Nouf by Swiss Arabian
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8.2 / 10     10 RatingsRatingsRatings
Nouf is a popular perfume by Swiss Arabian for women. The release year is unknown. The scent is woody-spicy. The longevity is above-average. It is still in production.
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Fragrance Notes

Top Notes Top NotesBergamot, Grapefruit, Lemon
Heart Notes Heart NotesAmber, Pepper
Base Notes Base NotesAmber, Rosewood, Cedarwood

Ratings

Scent

8.2 (10 Ratings)

Longevity

8.0 (8 Ratings)

Sillage

6.6 (10 Ratings)

Bottle

6.6 (14 Ratings)
Submitted by Apicius, last update on 31.03.2020.
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Reviews

10
Scent
10
Longevity
7
Sillage
6
Bottle
Parfumatica

2 Reviews
Parfumatica
Parfumatica
   1  
One of my favourites
This scent is so fresh and woody at the same time. It isn't a too heavy scent but you keep smelling it during the whole day. The longlasting of the scent is amazing like a typical arabic scent and it isn't too expensive so it is easy to wear everyday when you want to smell fresh and special at the same time.
10
Scent
9
Longevity
8
Sillage
10
Bottle
Profuma
Translated Show originalShow translation
Profuma
Profuma
Very helpful Review    4  
Highest point on a mountain
Usually you should take cover when screwing around with Swiss Arabian scents. They usually leave their bottle loudly clamoring, as if they had been locked up against their will. With Nouf, however, I don't get much out of the sprayed cloth at first, so I spray again, maybe I didn't hit well before. After all, the bottle blinds quite nicely and can temporarily lead to orientation difficulties. But even after doubling, the scent still holds back. So a "good-that-will-while-have" smell? I let him rest for a while and try my trial luck again later. And lo and behold, the peace did him good. Something fine, floral floats on the cloth and slightly above it, but that still wouldn't have been enough for a comment. So on the skin with it!
I am awakened by delicate fragrances that caress my nose and face. The finest fog, invisible but nevertheless almost palpable, light as a feather grazing the skin and leaving it with a tender breath. Where am I? Where am I? I'm soft and warm. Above me I see a canopy dressed in heavy pink velvet with four elaborately carved wooden columns leading down. On the roof, heavy curtains in the same colour can be lowered to the ground, which are just closed so that some light comes through to me. In this semi-darkness I see the oriental signs that are inserted in the columns and golden flower patterns that alternate with other carvings and inlays. They seem opulent and precious and how they merge with the wooden frame that carries my bed. I now lay my arms out to the side next to me and something soft falls immediately into the palms of my hands. I'm turning my head to see it. It's a sea of petals on which I'm bedded. Rose petals over and over and in all colours, including mixed dried and grated bergamot slices, grapefruit peels and lemon peel shavings. The interplay of these thousands of scattered pieces of upholstered flowers and fruit is highly concentrated around me in the air and, thanks to the curtains that have been pulled a little, they literally remain in the air. An aroma that almost makes me dazed envelops me while I still wonder if I'm awake or dreaming. The glow of light, which penetrates through the one opening of the curtains more than through the others, finally makes me even more curious and I stand up and move through the sea of scent to the edge of the bed, where I can push the curtain a little to one side. Some petals pushed forward fall to the ground where others already lie. Glazing light suddenly falls into my eyes and makes me blink restlessly for moments. But after a few moments the pain disappears and the view becomes clearer. A few meters away from me there is a window carved exactly into the white wall that reminds of two adjacent archways. The silky shimmering golden curtains hanging from it sway in the wind that runs through the walls and now carries the scents from my bed more and more into the room. Although they are now scattered by the air, their radiance is still impressively perceptible. I get up slowly and look down at myself. My clothes were replaced by a light silky caftan in pearl white, around my waist I wear a strap-like, several times looped golden ribbon with soft tinkling golden bells and wafer-thin plates. I wear several gold chains with pendants around my feet. As I look down on myself, I now see that the petals on the ground leave a trace up to the window. Wobbly and on bare feet I walk on them to the window without ever touching the cold stone underneath and graze one of the blowing curtains behind me to look out. My eyes behold a glorious garden!
Palm trees, which spread over small wooden tables and chairs and let their ripe dates fall into the soft green grass pile, snow-white pebble stone paths, which wind through green and colourful, sometimes the table groups, sometimes statues or small ponds connect with each other, rose bushes and exotic flowers in all colours and sizes, trees and shrubs with citric fruits in green and yellow colours and in between free running peacocks, pheasants and quails. Everywhere it rustles in the leaves of smaller birds, which have built their nests in it and let their joie de vivre run free with melodious singing. The scents of the plants and trees rise up to the window and I immediately know that the scents I perceived in my bed must come from down there. The shimmering heat in the air and the light wind make the aromas even more powerful. As if he would squeeze it out like a fruit to the limit, not to waste anything. I feel like I'm in paradise right now. But how did I get there? A few days ago I was still walking through the desert with my father and some porters. The destination was the city of Basra on the Persian Gulf. As a scientist and archaeologist, my father hoped to get hold of some relics of bygone days within the venerable walls for his private collection or to supplement the exhibits of his client, the British Museum of London. Then a sandstorm came up. That's the last thing I remember. A call rips me from my thoughts. From the garden up an older gentleman in white and with headgear waves to me. I almost didn't recognize my father. So we were both found and rescued. Not far from here some other men wave their way up to me with excitement and radiance. I am relieved to see that all the troop had made it. Suddenly an elderly lady in the room approaches me. In her hands she holds a wooden tray with a golden edge. On it stands a crystal carafe with a honey-coloured liquid in it and next to it a bottle with an atomiser. "Rub your skin with this precious oil before you go down and spray yourself with the perfume that will refresh you and surround you with fragrance," she says in a gentle almost maternal voice as she places the tray on a small table and disappears again. I rub the elixir in my hands and instantly all the scents from the bed and the garden are there again. Light vibrating citrus notes, sparkling spices and exquisite rose petals. Ambergris and woody notes control a soft antithesis to citrus fruits. All blended in their own oil. An olfactory revelation! I apply it and notice almost instantly how the fragrance gets warmer and warmer as soon as it touches my skin. From there it unfolds even more intensively. Then I finally wrap myself in the scent from the bottle and climb down the stairs with hasty steps and hurry out into the garden, into my father's arms...

Nouf: The Muslim meaning of this girl's name is: Highest point on a mountain.
And that's exactly where I let myself be carried on his fragrant wings when I put on the scent. Then I see the land again, the garden, my memories...
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