SPRING TIME

A fragrance as intangible as Klimt’s golden vision of the Elysian Fields: “an ideal realm, wherein alone we can find pure joy, pure happiness, pure love.” It wears like a subtle, immaterial cloak of bright light, verdant freshness and subdued florality.

In the cafés and parks along the grand boulevard, the dernier cri is the curiously soft and milky fragrance of an exotic plant with an outlandish name.

When the Bora wind whips the black waters of the Quarnero, a fresh, salty mist engulfs the Coast of Laurels, the grand riviera of Imperial Austria.

From the open doors of the Orangerie, bright notes of green and golden citrus flow into the crisp morning air of the palace gardens.