Culture, you left me cold!   I saw you far off, like a big taciturn cat, but you never touched me, I didn’t smell you, I remained deaf to your clumsy calls, you awoke in me no appetite.

But one day, I went to a beautiful swimming pool in Roubaix. And suddenly, through a very special guided tour, you got me!  You have made of me your loyal supporter, you transformed me into a ball of yarn, my cat, and with your paws you have turned my five senses into a tangled mess.

Now I can smell the colors of your painting, which sometimes stink of the smell of death, and sometimes exhales the intoxicating perfume of life. I sniff the lines of your drawings, I nuzzle the nice-smelling curves of your sculptures. Of your trinkets I smell the exhalation of one thousand uses, your one thousand gasses are for me one thousand images, and I can see with my nose, your speeches embalming.

Ti dadam! I can finally touch your sounds. You are not any more only the hubbub emanating from the noises of footsteps and from remonstrance, which grated on my nerves like out of tune violins. Now your oral testimonies soothe my spirit, with singing and soft melodies, your music caresses my meninges. Your oral heritage palpates energetically my encephalon, and I can hear with my hands the ring of your smart words.

I will never forget to go to see your gastronomic heritage. I shall go to contemplate your aromas by staring at each of your dishes. I shall see shining their sweet touch in a salty chiaroscuro. My palate will scrutinize for a long time the acid starburst of your condiments with Nordic reflections, or your spices which shimmer in a whole distant world, and I will taste with my eyes your ingenious dessert.

What did I hear? You are playing the melody of the smells! You want to ring into me your strange stench, which has so many tragic stories to tell. You make your scents whistle a tune which evokes bucolic parties. You make the perfumes of an old civilization sing in choir, and me, manipulated as a snake by the smokes of your flute, I dance to the rhythm of new knowledge, and I inhale by my eardrums the invisible argument.

Oh, let me taste your materials! I want to eat the silky or rough or smooth or grainy textures of your tissues. I want to savor the hot gestures of the cold stones of your statues and drink with my rough skin the hard and smooth metal of this machine. I sip the calloused textures of your old furniture, and with my tongue I deduct from it the style and the period, and my papillae feel the idea which dilates.

Oh yeah Culture! Your ideas dilate even more into my mind. Five times more than before I knew your ultra-sensual tendencies, and opened up to me thousands of new worlds, you ran wild in me and I’m now an epicurean! At present, it’s my turn to share the enjoyment of discovering you through five senses, and lead the travelers in your dance from which nobody is excluded, because our multi-sensorial and fully accessible tours have only one concern : making of everybody Epicurus!


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