Scents Of Place

You'll find the world's finest perfumes (and most abundant flower fields) in a place that's stuck in the past -- centuries in the past.

- Liana Schaffner

Everyone in Grasse insists this soggy weather won’t last, including the man who sells umbrellas. I wonder whether I should buy one. He shrugs and frowns in that distinctly French way, a gesture that could imply anything, and so really implies nothing. The weak drizzle strengthens into fog; rings of mist girdle steeples and medieval towers. I feel as though I’ve arrived at the top of a beanstalk, not on the French Riviera. But because I am in this supposedly sun-drenched region, a mere 30 minutes from Cannes, I pass on the umbrella and buy a slab of hand-milled soap instead. It has a pleasant, trustworthy weight. I try to distinguish its scent from the general atmosphere, which smells of rose, jasmine, and lavender. The invisible bouquet climbs narrow alleys and eases around corners, as pliant as shadow. This, at least, does last.

Grasse is the capital of the fragrance industry, a title it’s maintained since the seventeenth century. The town’s connection to scent is so solid that perfume takes tangible form here. There’s the sprawling Musée International de la Parfumerie with its manicured botanical gardens, as well as famous distilleries, such as Fragonard, which is housed in a splendid villa. But stroll through Grasse’s needle-eye passages and you’ll stumble on smaller, more modest perfumeries, each selling its own brand of seduction. Pastel soaps, lacy sachets, and pink and amber perfume bottles brighten storefronts. Visually, the effect is as delectable as a patisserie—and visitors often confuse the two. One perfumery has a sign out front: “No ice cream. No sandwich. No soda in the shop.”