The Sea, The Sea

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I started Early—Took my Dog—
And visited the Sea—
The Mermaids in the Basement
Came out to look at me—

And Frigates—in the Upper Floor
Extended Hempen Hands—
Presuming Me to be a Mouse—
Aground—upon the Sands—

But no Man moved Me—till the Tide
Went past my simple Shoe—
And past my Apron—and my Belt
And past my Bodice—too—

And made as He would eat me up—
As wholly as a Dew
Upon a Dandelion´s Sleeve—
And then—I started—too—

And He—He followed—close behind—
I felt His Silver Heel
Upon my Ankle—Then my Shoes
Would overflow with Pearl—

Until We met the Solid Town—
No One He seemed to know—
And bowing—with a Mighty look—
At me—The Sea withdrew—

You have to love Emily Dickinson. She manages to weave into a literal tale of a visit to the sea the following: substance and lack of substance – with curious reversals; conscious and unconscious; the masculine predator; domesticity and wild abandonment. And death, no doubt. There’s always death. Death the great seducer.

Like Em herself, I’m drawn to the sea. I grew up listening to waves and have to top up my desire for salty tangs and the cries of gulls once a month if I can. I’m lucky – I live an hour or so away from beautiful coastline, and a little further from the pine clad dunes which stood in for the just glimpsed  Illyria at the very end of ‘Shakespeare in Love’. Remember Gwyny Paltrow emerging from the waves?

I used to go for activity, rather than to be. Bracing walks that had no viable end as there’d always be a circling back to the car, games, swimming, laughter, the occasional serious talk, chasing the waves and being chased, more successfully, back. Skimming stones and failing to beat that childhood record that becomes more illusory with the march of time.

Now, and only sometimes, I want my visits to be more contemplative.

Where once I used to puzzle at ‘the old’ who drove to the beach, found a good parking spot with views, and then sat in cars eating  limp sandwiches, pouring tea from an old Thermos, tipping the dregs just outside the door. They’d sit and stare and I thought them to be the old fools of Philip Larkin’s eponymous poem– a brutally tragic depiction of ageing. They wouldn’t talk. Just look. Were they still thinking they were at home, sitting in their comfy chairs, inattentive and lost within? Were they even aware of the electric atmosphere of the coast, the clash and clang of Nature’s neverending rhythms shaping and buffeting our world? Dear lord, were they even aware they were still alive?

What horrendous youthful arrogance. Now, perhaps, I begin to understand. Now I think, what better way to spend your time than staring at the infinite we all must face. The horizon that so often, at least in Britain, is not sure where it is. A lifetime of noise will leave me with a desire for silence I think, at least sometimes. Or the unceasing white noise of the ocean, that cuts out the incessant jabber of our lives. I’m already half-way to a hermit. Without words, without deliberate thought, at a place that seems to have no end, the ineffable beauty of our lives and loves can be thrown into relief, and their wonder highlighted once more by the fact, that one day, they’ll be gone. And the sea’s the place to do that, to feel once more “The million petalled flower/Of being here”, as Larkin calls it.

******

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We’ve found a place in Scotland for Matt’s birthday, and it couldn’t be more perfect. A tiny farmtrack leads -eventually, after tortuous twists, turns and bumps – to a Hansel and Gretel cottage, in an ancient wood, perched on a cliff, staring out across the sea in one direction, and to the ruins of a castle in the other. Inside, it’s beautiful enough to grace any Architectural Digest. We’ll have each other, the hills, and total peace except for the soothing murmur and restless roar of the sea. I can’t think of a better place.

Because this is a perfume blog – and dear me I should try harder! – it’s time to move away from the sorrowful joy / joyful sorrow of life, and onto smell. Try to spot the segueway. It’s oh so seamless.

I have three perfumes that try to capture some aspect of the smell of the sea:

Sel de Vetiver by The Different Company-  salt, grapefruit, citric vetiver and a crumbling of cardamom, this isn’t the sea to me, but feels great when your near the ocean in hot weather. Some days – the best days – it does smell like skin after seaswimming.

Fleurs de Sel by Miller Harris – more salt, clary sage and therpaeutic herbs, my decant of this grows on me more and more. It’s less Scottish beach than austerely chic north Californian spa, perhaps one of those perched just off the Pacific Highway between Carmel and Big Sur, or onto Lucia.

Eau des Merveilles by Hermes – on a wrong day, hairspray meets salt meets synthowood. On a good day, you’ve found whale vomit next to some driftwood and your coiffure stayed in place in spite of the breeze. It’s a long way from rustic.

Tell me your thoughts of the sea, and favourite sea scent. Oh, go on. You know you want to.

  • BBJ says:

    For me, Eau d’Italie is the smell of the California hills above the Pacific…not a marine smell, but I associate it with the water because you can see it everywhere around you in the Marin hills.

    I WISH I could smell what Eau des Merveilles is supposed to smell like. As I’ve said before on this site, to me/on me it just smells like pure bug spray. Horrible.

  • Kait says:

    I grew up in Alaska surrounded by(or trapped) water. It rained 340 days of the year. We were lucky to get a summer up in the low 70’s. I knew nothing of being warm, television had shows like Fantasy Island or the Love Boat to inform me about exotic lands. So, when you bring up the ocean I imagine my young Alaskan ideal. Every day in the slushy winter as we froze on the school bus the radio would play a French tanning product commericial. I never caught the irony of my cold condition as I thought I’d never escape Alaska Ah how trance- like was the lulling voice singing, ” Ban de Soleil for a Saint-Tropez tan.”
    A couple years ago a friend gave me a salt scrub of Avon -Planet Spa South Pacific. It had just been discontinued but I found myself on e- bay frantically buying it up in every form. The scent reminded me of a clean polished whiteness of a shell and what the salt clinging to the tan skin on Bo Derrick in “10” must have been. I came out of that shower feeling 10 lighter, 5 inches taller and crowned “bronze goddess”. I felt especially sexy after the seaweed gel and lotion featured in the line. Scents can be idealized versions of where we would like to be or see ourselves. I can hardly believe that humble Avon took me there. It is probably the vacation I can afford right now. I’ll write again if she gives me a bottle of Annick Goutal’s Songes.

    • carter says:

      Loved this post, Kait — thank you! I thought that Bain de Soleil was the most sophisticated, most glamorous stuff in all the world. I immediately ran out and bought the “gelee” which was orange, on top of everything else, and whenever I’d smear it on my scrawny white 16-year-old body I was Brigitte Bardot on the French Riviera.

  • Flora says:

    I will second the Sel de Vetiver, and add DSH Perfumes Beach Roses since I am from New England. On the other end of the spectrum, I have a soft spot for “beachy” scents like EL Bronze Goddess – yes, it smells nothing like the actual sea, but who cares.

    Love the poetry, and now I am having Scotland-by-the-sea fantasies too. Sigh! 😡

  • Shelley says:

    My absolute favorite experience of a sea was the North Sea, at the southern tip of Shetland…though walking inland from the ferry at midnight was a bit surreal, as it seemed as if the sound of the sea surrounded you no matter how far you walked. (And, in fact, on that summer solstice, I am pretty sure that both sound and smell surrounded me/us no matter where we stood on the island.)

    Have a most fabulous trip.

    Scents of the sea are hard to come by…and, being a midwest gal like Musette, have not a strong reference. My bodies of watery reverie are the Great Lakes and inland lakes (yes, around these parts, the lakes are not “inland” if they are “Great”), so those are the smells I would love to evoke / honor, if not bottle as replicants. Fresh water next to evergreens and deciduous leaves & wood…

    Thanks for a happy interlude

  • zara says:

    what a post in this dreary, grey and rainy central european it’s-not-winter-anymore-but-the spring-hasn’t-arrived weather, conjuring memories of nice days.thanks. i love the sea but where i live in europe, there’s none around. my first encounter with the sea was when i was six and i fell in love. i love the roaring sound the waves make, love the smell, love the sand and the rock, the seaweed, the shells and fishes, love everything about the sea, and the beaches. i wish i would live near the sea. a month ago, i visited the states for the first time and spent a week in san diego, walking on the shore, with my feet splashed by the ice cold water (i thought they would fall off, so cold was it, but what the heck) and couldn’t be happier. i hope one day, i will find the courage to pack my stuff and move there, with the sun and water, life seems so much easier 😉
    the eau des merveilles is my absolute favorite, love the vetiver, ambergris and salt, heavenly. love bond’s fire island (and bobbi brown’s beach, which seems almost identical), n. kamali’s beach and satellite ipanema and creed virgin island on the sweeter ‘sun tan lotion’ side. alas, still haven’t tried CB i hate perfume mr. hullot and the other beach scent (always forget to order samples).

    • Lee says:

      I can’t imagine living as far from the sea as you do, zara, but I’m an island boy in reality.

      :d

  • cinnamon says:

    No salty or oceanic scents in my collection. But, I have baskets of shells from my travels around the house and feel bereft if I go too long without seeing the sea. I’ve been to the beach onto which Gwynneth Paltrow emerges in Shakespeare in Love: Holkam in Norfolk. It is stunning, near a small town called Wells-next-the-Sea — definitely worth a visit if visiting that part of Britain.

    • Lee says:

      It’s certainly a lovely place, isn’t it? And actually, that whole north Norfolk coast is pretty wonderful.

  • March says:

    Gosh, Lee, that was lovely. I don’t do big marine scents, but Rosine Ecume de Rose smells like summer on Nantucket – sea spray and beach roses.

    • Lee says:

      That’s my favourite Rosine, as it happens…

      xxx

      Hope you’re having fun in the democratic sun.

  • Karen says:

    Years ago I went back to college to finish my Bachelor’s degree. One class was a seminar on Emily Dickinson or perhaps it was a semester on 19th century American poetry. (My memory is foggy.) Dr. Knepper, the professor, had a good friend who was an English professor at another college on the other side of the state. (This was in Iowa – so it was a big deal that the friend made the trip to talk to our class). So she came to our class and talked about good old Emily. That professor specialized in Dickinson’s poetry. So we talked and talked about Emily. Suddenly, I raised my hand and asked: “My mom used to quote a poem every time she saw the sun rising while we ate breakfast. And I’m wondering if it was by Emily: So I started to quote the poem. (Here’s the poem in its entirety.)

    I’ll tell you how the sun rose, —
    A ribbon at a time.
    The steeples swam in amethyst,
    The news like squirrels ran.
    The hills untied their bonnets,
    The bobolinks begun.
    Then I said softly to myself,
    “That must have been the sun!”

    But how he set, I know not.
    There seemed a purple stile
    Which little yellow boys and girls
    Were climbing all the while
    Til when they reached the other side,
    A dominie in gray
    Put gently up the evening bars,
    And led the flock away.

    So I start quoting the poem and the professor screams “YES!! THAT IS BY EMILY DICKINSON!! THAT IS MY FAVORITE POEM!!

    So later on, I called my mom and told her the story of what happened in class, and she got a big kick out of it.

    I must admit that I had to cheat and go on google to double-check on the poem so I could faithfully put it down here, for you, dear readers.

    I hope that everyone enjoyed the poem. We did not study it in class.

    Per our “homework assignment”: My thoughts on the sea:

    My favorite day at the beach was the day we spent at a beach in Rhode Island. My daughter (about 9 months old) had so much fun crawling along the shore. She laughed everytime the waves rolled in and cried everytime the waves rolled out. I have a picture of her on that day.
    Okay, that’s not really a thought on the sea. It’s a mom’s memory. Sorry!
    Favorite sea scent: Don’t have one. That is, I don’t have a commercial fragrance that reminds me of the sea.

  • carter says:

    Thank you for the lovely post, Lee. The thing I love most about perfume is how, like poetry, it can carry us away to other times and far away places, both real and imaginary. A magic carpet in a tiny bottle!

    I once spent a winter alone on Martha’s Vineyard in a glass house suspended high above the ocean on a rocky cliff. The most powerful scent this memory brings instantly to mind is not the salty tang of the ocean breeze or the aroma of beach plums in summer, but rather the cushioned hush and crunch of the blanket of pine needles beneath my feet as my dog, Lou, and I would walk down to the beach every day at sunset.

    Whenever I wear Ormond Woman (or Ormond Man) I find myself back in that place, in that time, in that heaven.

  • Tara says:

    My favorites are Sel de Vetiver and Eau des Merveilles, and on a hot day, Fire Island. Loved your post – what I wouldn’t do for a beach holiday on the windswept shores of Scotland right now! I am envious. Have a wonderful time!

  • Natalie says:

    I’m not big on sea scents, but I can and do spend hours staring at bodies of water — oceans, rivers, even the occasional large puddle. I’d love to live right by the sea, but I fear I’d never get anything done. Then again, perhaps that wouldn’t matter…

    I adore Philip Larkin, however — sorry, but I’m such a misanthrope that he speaks to me far more than Emily Dickinson ever has! How can one argue with “This Be the Verse”?

    • Lee says:

      Oh, don’t ge me wrong. I think ‘The Old Fools’ is simply genius. But Dickinson – she’s one of my all time greats.

      Staring at water in thought of you!

  • fountaingirl says:

    Love beaches in cold weather and at night, a lonely grey day at a beach, when most folks think it isn’t ‘beach weather,’ to me is perfect.

    I agree with Eau de Merveilles, I am a lucky one and it is true on my skin and always goes to warm sweet salt, I don’t get the hairspray. It’s karma’s gift in return for not letting me have ANY of the L’artisans or CB: I Hate Perfume, both of which turn to water on me in five minutes.

    But my all time favorite ocean/beach smell has to be Lostmarc’h’s Ael-Mat. LOVELY.

  • Musette says:

    Finally able to take a minute out of this wackitude day! What a lovely post – just lovely.

    My sea-related memories are a bit further afield, living most of my life in the Midwest as I have (and the Pacific doesn’t quite ‘sea’m like The Sea, if’n you know what I mean).

    but I spent some wonderful time at the North Sea and that is the stuff of poetry.

    But my sea/perfume memories would be more in regards to scents that I wore when I was near the sea. And since it’s the North Sea and it’s cold as sin I am conjuring up my Bal and Fracas, which is what I wore during that entire era. Decidedly un-sealike but there you have it.

    Sel de Vetiver is lovely – I wore it for a bit last year – but little or no lasting power.

    Your trip to Scotland sounds just too romantic for words. I would invite myself along but ……..well the goofiness of that is rather obvious, don’t you think?;))

    Is Gracie going?

    xo>-)

    • Lee says:

      The North Sea is *my* sea. That’s what I’m nearest to.

      Sel de Vetiver has the half-life of uranium on me – I know, I know. I’m weird.

      We’re gonna have wondrous walks on our holiday!;)

  • Mariekel says:

    Another typically gorgeous post, Lee! I love the sea and find poetry, novels and music that evoke it particularly poignant, so I thank you for that lovely Emily Dickinson poem.

    I have been searching for years for a fragrance that truly recreates the Garrigue in the south of France — an aromatic blend of wild thyme, rosemary, pine, lavender, earth and sea salt — but have not come across anything close. Any suggestions?

    That said, I do adore Sel de Vetiver and Fleurs de Sel.

    • Lee says:

      There’s *nothing* that smells like that!.

      I think a splash of Chene with a smear of Diptyque’s Maquis and a bouquet garni will be the closest approximation…

  • Melissa says:

    My mother loves the beach and many of our childhood trips were spent on the beaches of Maine, Cape Cod or other part of the Atlantic coastline. My mother would tempt me into the cold water and we would leave my father and brother on the shore, swimming out as far as we dared. When we returned, my father would shake his head over our adventures. The smell of salt air will always make me think of my mother, who was never known for being daring. Unless the ocean was there to tempt her. Even now, with age-related disabilities, she is a different person when she sits by the sea.

    As for fragrances, I recently discovered Ferre, Bergamotto Marino edc. I bought it unsniffed last fall, put it away and didn’t think about it again. But after a couple of warm days, I began to crave spring/summer scents and I re-tried it. It’s all about salty marine notes, bergamot and jasmine with ambergris, orange blossom, musk and some other goodies. But when I first spritz it on, I immediately think of salt on my skin and I crave a trip to the ocean.

  • kathleen says:

    I’ve never been to Scotland in the warm air. We used to go for Hogmanay every year. I like the cold…

    I think Lostmarc’h Ael-Mat smells like sea air.
    The Lostmarc’h website lists the official notes as: head tone of hesperidia with undertones of jasmine and chamomile blossom over a soft musk base note

  • pyramus says:

    My first thought of a salt sea perfume was Aqua Motu, and then I thought, “Well, I can’t say that, it’s too obvious,” until someone else broke the ice by naming it, so now I don’t feel quite so cliché. Aqua Motu smells just like the beaches in Newfoundland, where I grew up: rocky, licheny, cold, windswept, austerely beautiful.

  • Janet says:

    Oooh, where in Scotland is that place? I’ll be in Edinburgh in June 🙂

  • grizzlesnort says:

    I’m in Oregon and not too far from the coast but I think first of the Gulf coast of Texas where the Rio Grande sills into the sea–where I grew up. No condos, no drunken college brats from the snowylands on spring break. Day dreams of hurricanes and drowned Spanish galleons. If we’d had Eau de Navigateur or Lubin Idole, t would have been perfect. We’d wake to Norma Kamali Beach or Mr. Hulot’s Holiday, but perhaps Mr. Hulot prefers the coast and not the beach…ad a nice B&B ru by an ever solicitous Mrs Fartingale..

  • Karen G says:

    Gosh, that was lovely, Lee. Pretty sure I’m more than half-way to a hermit myself.
    I grew up beside the ocean, and every place I’ve lived, until now, has been on the coast. And most of those places were on really untamed, rugged coastlines (maybe a bit like Scotland). Now we live 6 hours inland, and I miss the sea like crazy sometimes. Which surprised me. I think I just took it for granted when I was younger, like you wrote about. I’m grateful that I can get to the sea fairly often to get my fix of salt air. It always smells like home to me.
    I hope you’ll post some pictures of Scotland when you get back. It sounds perfect.

  • Lynne1962 says:

    What wonderful prose!! Ah, the arrogance of youth,,as you so aptly put. We’re all guilty of it. It takes a long time to realize that you don’t have to be “going” somewhere,,,you can just “be”. I swear I saw the Grim Reaper following a middle aged jogger yesterday:) Do like CB I hate Perfume “At the Beach”,,,especially when I need a lift to there from the “brown plains” in which I currently reside!!

    • Lee says:

      It took a near death experience to make me realise the treadmill wasn’t how I wanted to live any longer. And my life is getting lovelier all the time…

  • Elle says:

    What a wonderful post! Now I’m craving a trip to the ocean. I dislike crowded beaches, but there is nothing that makes me happier than a deserted beach early in the morning or late at night. God, must get there. Soon.
    The place you’ve found in Scotland sounds like pure heaven. I’m sure you and Matt will have a fantastic time there. And happy early birthday to Matt!
    MH Fleurs de Sel is my favorite ocean scent. I also like Norma Kamali’s Beach and Creative Universe’s Mare – both have interesting salty notes.

    • Lee says:

      Thanks Elle. I like the CS one too – must track down my decant.

      Like you, I detest crowded beaches. That’s not the sea for me!

  • dinazad says:

    Beautiful writing, Lee! I hope your stay in Scotland will be as lovely.

    I’m a mountain girl at heart, but I do love to go to the sea every now and then: all that water piled on top of itself fascinates me. I remember a holiday in Cornwall, in a holiday apartment in the holiday home of Virginia Woolf’s family. We’d watch the “Woolfies” standing on tiptoe or even climbing a tree to catch a glimpse of the grounds hallowed by Virginia, and we’d read “To the Lighthouse” out loud to each other while the others gazed at the lighthouse in a distance. And we’d listen to a dog with poisonous bark which we christened “Madame Chauchat”. At ten in the evening, on the dot, Madame Chauchat would stop barking with a strangled sound when her owner obviously dragged her in without much ado. The seagulls had the size of turkeys, a nasty expression and were true pirates of the air – most of the – best in the world – fish n’chips we bought by the harbour was stolen by them. In flight. I’d take loooong walks along the cliffs, and there was one moment when stood chest-deep in blooming meadowsweet, with nothing above me but the sky and nothing below me but the sea, and I burst into tears because it was so perfect.

    So the perfect seaside perfume would smell of meadowsweet and salt air.

    The best I could wear until that is invented is Guerlain Voile d’Ete which to me smells of salty skin and suntan lotion. Or, if it still existed, Jean-Pierre Dovat’s Eau de Juillet: sitting in a beachside café, eating ice-cream, with a light breeze from the sea cooling slightly sweaty skin. (Dovat, by the way, was a Swiss/French interior architect who – for a time – marketed 12 superb EdPs, one for every month. Fevrier and Novembre were my favourites, and I miss them still, 20 years or more after they disappeared from the face of the earth).

    • Lee says:

      Thanks my love, though I now think of you as the night-scented stock wonder woman!

      Love mountains too. See, I want mountains, forests and sea, godammit. I’m gonna have to move to Scotland and wage a constant battle with midges I think.

  • Louise says:

    Beautiful, dear one, [email protected]};-

    May you and Matt have a lovely trip, sharing the coast and each other.

    I hermit more each year, and have had recurrent dreams of a beach house, in a small Oregon (?) coast town; this dream is very detailed and has been with me since early childhood.

    The memory of my childhood beaches are the most powerful still. We lived just over an hour from the Oregon coast, and went often, as a family, and later as pretend runaway teens. Those lovely shores, and its charming small towns, remain the real deal beaches for me. While the Atlantic has pretty parts (especially Maine), they can’t match for me the power and beauty of the Oregon and Northern California coastline.

    I haven’t tried any salty smells thus far, but will this summer. For now, my ocean smells are mostly my version of primal… brine, wet/salty skin, sunscreen, soaked dirty dogs, conifers exuding sap on a hot day on the cliff trails, steamed dungeness crabs and drawn butter, cinnamon roles from one special bakery, wet towels, touch of persistent slight mildew.

    Not elegant or even reflective scents in any way, but perfect still.

    Peaceful weekend to all 😡

  • Trish/Pikake says:

    Scotland looks absolutely gorgeous. And if I were going there, I’d be wearing my favorite salty one, Tiempe Passate.

  • Kathryn says:

    Lovely post, Lee.

    On my New England stretch of the North Atlantic, the perfume that smells most like the ocean to me is Profumum Acqua de Sale. Its myrtle note is very like the fragrant bayberries (in the myrtle family) that grow along the shore here. Problem is, the stuff is so strong I can only wear it outside. Eau des Merveiles is, I agree, a fine scent–like salt drying on my skin after I’ve been for a swim in the ocean. However, for ambergris I prefer L’Antimatiere which is less a smell than it is a sensation, well described in your poem by Emily Dickinson.

    Another maritime fragrance family that I really like is that of seaside gardens: Lostmarc’h Aod with its salty wild roses, Tiempe Passate for a well tended perennial border by the sea, and L’Eau de L’Artisan with seaweed mulching an herb garden. ( And speaking of seaweed, I’ve just read that it’s a good deterrent for the slugs that threaten my dahlias in the summer. Have you ever tried that?) Longing for both warmth & sun, I hope you find some in Scotland, unlikely as that might be this time of year.

    • Lee says:

      There’s quite a list there of things I’ve never tried.

      We’re not off to Scotland til the beginning of May – and it’s south west Scotland where the land is warmed by the Gulf stream. I’m hoping for sunny days!

    • Joe says:

      That Profumum sounds fantastic. Thanks for the tip, Kathryn.

  • Joe says:

    Lee, that was beautiful! And as for “already halfway to a hermit”… oh, I understand so completely. So completely.

    The beach — the ocean — is and was so much a part of my life. I grew up in New Jersey, spending so much time during summer vacations on day-trips to the beach, and later, at a beach bungalow bought by grandparents and aunts. I also spent many other seasons as a teenager/young adult with friends, walking various boardwalks — sometimes on late weekend nights, even in winter — at beach towns that were about 30 minutes from where I grew up. I always felt that “vacation” feeling by the ocean, no matter the season. And drives there often involved crossing great expanses of flat marshlands with that recognizable smell: the salt air but also the brackish, briny stink of marsh life and estuaries. Then the causeway to the barrier islands, seeing the ocean beyond from the apex of the highway bridge.

    I moved to this city on the central coast of California seventeen years ago because I wanted that beach vacation feeling always. In some respects, I got that — I see the ocean and the far off blue islands every day from the bus on my commute to work. I spent years hiking and exploring this coast. But the *feeling* from the ocean and the beach are quite different here. I am back in New Jersey every year, but almost always in winter; last July I was able again to spend time at the beach bungalow of my youth. It was wonderful and it always will be.

    Anyway, scents: The one that best captures the beach for me is CSP Aqua Motu. It’s like a vacation in a bottle: sea air and perhaps a hint of coconutty lotion. I am so happy I was alerted to its charms a year or so ago.

    • Lee says:

      Aqua Motu – need to retry that.

      Like you, I love the ghostliness of resorts out of season, or luckily here, we have lovely villages on the sea. Or just deserted windswept sands…

      Sigh

  • Margot says:

    Lee,

    What a beautiful,evocative post. Glorious!

    Margot