a leisurely smell session at the Barnes & Noble across the street.

Meanwhile the sales chicks were astounded at what they saw then started asking questions about my perfume habits.  Oh girls, you have no idea.  I probably own more bottles than you both do, combined.  Bathing in the heat of their surprise, I demanded an introduction to the L'Artisan line.

The problem (for me) with L'Artisan is that most of them have a house note of “steam” that underscores most of their fragrances with the exception of Dzing—and the surprise of my life, the majestic rose in Voleur de Rose.  This deep, complex scent jumped to the top of my list, and I vowed one day to own the beast.  It's a dark, almost ‘dirty’ gothic fragrance that one supposes a refined Count Dracula would wear, without the usual gory mess of blood sucking.

Safrant Troublant was exquisite and definitely purchase-worthy.  It was about this time that I realized I hated being poor, a feeling I shared vocally with the girls.  Oh yes, they knew what I meant all right.

(The world is such a small place.  I learned the lead sales chick went to high school in Boca Raton, Fla!  Was born there even.  She knew all the places I did.  Incredible.)

I wasn't too impressed with the two Acqua di Parma colognes I tested, the Colonia and Colonia Assoluta.  Way too fresh and soapy for my taste although I could sense the quality of the ingredients.  They just didn't have that ephemeral quality most modern citrus-based scents did (are your ears burning, Kenneth Cole Reaction?)

Note: I dozed off at this point … too tired to continue, I expect.

I ended up with two rather exquisite purchases: Tam Dao and Phylosikos.

My Impressions

DC is a great little place, it's a see of humanity in constant motion surrounded by profound history.  My visit to the White House was almost anti-climactic: here was this very ordinary house that is so conspicuous by its ordinariness in relation to other palatial residences (such as Buckingham Palace for example) that I immediately understood that metaphorically, this is the innate difference between the American system and others, especially Old World.

The fact the home of the President is ho-hum underscores the knowledge that no king resides here.  It's the home of a citizen like you and me.  It brought a tear to my eye.