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Leander can do it alone!
The opening rose quickly becomes astonishingly tarry after a gentle prelude, but soon recaptures itself and introduces its contrasting manifestations into an apart field of tension between delicate fragrance on the one hand and bitterness on the other. It's nice to experience that both go side by side.
Raspberry as an announcement is a good fit, but its content is unnecessary. There are enough many intensely fruity roses out of themselves, some of them even with a "raspberry" scent, to explicitly need an external contribution. From my stock, the English rose "Leander" by David Austin can represent the aroma of raspberry quite well alone. Botanically this cannot be astonishing, the raspberry belongs, like various other fruit varieties, finally to the rose family.
After half an hour, the tar is gone and leaves only an attractive, bitter undertone, while the fruit gains weight. In return, it loses a little of its uniqueness, which, however, is no harm, but provides for variety: In the course of the following hours I perceive, besides the raspberry, pears and - with restrictions - also stone fruit such as apricot or possibly peach, all equally relatives of the rose and thus plausible to me. A noteworthy plus is that the scent does not develop or at most minimally (and then very nobly!) sweet-like features.
It also remains clear and fresh throughout and the internal tension remains airy vs. rest-bitter. It is perhaps similar to the one between the sparkling upper voice and the striding, partly stomping lower voice in the first hundred bars in Impromptu No. 4 from Franz Schubert's first collection (youtube.com/watch?v=V0z7mUV5rSc).
Around noon the olfactory lower voice is gradually taken over by a woody grazing aroma, which is quite capable of reminding of paper (specifically: moist), if we want to follow the indications - and I don't have a better idea. The obscene retreats, the rose accentuates its harsher side from now on, garnished with more candy after all. I think, behind the euphemism "white amber" simply hides a certain twitchiness, which is partly responsible for it.
The progressing afternoon brings only little change. Fortunately, sweetness is still very muted. The humid newspaper steams peacefully, dabbed by a remnant of the above candy rose and from the eighth hour onwards ends in the direction of purer ambergris.
Conclusion: 'Rose of No Man's Land' is a pleasant, rather light spring or summer scent that I can best imagine on younger ladies.