02/14/2020
Federduft
6 Reviews
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Federduft
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8
Makassar on Valentine's Day or the barber of Cassablanca
Shoveling snow in the morning and the grey dirty weather of the day, there was a longing for more colourful, sunny beaches in the evening.
Morocco is for me a wanderlust synoym of similar quality as Janosch's Panama. The travel guide for this comes from the Demeter Libray of Fragance: Morocco from the Destination Collection -
The fragrance had been tested a few times, worn sporadically as "sleep scent". In memory, it was placed on the shelf somewhere between the epic dahlia of Jesus del Pozo, the elegant edition of Meharees, quotes from Feminite du bois and Bois Marocain for dummies, with the note "mostly harmless" and ignored for a long time.
And then ignorance slammed a floral fist up my nose. Not at all according to my expected scent.
No stroll through a painted souk with spices offered for sale in open baskets. No sweet-and-hot mint tea. Not even the slightest breath of dry Saharan air. But a real buzz of stunned, toxic-tropical flowers. Proliferating and waxy, oily greasy shiny.
I did not pay enough attention to the tour guide and the day trip did not lead to the Djemaa el Fna, but to the 'Valley of Roses'. Only roses are not, so baroque, even brute-force sometimes they appear. Present, accompanied by a sweet jasmine, almost shy in contrast to his other kind, no more than a footnote. Neroli, a note scribbled in the margin I was stinky, playing Hercule Poirot, without his famous nose The grey cells, which are small for scent recognition, seemed to be anaesthetised. Lilies are not, too little pollen. Cloves, contrary to the first association, more in their spice form.
Spices, yes. A fine powder, very sweet. No racy cinnamon, no invigorating priest. Sweet, cardamom, aniseed. Or the triad of Piement?
The perfume encyclopedia was consulted, and under the heading of fragrances I read: spices. It's great. And in between, the little Belgian detective had his appearance on my mental stage, smoothing a more imaginary, resistive hair in his brilliant shiny hairstyle.
The evening continued without enlightenment. Sleep, as long as I could not attribute this fragrance to any botanical source, unlikely, besides Morocco - for a cologne published by Demeter - proved to be surprisingly persistent. Another source was the website of Demeter and what did I find there? Spices. "Freshly ground Moroccan spices in a thousand-year-old open-air market." Enlightening. And exactly what I had originally expected . Not a word about the floral component I was looking for. As a further inspiration they mentioned a song by Crosby, Stills & Nash. Marrakesh Express. I don't know it now. With nimble fingers I looked for the lyrics (the song itself is not really mine, by the way) and what did it say: "I smell the garden in your hair"
Hair! Hair! Hair oil! Strong smelling hair oil! Makassar! An ancient hair cosmetic traditionally perfumed with Ylang-Ylang! Ylang-Ylang! Imagine all the exclamation points simply as little light bulbs that finally lit up. The dear soul finally had her peace and
decided the next morning to verify the scent of Ylang-Ylang again on the existing bottle of essential oil. This trace proved to be the solution to the mystery. Well, my trip to Morocco did not go as planned, but it was exciting and instructive for me.
Sometimes it is not so easy to get to the bottom of fragrances without a list of components or directions. Sometimes you expect one thing and find something completely unexpected. But isn't this the exciting thing about olfactory road trips?
Morocco is a very floral, almost floriental fragrance, a hint of fine spices resonates.
This is how I imagine it was in the 30s of the last century in Casablanca, sitting at the Babier, hearing the noisy hustle and bustle of the market from outside, the flowing robes of the Halaq
exude a delicate scent of cardamom and piement. And Hercule winks conspiratorially at you with macassar-soaked hair in the spotted mirror.
Morocco is for me a wanderlust synoym of similar quality as Janosch's Panama. The travel guide for this comes from the Demeter Libray of Fragance: Morocco from the Destination Collection -
The fragrance had been tested a few times, worn sporadically as "sleep scent". In memory, it was placed on the shelf somewhere between the epic dahlia of Jesus del Pozo, the elegant edition of Meharees, quotes from Feminite du bois and Bois Marocain for dummies, with the note "mostly harmless" and ignored for a long time.
And then ignorance slammed a floral fist up my nose. Not at all according to my expected scent.
No stroll through a painted souk with spices offered for sale in open baskets. No sweet-and-hot mint tea. Not even the slightest breath of dry Saharan air. But a real buzz of stunned, toxic-tropical flowers. Proliferating and waxy, oily greasy shiny.
I did not pay enough attention to the tour guide and the day trip did not lead to the Djemaa el Fna, but to the 'Valley of Roses'. Only roses are not, so baroque, even brute-force sometimes they appear. Present, accompanied by a sweet jasmine, almost shy in contrast to his other kind, no more than a footnote. Neroli, a note scribbled in the margin I was stinky, playing Hercule Poirot, without his famous nose The grey cells, which are small for scent recognition, seemed to be anaesthetised. Lilies are not, too little pollen. Cloves, contrary to the first association, more in their spice form.
Spices, yes. A fine powder, very sweet. No racy cinnamon, no invigorating priest. Sweet, cardamom, aniseed. Or the triad of Piement?
The perfume encyclopedia was consulted, and under the heading of fragrances I read: spices. It's great. And in between, the little Belgian detective had his appearance on my mental stage, smoothing a more imaginary, resistive hair in his brilliant shiny hairstyle.
The evening continued without enlightenment. Sleep, as long as I could not attribute this fragrance to any botanical source, unlikely, besides Morocco - for a cologne published by Demeter - proved to be surprisingly persistent. Another source was the website of Demeter and what did I find there? Spices. "Freshly ground Moroccan spices in a thousand-year-old open-air market." Enlightening. And exactly what I had originally expected . Not a word about the floral component I was looking for. As a further inspiration they mentioned a song by Crosby, Stills & Nash. Marrakesh Express. I don't know it now. With nimble fingers I looked for the lyrics (the song itself is not really mine, by the way) and what did it say: "I smell the garden in your hair"
Hair! Hair! Hair oil! Strong smelling hair oil! Makassar! An ancient hair cosmetic traditionally perfumed with Ylang-Ylang! Ylang-Ylang! Imagine all the exclamation points simply as little light bulbs that finally lit up. The dear soul finally had her peace and
decided the next morning to verify the scent of Ylang-Ylang again on the existing bottle of essential oil. This trace proved to be the solution to the mystery. Well, my trip to Morocco did not go as planned, but it was exciting and instructive for me.
Sometimes it is not so easy to get to the bottom of fragrances without a list of components or directions. Sometimes you expect one thing and find something completely unexpected. But isn't this the exciting thing about olfactory road trips?
Morocco is a very floral, almost floriental fragrance, a hint of fine spices resonates.
This is how I imagine it was in the 30s of the last century in Casablanca, sitting at the Babier, hearing the noisy hustle and bustle of the market from outside, the flowing robes of the Halaq
exude a delicate scent of cardamom and piement. And Hercule winks conspiratorially at you with macassar-soaked hair in the spotted mirror.
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