This time round, we’re hitting you with a a couple of Frederic Malles.  March is traveling, and Bryan got called away, so it’s just us two! 

Noir Epices - notes of notes of orange, rose,  geranium, nutmeg, cinnamon, clove, pepper, patchouli, cedar and sandalwood.

Vetiver Extraordinaire - notes of bergamot, bigarade orange, pink pepper, nutmeg, floralozone, Haitian vetyver, sandalwood, cedarwood, oak moss, myrrh, cashmeran, muske-tone and tonalide

First up, Noir Epices:

Patty:  This is one of the few Malles that are completely wrong on me. It’s like one of those Christmas clove oranges fermented until it’s gone off completely wrong and rotten. Since lots of people love it, I have to assume that it’s just something that goes bad on me or it just has notes I just really, really hate, but hate it with a passion I do.  Fans of very over-the-top spicy scents should love it.  I read Lee’s notes, and powder? I get no powder.  Powder would be welcome, and I hate powdery scents.

Lee: I’m not a fan. It’s an austere geranium and patchouli number with a cold clasp of spices and orange. In my mind, I see the Habit Rouge gentleman stripped of his woollen raiment.Underneath, he’s in a plastic bustier and not much else. It’s a feminine scent with a hint of powder, big on the chypre attitude, but without the delivery.

And now, Vetiver Extraordinaire:

Lee: I can’t get beyond the fact that over time I’ve had to place this scent in the ‘gives me an enormous headache’ category. I’d say I was allergic to oakmoss, if it didn’t love me in so many other scents… Anyway, beyond the temple throb, this is all about the vetiver. I thought Haitian vetiver was the airy stuff, but here it’s all about earth. Slightly sour earth. I can detect the oakmoss and maybe a hint of nutmeg around the edges, but it’s either so wonderfully blended or so vet-dominant that all the other notes are indistinguishable, at least to me. But as I’ve said, I’m not the one to judge. I need to lie down. Send over the En Passant and Bigarade Concentree, wouldja? Them’s two Malle bubbas I love.

Patty:   Lee and his aching head are just crazy – this is vetiver perfection. It does start out a little sourish and sharp, but the longer it is on, the more beautiful it becomes. I pulled out my CB Haitian Vetiver Accord to compare the two, and the CB Haitian vetiver on its own is earthy, slightly nutty perfection, and VE is much more robust, but the Hatian vetiver is very much prominent in the drydown.  This is one of my all-time favorite vetivers, coming in only second to the vetiver I huff on like crack, Hermessence Vetiver Tonka.

Time to round up all my new samples I’ve gotten to sniff!

Bond Saks for Her — Notes of Jasmine, tuberose, gardenia, vetiver and vanilla.  I’m totally underwhelmed. It’s kinda nice, soft, nothing offensive here, and the drydown just fades… to a softish gardenia.   Okay, take that back, should have been more patient — as the drydown continues, the gardenia becomes more prominent and richer. Maybe I’d like it more if I were a big gardenia fan..  With the tuberose/gardenia mix, I prefer the new one from Estee Lauder, which has a balance between tuberose and gardenia that I like a little better.  Due to be released in September 2007 only at Sak’s.

Bond Saks for Him — Notes of chili, black pepper, cardamom, bergamot, incense, guiac wood, amber.  Muuuuchhhhh better!  Okay, this is supposed to be for the guys, but I’m digging the pepper and spices and incense immensely on the open.  Wait, where did it go? It was really great out of the chute, but the interested parts vamoosed.  Okay, that’s not good. If they amped this up and could maintain that open for a while longer, this would be perfection. It’s not terrible at all and certainly a nice scent, but the interesting parts of it are on the open and fade too quickly.  Due to be released in October 2007 only at Sak’s.

Bond  Andy Warhol Silver Factory — Notes of bergamot, grapefruit, lavender, violet, incense, jasmine, iris, amber, wood resin, cedarwood.  Freak Alert, love, love, love it!  This starts off like metallic rubber, if that’s possible, a more metallic SMN Nostalgia, and then dries down to a smoky, soft incense with that never loses that little tinge of the metallic — it’s a Weird Scene scent. This is probably the most interesting scent Bond has ever done.. it’s not their normal floralish thing. Set to launch in December of 2007, this is the one of the three that goes on my wish list. It is an adorable freak.

biehl . parfumkuntswerke Mark Buxton 03 — This is a new line available from First in Fragrance, modeled along the lines of Frederic Malle where the perfumer creates and has their name put on the perfume. MB 03 has no top notes.  Notes include roman camomille, red pepper, elemi, cistus, cashmere wood, styrax, amber, incense, sandalwood, and patchouli.  Incense lovers will be thrilled with this dry, peppery, woody incense.  I’m actually loving a lot in this line, which I’ll explore more on Friday!

Andy Tauer’s new hyacinth and the Mechanic mod –  The beauty of the hyacinth is captured here perfectly, and then firmly planted in a mechanic’s gloves, spring floral perfection in an oil-soaked mechanic’s glove.  There aren’t enough words to say how much I adore this, and I can’t wait until Andy is finished with it. 

I actually figured out how to upload this image from my camera onto the laptop and into the Posse without reading the instructions. I’m thinking about writing a letter to Canon suggesting a new slogan for their PowerShot A540: “Technology for Morons.” The only problem is the individual .jpg files are so big they take forever to upload, so don’t be holding your breath for the photo album. I’ll figure out how to compress the files when my children leave for college. Yeah, that’s me a few days ago, sailing on Phang Nga bay, with Ko Phakak in the background. In case you’ve been wondering what I look like. Okay, usually I look a little less wind-burned, and my hair’s either curlier or straighter, and I’m wearing makeup, and not a yellow vest and Bushnells, and don’t have a wicked sunburn on that overlooked slice of unprotected skin below the bottom of my shirt and the top of my swim shorts. But that’s me, more or less. I am pensive. I am reflecting on the transitory nature of my life against the seeming permanence of my surroundings. Alternatively, I am watching the depth-finder closely (nothing like a lot of really shallow water to liven up a sail on someone else’s expensive toy!) and holding, just out of the camera range, a can of Singha beer. You choose.

I haven’t been reading the fragrance news or the other blogs. I’m a little worried. A lot could have happened in the last month. I’m going to feel foolish when I found out Guerlain’s been bought by Beatrice and their next boutique fragrance is for Lindsey Lohan, called … Commando? Je Suis Une Drunk? (Okay, I’ve been keeping up a little bit with the international newspapers. Shoot me. The Beckhams seem to be settling in nicely. So far as I can tell, that’s the only news.)

Anyway, here are random notes I made that I didn’t work into other posts. We’re leaving tomorrow and I won’t be posting Thursday, since I’ll be up to my ears in five weeks of backlog. I miss you, and perfume, and I’ll be back on it next week.

1) Want to be treated like royalty in Thailand? Bring your children! Experience the surprising, precise inverse of the response to kids in public in the U.S.! Turn your back on your tots – or even your sulky teen – for 30 seconds and random Thai people will be feeding them, handing them toys and chucking them under the chin. Simultaneously. Four kids gets you the best table in any restaurant.

2) The beach activities (loungers, etc.) are run by a cadre of lean, muscular, deeply tanned men with shaggy hair who could be anywhere in age from 15 to 45, I have no idea. Many of them have tattoos that cover their torsos, done in black ink that is only slightly lighter than their skin. I find their beauty compelling, although when I was young enough to have the freedom I’d never have had the confidence to approach them. Their relationship with me is … wary friendliness? I am the crazy white lady with red hair who walks by several times in the heat of the day with her iPod. (Walking is dangerous and for poor people.) Some of them are Burmese, and all of them look like they could kick you to death in two minutes without spilling their beer. Having witnessed a brief, violent ass-kicking of two foreigners over a soccer ball, I would not want to get on their bad side. These same men, however, will play like four-year-olds with my four-year-olds, building sand castles and kicking the mini soccer ball for 45 minutes straight. One group joshes me from a distance every day on my walks – Jet-ski? We all laugh. I’m pretty sure they’re all smoking dope. I finally talked to them about the tattoos, which they say (I wasn’t following the details very well) is made by burning bamboo. Maybe they use the ash under the skin? Or they use sharpened bamboo? I’m not sure which, although the one with the best English said it was different than needle tattoos. They call me something he says means “happy heart,” because I smile and wave at them when I walk by. He said it’s a Thai expression. Maybe he’s lying and they’re calling me Pink Ghost or something (honestly, I have never felt whiter – I wonder if my skin disgusts them?) But I’ve decided I’m going to believe him. Because it makes me happy.

3) I have developed a taste for the smell of durian. Having smelled it for a month, I’m going to miss it. It’s a completely distinct smell, like no other. Somebody definitely needs to try to work a smidge of it into a fragrance. On Dinazad’s advice I’ve tried three brands of durian chips, and they taste great! Unfortunately, all their stink seems to be missing. I was hoping for a touch of durian to carry home with me.

4) I really miss walking. New York, London, Paris, Vienna — these places and many others I have enjoyed extensively on foot. I love to walk. Walking by myself, in the city or countryside, is a great pleasure. Even in London, with traffic going the wrong way and drivers who’ll run you down, is delightful to walk in. These parts of Asia, cities and towns — not so much. There’s … a general lack of pedestrian concessions? Sidewalks are intermittent or nonexistent. Motobikes drive and park on them. Roadsides are parking lots, pitted, trash-strewn, muddy. Okay, you can walk — there’s no law against it — but it’s mostly such a risk (crossing any street without getting hit) you give up and get in a tuk-tuk or whatever. I wonder whether urban/suburban walking is a great unsung luxury?

Yesterday and today: Culture Shock! Back in Bangkok for the new Harry Potter movie at the Siam Paragon — at the IMAX Theatre in 3-D!!!!! Yeah, read that and weep. It was soooo great. Today a trip to the big Weekend Market — can’t remember the name but I think it means “how many people can you wedge into 8,000 stalls”? Got lotsa cool stuff. Hitting some more local sights tomorrow. But it’s weird what you miss. Right now all I want is something I can’t find — just a regular ol’ cheese sandwich. Made with English cheese. Maybe the one with the bits of Stilton in it (Double Gloucester?) or some Cheshire or something. Okay, gotta go — Diva’s waiting for me to conjure an alternative to Scary Noodle —

My arm/hands are feeling much better, thanks everyone, but I’m still taking it easy since if I do anything too long, the pain kicks back up. I highly recommend that 3M joystick-looking mouse, and I am going to look into acupuncture. So thanks very much for the recommendations!

I have a drawing winner from a while back for the Profumum Volo AZ 686, Bois 1920 Sushi Imperiale, Profumum Alba, CdG Play and NR For Him and Musc for Him samples, and that winner is… Carlene!  Just hit the Contact Us button over there on the left and send me your address, and I’ll get these sent out to you.

Estee Lauder’s Private Collection Tuberose Gardenia showed up this week. I wasn’t paying much attention to it until both Marina and Ina said they liked it when sniffing in NYC last week. It has notes of neroli, lilac, rosewood, tuberose, gardenia, orange flower, jasmine, white lily, carnation and vanilla bourbon. I have this in both the EDP and parfum. The EDP is a big, but not too big, tuberose and gardenia scent. I get just the slightest blue cheese from it, but it is pretty beautiful and something only gardenia and tuberose haters would not like.  It’s not my favorite gardenia scent, that nod goes to Isabey Gardenia, nor is it my favorite tuberose scent, that goes to Frederic Malle Carnal Flower, but the combination of notes makes it not simply one or the other, but brings some of the best quality of each into a tandem run.  Taken for what it is, it’s certainly gorgeous and worth owning, and the price point on the edp isn’t horrific, under $65 for 30 ml or $120 for 75 ml. At least they did this in a smaller bottle, so maybe someone at EL has been listening to us. 

Now, the parfum is far superior to the edp for me.  Where the edp goes on a little sharp and pitches high, the parfum is a little richer in the right places, mostly in the gardenia, and the two flowers run in tandem truer in this strength. It just feels a little more complex of the two, but I still wouldn’t call this scent complex by our snooty niche-spoiled standards.  The parfum is $300 for 30 ml, and it may be worth it for those of you that love both tuberose and gardenia and like the scent a lot… The parfum may move you to love.

So while I’m still typing short things, let’s do another drawing!  This one will be for a sample of both the edp and parfum of the Estee Lauder Private Collection Tuberose Gardenia and how about I throw in a sample of POTL cream and Carnal Flower Beurre Exquise. Just drop a comment and let me know you want to be in the draw!  I may or may not be responding today, depending on how the arm/hand is doing!

UPDATE: I’ve inserted Noy’s commentary on ladyboys at the bottom.

Today’s candy didn’t start off very promisingly. I put on two Miya Shinmas – Kaze and Feuillage Vert (green leaves), both samples of which I got awhile back from Luckyscent which, interestingly, doesn’t seem to sell them. They both were really soapy on me, before Vert went off in the disheartening direction of privet and Kaze in what smelled to me like a rather plastic rose. They’re pretty light. I did fret. Is there something about my tropical locale that just rejects perfume?

Then I tried Carthusia’s Via Camerelle and was cheered immediately. I’m not a fan of some bits of the line I’ve sampled; Fiori di Capri’s overbearing florals gag me, although Mediterraneo is a perfect all-season fragrance, particularly in winter, a breeze of citrus and a cool glass of tea. Replace the tea with some musk and sandalwood and you’ve got Camerelle. Is it genius? Nah. But it’s delicious – a lime gelato in the Cinque Terre, served up with a suggestive smile by some sloe-eyed Italian boy in a white shirt, his curls of dark brown hair blowing in the breeze. Whiff of armpit – his, not mine. (I checked.) Thing I love about Italian and French men: your appeal as a woman doesn’t evaporate with your 30th (or 40th, or 60th) birthday.

But Via Camerelle should work here, because it’s such a hot-weather snack of a fragrance. So then I wished I’d brought Guerlain Mitsouko, because I wanted to conduct an experiment on my theory of environmental incompatibility and Mitsouko just seemed, off the top of my head, like the wrongest possible thing to wear to Patong Beach. Mitsouko is my queen, my most elegant lady, and walking her around here is like taking the Mona Lisa to happy hour at Hooters. I dug around in my sample bag and came up instead – miraculously – with Guerlain L’Heure Bleue in the parfum, which is also a strong contender in the wrongness category. I was excited – how would my melancholy beloved wear, mashed up against the roast bananas, roadside garbage, strutting ladyboys and general sleazy charm of Patong, which, judging by the pornographic tee shirts and hardcore action on Bangla Road, is getting a little less family friendly?

I waited for sunset, splashed on some LHB and took my stroll.

Is the suspense killing you? What happened was so peculiar. L’Heure Bleue on me is very … proper, the variant being the degree of melancholy on any particular day. Even the parfum, which is way stronger on me than the EDP, keeps its velvet gloves on like a lady, and (whispers) sometimes that powder-heliotrope thing can get a little cloying. But this! Holy moley! I wandered down the beach, through the crowds at Bangla, and back up, working up a sweat, and my velvet lady danced around in front of me in a sarong, every inch of her reinvented as one of Gauguin’s Tahitian beauties. It was all smoke and incense and hot brown skin on me – no, seriously – the inside of a temple. It was fabulous.

Top photo: Thai ladyboy band Venus Flytrap (what a great name!) The ladyboy phenom here is just one more thing I’m a little confused about. They seem to be pretty accepted – you can go see them in cabaret shows, and they’re out in public. Maybe Noy will enlighten? Basically they’re transvestites, but they’re not. I wonder how they fit in culturally, and/or to whom they are providing services? Separate from the old joke of discovering at an awkward moment that, you know, the lady’s a dude, seriously – some of them are drop-dead gorgeous, and there are interesting shadings and variations in the level to which they’re looking female. Many of them seem to be deliberately androgynous – splitting it right down the middle, provocatively.

NOY’S COMMENTS:

Ladyboys. Wooooo…could write a book on that. They’ve been around a long time. In terms of societal “roles,” they have been part of animistic rituals and the like for ages, and were part of the entertainment scene since at least the 1920s. Every Thai drama must have a ladyboy sidekick to simper and screech…so they are present in mainstream media, but also reduced to caricature. Not unlike how queer folks are often treated in Hollywood films.

Lesbianism is, however, hardly discussed outside of queer circles, which is its own vast problem, and there is a tremendous amount of societal pressure to get married, have babies, etc.  Really a difficult situation, but not forbidden. Queerness in Thailand is more open but also…not discussed so much. Most of my Thai gay friends (particularly the Sino-Thais, I’ve noticed) are not out to their families, and they are in their 30s and 40s, it’s a really don’t ask, don’t tell situation. In both Japan and Thailand you’d likely find higher numbers of queer people living in marriages with people of the opposite sex and having children…while stepping out on the side…than the States. Do your public and familial duty, and then sneak off to explore or engage in your individual desires. And never, ever let the two worlds collide.

Venus Flytrap photo, thaiphotoblogs.com; Gauguin Tahiti Women with Mango, mpa.org

Dear friends

I’m a little late in posting today. I’ll tell you why…

When I woke this morning, the sun was shining. Now, in our dismal northern European summer, this year that’s been a rare event. I drew back the curtains and did a little boogie at the day. It must be quite a thing to see me dance in my boxer shorts at the bedroom sash window. Normally it’s only a dog walker or two I startle with my hip wiggles and shoulder shakes. Matt is always still in bed and laughing.

I decided, before writing the Posse entry, I needed to be outdoors. The clouds were already boiling up a heavy quotient of rain on the horizon and I had planting to do.

I have an allotment. I’m not sure there’s any equivalent to this on the north American continent, but it’s a plot of land for which I pay a nominal rent - and I can grow anything I like on it, as long as there’s no financial gain to be made from the process. So far this year, I have a glut of potatoes, peas and zucchini/courgettes (depending on your penchant for the Italian or French of this cucurbit…) More on allotments here.

Anyway, by 8 this morning I already had my fingers in warm soil as I planted my oriental greens. I’ve managed to tame about a fifth of my 10 rod plot (about 10 by 25 yards, I think) - the rest is swamped in brambles and nettles and bindweed and nameless other prickly beasties, sporadically brightened by the silken red of poppies. It’s a battle against nature which I have done nothing but lose since gaining the plot in April. Back then, it was an unsightly mass of broken glass, dumped rubbish and metal wire - that bit was easy. But it’s wonderful to grow at least some of what you eat, and I accept that I’ll only ever clear the entire plot bit by bit, slowly slowly. Meanwhile, the old men tut-tut at my wild land, and look in puzzlement at my planting patterns whilst they hoe between their serried ranks of veg.

But the allotment isn’t really what I want to tell you about, because the best bit is the walk home. Matt dropped me off this morning - to return to our house, I have a twenty minute cross-country amble, where I only have to meet one road, and that’s the one on which I live. This journey, this morning, made me sigh with delight.

I live in a truly beautiful place. We seem to have these moments (spiritual hokiness warning!) where something in us vibrates in harmony with our surroundings - on this walk, that’s what I had. First, I cross the river and lose sight of the church tower which marks my home (I live in its shadow). Sometimes, there’s swans, but not today. Instead, there’s the gush of water as it falls down an incline, and the heavy sussuration of trees in the wind. Then I’m faced with the ‘behind the village’ walk - dog walkers (a Staffie and another wire haired terrier were play boxing, the aged owners looking on with laughter on their lips but worry in their eyes), back gardens, old remnants of former cottages, long gone. The scout hut. It really is a disapppearing England.

When I cross the river once again, I’m in a different sort of landscape, a tunnel of green between two arable fields.  It’s like something from ‘The Lord of the Rings’ - a footpath so hemmed in by hawthorn that you only have glimpses of the world outside. There’s only ahead and behind as the trees meet above and shut out the sky. There’s a stillness here: although the wind whispers above and alongside you, it doesn’t seem to reach your skin. Long skeletal fingers of cow parsley - in May, a froth of white blossom - reach out to your arms, leaning in to the cool of the shade. It feels like a place you dream.

Eventually, of course, the outside world returns, and I cross a field to a jumble of houses, one of which is mine. There’s a transformation to the light, from those verdant restful hues to the umbers and faded browns of the harvested wheat, their remnants a regular geometry from a distance, up close a chaos of disorder. Underfoot, the ground is covered in a rustling mat of stalks and straw, the hue of summer heat. Although we’ve had the coolest summer I remember, the wheat pretends for me that all is wonderfully warm.

And, so I’m home again, typing in my study and looking south to the  short journey I’ve made. There’s dirt under my nails, and the smell of the outdoors on my shirt and skin. I want it to last. It won’t. Still, it’s all the justification I need to buy a bottle of Chêne.

It’s hot here… I mean, really hot. The kind of hot where the air conditioner just doesn’t want to keep up.  So what to do when the heat of summer starts being oppressive?  Go against the grain and start thinking about fall/winter scents I have missed. Fall and Winter are truly the times of year when perfume is at its finest, wearing the rich and opulent scents that I just never feel I can wear in summer without a really bad headache.

So I look longingly at my shelf of Carons, plotting those that I haven’t paid enough attention to and come up with… French CanCan!  Notes of jasmine, lilac, violet, lily of the valley, rose, orange blossom, patchouli, iris, sandalwood, amber, oakmoss.  This is one of the most changeable of the Caron parfums.  It starts off bright and bubbly and then starts to settle into a jasmine, rose, orange blossom array.  The drydown on this is just gorgeous.  It stays feminine throughout, with peeps of frivolity, but always held up by that rich Caron base.  Carons have always had my respect by how well they captured the time they were made. French Cancan was created in 1936, and while it doesn’t feel old fashioned, it just feels of that era, of a different time, and an attitude where showing bloomers was erotic, and perfumes reflected that… Never completely  showing its butt, just giving peeps of it.  What winter scent are you most pining for?  Not your favorite and maybe one you don’t wear that much, but just that you are thinking about that needs more attention that you admire?

Sorry for the short posts the last couple of weeks, but I’ve got a bad case of stress on my mousing hand from all the data entry we’ve been doing for The Perfumed Court, and while I’m waiting for a more ergonomic mouse, I’m trying to cut down how much mousing and typing I do!

Update: Winners of the Tuberose Post: ering and Tmp…..I picked two…I couldn’t help it. Just contact us and I’ll get your addresses. I have a couple things to send, so I’ll randomly divide the winnings.

First off, I’d like to thank everyone who left comments on my homm post last week. The internet situation in Siem Reap, like everything else, is a little slooow. I read and enjoyed all of the commentary – and for any of you who missed it, Noy added some separate comments with additional thoughts on the homm.

I missed Friday’s Top 10 Scents of Summer post, so here are my comments and additions to the Posse list. (Note: since I don’t have any of these here to smell, I’m doing it from memory, which you all know is impeccable!) The second part of the post, for any of you who are interested, is about Siem Reap.

Guerlain Apres L’Ondee – Well … okay, I’ll work with you guys. I think of it more as the best of spring rather than the best of summer. If the heat gets above 90, it can get a little sweet and powdery on me. But Apres would appear on any of my best of anything list.

Malle Carnal Flower – Joining Patty and Lee on this one. Bryan, are you out of your mind? (Insert smiling emoticon here.) Don’t get me wrong, I loooove me some Carnal Flower, in cooler weather. It’s my favorite tuberose. But not in a miserable Washington, D.C. summer.

TDC Sel de Vetiver – see, this is what I love about these group posts. Because now I get to respectfully disagree with my olfactorily refined blogmates and say how repulsive this thing is, and my three esteemed blogmates are off their respective rockers. Sel de Vetiver smells like cat piss on a big ol’ box of Morton salt. Hope you’re enjoying reading this, because they’re now going to change the blog security and kick me off.

Hermes Eau des Merveilles – Water of Wonders, water of miracles. By sheer coincidence, I spritzed this on during my sprint through Bangkok’s giant new inoperable airport (Motto: Sawasdee Ka! We build a gazillion-baht first-world airport and you still have to deplane your 747 using the steps!) …. Where was I? Oh. The first perfume I’d sprayed on with abandon in some time, its subtle funk perfect for our arrival in Siem Reap (Motto: our passport control people look like they’d love to cut your throat, but at least you only have to walk 75 feet to your gate!) I love Merveilles. You already know that. Salt, summer, sex. I bring out its stanky side on my skin, prompting giggles when SAs say things like, it’s perfect for tennis! One of the fewer than 10 bottles of fragrance I have actually worked my way through.

Hermessence Osmanthe Yunnan – I’ve bucked the whole Hermessence trend, so I’m totally unreliable. But I like this one a lot – not too sweet, fruity-floral but delicate as a paper crane. But I like Paprika Brasil too, so consider yourself warned.

Santa Maria Novella Eva – Patty turned me on to this one. She said it all – citrus, a dash of pepper, light and refreshing. I also love its sorta-retro bottle.

Bvlgari Au The Blanc – another total winner. I like all the Bvlgari teas, even the Rouge (more than most of you, I think) but the white is the winner. My go-to summer staple when I don’t even want to think about what I’m putting on. I get a particularly enticing hit of herbaceous artemisia, one of my favorite smells in my garden – I have it growing near the paths so I can smell it with the lavender. I have almost finished my second bottle, which is pretty much unheard of in my life. While I’m blathering, I’ll add that the Bvlgari Femme, whatever its official name is, is totally underrated, and I’ve seen the light on the Omnias as well (Crystalline is my favorite.)

Divine L’Homme de Coeur – It’s lovely. Really, it is. But I couldn’t do it in summer. I bet it’d smell excellent on Lee, though.

Nicolai Balle de Match – This does deserve its popularity. They even make moist towelettes in this scent, I believe. It should be perfect – I like an unsweetened citrus – but there’s a note in there that’s too balsam-y for me. I feel like I’ve put on too much, no matter how lightly I apply it.

Nicolai Fig-Tea – they put this on for me!!! How sweet is that?!?! God, I don’t deserve these people. I’ve worked through most of my teeny bottle. Fortunately it’s easy (and relatively cheap) to get more. I’m going to nominate this for a special award because it’s so refreshing and tea-ish and figgy and you go, yeah, that’s going to last about 45 seconds. But it doesn’t. It lasts a really long time, which is a tough trick in the summer scent category. Don’t take my word for it; ask Maria and Louise.

Okay, so if I bump Carnal Flower, Sel de Vetiver, L’Homme and Balle de Match, I’d add, off the top of my head (remember, I’m not looking at my ‘fume closet):

Worth Courtesan! Hah hah! Big surprise! I know, I know. You’re floored. By the way, Patty got her bottle in the mail, I see she’s selling it on the Frip. Be the first on your block to feel the musky fruit love.

Guerlain Vetiver – I discovered this right before I left. What I mean is, I smelled it for, what, the 43^rd time, and said – whoa! That right there is the perfect vetiver for me! It’s summery and refreshing and the vetiver isn’t stomping me into the dirt like the Whomping Willow. I’m getting a bottle ASAP.

Ormonde Jayne Champaca – okay, this is a bit of a cheat, since I just figured out on this trip how much I loved it. But I used up my decant and now I just stick the empty atomizer under my nose. I can’t wait to get some more of this. Champaca, tea, and memories of Thailand.

Floris Summer Limes – limes. Period. A limited edition, and I don’t think they released it again this summer, but they do periodically. The fragrance equivalent of a tall glass of unsweetened, iced lime juice.

PART TWO — ANGKOR WAT, SIEM REAP, CAMBODIA

There is nothing I can say about Angkor Wat that hasn’t been said before, and much better, by other people. It exceeded my wildest expectations. Even Diva and Enigma, my spoiled, cosseted farang children, were blown away. We spent the better part of two days exploring the temples in the staggering heat. It’s monsoon season and the first day there’d been a major downpour an hour earlier, so when we got to the main temple for sunset we were almost alone. Sunset at the main temple, empty of tourists, is one of the visual highlights of my life. We rode the elephants. We drank liters of water. If you can visit Angkor Wat and not leave with an armload of bracelets and Buddha threads sold by child beggars you’re made of sterner stuff than I am. I’m counting on the Buddha threads because the mosquitos were fierce, in spite of our best efforts, and they’re having a big outbreak of dengue right now.

In Siem Reap, one of the highlights was our tour of Les Chantiers Ecoles Artisans d’Angkor, where they teach orphans and the children of the poor some native craft-making so they can support themselves. It is both uplifting and heartrending, depending on how you look at it. There’s a special school for painters there, full of deaf-mute teenagers, so they can make a living and support themselves. The young man who took us on the tour told me a story about one of the Buddhas they carve, a Buddha image which has always creeped me out. I wrote it down word for word, as best as I could remember, so I could tell it to you. Here it is.

Once there was a snake, a cobra. And he followed the Buddha everywhere.

And this snake wanted to be a monk.

But he can not, because he is a snake.

And one day the rain came. So the snake, he made himself into a place for the Buddha to sit, to keep him up from the rain. And the snake, he lifted his head over the Buddha, to keep him dry.

Which explains, in a nutshell, everything I do and don’t understand about Cambodia, Buddhism, Hinduism and the Khmer people. What I don’t understand about last week could fill several volumes. How can the Cambodians, the most gentle people I have ever met, have spawned the Khmer Rouge? How can a country of Buddhists have Angkor Wat, every remaining bas relief of which is, if not devoted to lovely dancing apsaras, devoted to endless battle stories? Do the people avoid the word “Khmer” because it freaks them out, or because they think it freaks us out? How many people can you fit onto a moped? (A family of six. Five teenagers. Mom, three kids and a dog. One man and a giant basket of piglets.) Are the insects the tuk-tuk driver is eating for breakfast small crickets, or small grasshoppers, and what part is he spitting out? Is Khmer food the best food on earth? (Yes.) Have they considered paving the roads to cut down on the dust and mud? Is it better to give the begging children at the temples food or clothing?

If Thailand is visiting a foreign country, Cambodia is visiting another planet. I am a fickle, fickle woman. I loved my fast-paced city boy, Bangkok, with all his flash and wiles. But I have fallen very, very hard for the quiet, peculiar charms of Siem Reap. Siem Reap, with the Psaar Chaa (Old Market) where you can buy weird tee shirts and catfish (heads? or tails?) and fake antiquities and compasses and gorgeous Khmer textiles, sold by women so delicate and lovely that my size-small butt barely fits into their largest drawstring pants. I ate amazing, unrecognizable bowls of … things … and drank endless glasses of “lime juice,” just lime juice and water for 1000 riel a pop, at 4000 riel to the dollar. But bring your dollars, that’s all you need. It’s the land of the $2 tuk-tuk and the $5 footrub that lasts an hour, until you are begging for mercy, and ends with a glass of mystery tea.

I’m thinking that according to Buddhism, all this crap is transitory and meaningless, but we brought back so many beautiful things, many from the Artisans d’Angkor, I had to carry them in woven bags onto the plane. Also, my bag was too heavy at check-in in the Siem Reap airport. We were all very sad. I was sad. The ticketing agent was pensive. I said, I have many beautiful things. They said, too heavy. I said, these things, they are so fragile. Please. We thought for awhile, together. They shrugged. Okay, whatever.

I’m an American. I was taught, hey – if you’re a snake and you want to be a monk, well … you go, girl! You be that monk! Anything is possible! So I can’t understand it. I can’t understand the relationship I’m in with that strange, dusty city in that strange, dusty country. It could end badly. Two months there and maybe I’d be climbing the wall. But all I wanted to do, as much as I missed the rest of my family, was stay. I’m such a doofus. I had to bite my lip not to cry all the way back to the airport (in our tuk-tuk, sitting on our bags – we could probably fit a whole extra basket of piglets in there, plenty of room!) I’ve had three days to get over my hopeless crush and I’m still mooning around like a lovesick 13-year-old.

I ate some durian ice cream. Siem Reap still has a lot of French vestiges, including good wines and pastries, and several stores sell excellent homemade ice cream. I figured it’s probably the most palatable introductory foray. I managed to swallow two bites while the waitstaff watched and giggled and egged me on. It was like licking the bathroom, with an emphasis on sucking on the tropical scented cake they toss in the urinal. It took six hours to get the taste out of my mouth. But who am I to judge? If you’re a fan of durian, or grasshoppers, or that fermented fish sauce they’re so liberal with, a hearty bite of Stilton would probably leave you retching in the street.

Photos, Siem Reap: gonomad.com; buddha and cobra image, momobis.com

Today Aromascope : Bois de Jasmin : Now Smell This : Perfume Posse : Perfume-Smellin’ Things : Scentzilla   review their Top Ten Scents of Summer!

Bryan, Lee and I have consulted and argued and come up with our list, in no particular order:

• Guerlain Apres L’Ondee — (Patty) Bryan and I agreed on this one.  To me, this is the best of summer, delicate rain-soaked iris petals. Maybe it’s more spring, but in the heat of the summer, it makes you think it’s still spring. (Lee) Whereas it just makes me feel a little melancholy, like listening to too much early Joni Mitchell and Cohen in a delectable gloomfest whilst the light glares down outside. It doesn’t make me think of the democratic sunshine of summer; more of the evanescence of everything and the fragility of all that is beautiful…  (Bryan)I have adored this since I found it 12 years ago….in the oppressive heat of summer. The parfum is a haughty shrug at the cruel sun. Bliss.
• Frederic Malle Carnal Flower — (Patty) Bryan picked this, and Lee and I have declared him certifiable. It’s like wearing a hothouse in the summer.  Have you lost your mind? (Lee) I’m not a fan of floral on me, and this - well, it actually becomes a turmeric overdose, but maybe the heady flowers plus the coloration are doing a number on my heat-dazed head.  (Bryan)I wear this year round, but I swear it blooms in the heat. The flowers love August, so I say, Bring It. It is as though the fragrance is unfolding in slow motion. ‘Nuff said.
• The Different Company Sel de Vetiver — (Patty) We all agreed on this one.  Salty and light and gorgeous, what else could you ask for? (Lee) Damn right. A genius summer scent. Does grapefruit with cardamom get any better?  (Bryan)I love the salt…and vetiver is a note that begs to be taken down a notch by the Ellenas’ light touch.
• Hermes Eau de Merveilles –(Lee) It’s beach perfection for those of us unable to visit or rest on sandy shores (I’m too twitchy to sunbathe). (Bryan) A beautifully elegant, classicly warm scent. No food, just light woods and resin. My mother’s current favorite….she wears it well.
• Hermessence Osmanthe Yunan — (Patty) Tart tea, uh… Yeehaw! Perfect any time of year, OY comes into its own in the hottest days of summer.(Lee) My bottle of this arrived last week; I’m overdoing it. Crack cocaine in perfumed form. (Bryan)I love it for its faux fruitiness. The lovely SA at Roja Dove in Harrod’s said that the Osmanthus flower is the only flower with a fruity scent….here it is soft and light and, well, chic. Not very tenacious, but I do love it.
• Santa Maria Novella Eva — (Patty) This makes the top of my list every summer. Light, citrussy, effervescent, with a little pepper, it cools and refreshes and just makes me happy all year round, but most in the languid heat of summertime.
• Bvlgari au the Blanc — (Patty) another summer tea scent, it’s light and refreshing and feels like filtered sunshine in a teacup. (Bryan)Of the three teas by Bulgari, my definite favorite…simple without boredom…when it’s over 100, I’ll be reaching for it…so I’m guessing tomorrow maybe.
• Divine L’Homme de Coeur –(Lee) My default choice. It’s a beautiful skin scent - pure, refined, aromatic, almost too perfect. When nothing else will do, this iris, cypress, angelica melange will leave you gasping at its understated beauty.
• Balle de Match –(Lee) Feeling hot and sweaty, you naughty thing, you? This bracing grapefruit cologne will refresh and caress your clammy flesh, and afterwards leave you with a deliciously mossy woods drydown. Patricia de Nicolai weaves more of her magic. (Bryan)Beautiful and perfect for the heat….or when you want to remember the heat in the middle of a Kansas City winter….
• Fig-Tea — (Lee) *waves to March* We put this one here for you, honey. And it sure smells great on you!

I haven’t posted in a while for no other reason than I tend to be shy. I try not to compete with Patty, March or Lee but let’s face it, I don’t have their wit nor their devoted following, so I would be an idiot to try. I honestly wonder why anyone cares what I think about fragrance. I can only offer the fact that I have been collecting for almost two decades and I research the hell out of anything I love. I truly adore scent and I am honored that the Posse includes me.

OK, so here are a few of my favorite things. I am not talking about top ten or the like. That is for later. Here are a few of the fragrances that I reach for over and over again.

It is no secret that tuberose enthralls me. I find myself intoxicated by its beauty. This is where I begin.
Prada Tubereuse: This is part of the boutique exclusives which I believe are all single notes ranging from Iris to the aforementioned. I find its beauty lies in the pungency. Here we have a tuberose that isn’t trying too hard. Much like Ms. Prada’s pret-a-porter (of which I also cannot get enough) it is beautiful in its simplicity. This is a tuberose that stands in her vase, metaphorical hands on hips, smug smile…whispers, “what do you want from me?”
Annick Goutal Tubereuse: I have loved this soliflore since it was available stateside. I purchase this by the gross from the lovely ladies at the Rue Castiglione boutique. I highly recommend them as they are sweet and efficient and generous. OK, this is a heady pure tuberose. I spray my self, my sheets, my hair, my childhood blankie that I still sleep with (shut up). This is what fields of tuberose smell like from miles away. I believe that if God opened up the Gates of Heaven and allowed a few breazes our way before closing them (for now) this scent would move through me, over me. I smell tuberose and I confirm God’s existence.
Carnal Flower: I’ve said enough. Go buy it. You won’t be sorry.
Bruno Bleu: A perfume oil. I don’t usually go for oils. The flowery prose at Luckyscent sucked me in. I bought unsniffed and I just couldn’t help myself. I do love it, but why the hell is it blue?? OK, it is a beauty….very creamy and unapologetic. Not a “rocket science” kind of perfume, but who cares, it has tuberose. Seriously though, it is lovely, if not linear. A bit salty in its warmth. Sexy.
Creed Tubereuse Indiana: I keep it around, but I find it a bit off. I think that the tuberose and ambergris fight a bit for attention. The fight continues without any clear winner, so the whole composition, well, fails. I find it amusing, though. Not enough tuberose for me. I think I have a problem.

I do love tuberose, but I by no means discriminate….too much. Here are a few of my other recent infatuations.
Guerlain Bois d’Armenie: This is beauty divine. This is incense at its most breathtaking. The sweet resiny warmth is achingly gorgeous. I feel as though I’m applying for a position at Luckyscent. I adore it.
Vintage Lanvin RumeurThank you Patty! I find the initial blast, well, vintagey. I wait two minutes and there she is. The fog has lifted and she’s standing in vintage Balanciaga. Pale, with red accents on. Glamorous and gorgeous without boring me with her age. I think she is just as relevant today….think Gesquiere for Balenciaga….timeless with a nod to the past glory. I don’t know what is in this juice but I feel so chic wearing it. I will be trying the other vintage Lanvins soon….like tomorrow if the postman hurries.

And now I must eat a few words. I reviewed Ether de Lilas and simply denounced it. I was warned by Patty (probably twice) that it must be sprayed. So I sprayed. I swooned. I purchased. I love it in this heat. Kansas City is brutal in its extremes. Arctic air in winter, the freakin’ Chergui in summer. I am not kidding… Patty I ‘m sooo sorry. I won’t question the spray thing ever again. I’m a sucker for limited editions too.

So, there you have it. A very brief look at my loves. I do apologize for the lack of eloquence. I tried to be as down to earth as I could be when writing about this beautiful form of art. I also could write pages on others, from Tubereuse Criminelle (I’m on my third bottle) to Muscs Koublai Kahn (bottle three as well). For fun, how about a giveaway. A partial bottle of one of my loves…how about Do Son or something? Just mention you are interested and I’ll randomly draw.

This time round, we’re hitting you with a Bertrand Duchaufour double whammy, care of l’Artisan Parfumeur: two arguably masculine numbers - the hazelnut, liquorice, cedar and honey blend of Mechant Loup; the papyrus, pink pepper and vetiver blend of Timbuktu.

 What do we all think?

 First up, Mechant Loup:

Patty:  Mechant Loup is a scent I should hate, what with all the honey running around in it, but after that initial opening blast, it settles down into a really wonderful, gourmandy scent. I can pick out the honey in it, but it doesn’t have that foul odor I associate with honey in perfumes, it is more like the wonderful smell of honey I remember from my childhood when we would get a big comb of honey, beeswax, everything.  Nothing tastes better than comb honey… Or smells better, and Mechant Loup captures that part of the honey, but also something slightly more sinister, like the big, bad wolf hanging around Little Red Riding Hood’s basket of honey, hazelnut treats and innocence….

Bryan: Although I do not believe in gendered perfumes, I must admit I more often than not, reach for the florals. I just hate the mass market smell of insipid “masculines” that clutter the windexed counters at department stores near all of us. I would agree that both Mechant Loup and Timbuktu fit the conventionally masculine stereotype. I do however adore them both. Big Bad Wolf (love the name) I will admit, has a special place in my heart. I wore it back when I was 26 and I had my first kiss (with a guy). I wasn’t going to share that, but more has been offered on this blog and I feel we know each other well enough, right? I mention it because I am a bit biased here. I stand by my initial reaction though, to this warm, nay hot juice. The hazelnut just envelops me and I am never unaware of the wolf’s presence….something I love in a fragrance. This is gourmand without the nauseating prettyness of angel. There I said it. Making up words is fun.

Lee: This is an oddball scent to me, and probably my least favourite Duchaufour creation. No, scratch that: I put it above the burnt plastic I get from Eau d’Italie. I used to own this but am writing my account purely from smell memory - let me know if I go wrong somewhere. Initially, it blasts me with a sour, entirely unique combination of liquorice, hazelnut and sweat. Then the honey creeps in and it becomes mild, not uriney like in the understandably underappreciated Miel de Bois, but definitely, and quintessentially, bucolic. This is a perfume composed of golden browns and forest greens, but there’s something in it that for me is somehow not quite right. I put it down to the hazelnut - something I love in chocolate, cookies, brownies or by themselves, but not a scent I like with this combination of other notes.

And now, Timbuktu:

Bryan: I have much affection for this one because it is so unlike everything else. Given that it is increasingly more difficult to find a unique scent, Timbuktu is a welcome blast of resiny earth. I gave this to a friend (twice, as he ran out) and he says he is complimented every time he sprays. He says the ladies love it (in so many not-so-silly words). I appreciate it, but I wear Dzongkha when I am in this kind of mood. I would love to smell it on Lee, though. I do have one gripe. This scent just isn’t as tenacious as I would like….but then again, what is?

Lee: No other perfume on me gets as many compliments as this one, but it’s one ‘fume where the perfume community is split right down the middle - sour, earthy, acidic, foul on the one hand; subtle, serene, heavenly on the other. To me, this is a gloriously full powered incense scent with a wonderful kick of something I’ve never smelled before. It’s difficult to pin down - it has ingredients I love but here, for me, the whole is so much more than the sum of its parts. It starts sour and earthy (but in such a good way!) and the smoke is there from the start, teasing around at the edge of the notes and sometimes taking centre stage. Someone said that it’s papyrus that has this effect, seeming both smoky and peppery at the same time, or just becoming one immediately after it is both, however that works… It’s wonderfully dry, but soapy and refreshing too. Perhaps to some people there’s too much going on, but for me it’s magical. And though I don’t own a bottle, it’s been on my ‘must have’ list for way too long. And I hope, not for too much longer. In fact, it’s something I’d love to wear lightly in the summer.

Patty:  Timbuktu hates me.  The flavor of vetiver in it just goes foul and then nondescript and vanishes. Odd, that! It’s a pretty powerful blend, but it’s like my skin just sucks it all up. I wish it had just a leetle magic, but, sadly, all the magic leaked out of the end of the wand.    

Narciso Rodriguez has just released For Him and Musc for Him.  They aren’t listed separately, but I presume both were designed by Francis Kurkdjian. I’ve been pretty meh about the For Him, and I’ve kept playing with it and have come to the conclusion that it has THE NOTE that I’m a little anosmic or misanosmic too. I’ve finally picked up the faint whiff of alcohol in the background that is the sure sign that… it’s me, not him.  I’m thinking it’s the type of musk that is the culprit because I’m not generally musk anosmic. So I really can’t review the EDT at all.  Without the alcohol smell, I like what I get quite a lot, though it’s difficult to just turn off that part enough to get a good read on it.  I’m anxious to have someone else review it to see what I’m missing.

For whatever reason, though, the notes in Musc for Him come in loud and clear, so perhaps it is the alcohol of the edt mixed with that note that just blows it up for me, and that just doesn’t happen in the musk oil. The Alcohol smell isn’t there, and the Musc for Him is perfection.  With notes of violet leaf, patchouli, amber and musk, it goes on just a little sharp from the violet leaf, but within minutes blends into the musc and softens, but continues to add interest, so it’s not as purely musky and skin-like as the women’s musc is. I had hoped to compare it to the women’s musc, but the women’s version blends into my skin so well, after about 10 minutes, I can’t pick it out.  It’s like my skin, but better, which isn’t a bad thing at all, but I prefer the men’s because it’s like wearing my husband’s skin, but not in that Buffalo Bill ”It Puts the Lotion on its Skin” freaky hide tanner kind of way.

The  Musc for Him drydown continues to soften throughout the day, retaining the fougere quality in a very soft, enchanting way.  It stays pretty close to the skin, and it’s definitely an intimate scent.

also, Vijay at Suravi is selling off his remaining stock. To see what he has available, go to Perfume Critic,

Tomorrow we’re off to Siem Reap for the rest of the week. I am ecstatic. I have wanted to see Angkor Wat for as long as I can remember. Armed with my Rough Guide to Cambodia, suggestions from Noy, the company of Diva and Enigma, and my stash of American greenbacks, I feel more than ready. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I’m finally going.

Anyway, I wanted to share an important discovery with you, because as it turns out, you (and I) are like Thai people in a way I only learned recently, when I learned about the homm. Noy first told me about homm (Thai kissing) and I’ve done a bit of online research. Here, in this interesting summation from thailandvoice.com:

“As I was growing up, the only kind of “kiss” I know is what Thai people called “Homm”. Homm literally means a pleasant smell. As a verb, it means to put your nose to the other person’s skin and inhale quickly, as if to take in the scent of the person, creating a brief vacuum on the skin, and let go.” (Read the article for more fun facts, including the scandal created by the first on-the-mouth-kiss on Thai TV in the ‘90s.)

To homm someone is an intimate act to take in their smell. Grandmothers homm their grandchildren. Couples on the beach homm one another. How great is that? All of you perfumistas reading this – hommies? hommslices? – know you do this. You breathe in and catalog the scents of those you love. And now you know the word for it.

I can call up, with no effort, the smell of those I love most closely – the Big Cheese, my children, my father. You could blindfold me and hold me close to the heads of my children and I could identify each of them instantly. There is Diva’s musky scent, Hecate’s almost peppery smell. There is Buckethead’s sweaty boy-smell, reminiscent of his father but still somehow babyish. And, most secret … there is Enigma’s smell. She knows my secret, and I am sharing it with you. Enigma has held onto her baby-head smell for ten years, and any of you with children know that the baby-head smell is the most addictive of all perfumes. I homm them all regularly, the twins without reservation or concealment, the older ones with more stealth, never in public. I inhale their warm perfume, the most beautiful on earth. Late at night, if I am lonely, or sad, it is most often to Enigma’s bedroom that I go. Her perfume is irresistible for me, blooming like night jasmine. She is my most private child, the sum of all her complicated feelings, and yet it is her smell that gives me extraordinary peace. She knows I homm her. She lets me do it, I suppose, because she loves me.

Close your eyes. Conjure, in your memory, the smell of those you love the most. If you have time, while they are still here on earth with you, lean in close and drink in their elixir.

No wonder some of the fragrances we lust after have the smell of something human.  There’s the delicate perspiration of Worth Courtesan.  The surreal milk-hairspray-skin of Gucci Rush.  The glorious, gamey flop-sweat of Le Labo Vetiver.  The strange, sweet funk of CB I Hate Perfume Musk Reinvention.  I’m not sure why I don’t love the sweat-smell of cedar more — even the sublime Shiseido Feminite du Bois is almost too much for me — but perhaps it’s only a matter of time.

In Thai, a kiss on the mouth is a joop. So far as I can tell, Thai people don’t joop in public. I don’t know and can’t find out whether they joop in private. It seems like such a loaded question I can’t figure out the right way to ask. For all I know, it’s like asking about some intimate (or even deviant) sexual act. But I feel oddly comforted knowing my relentless sniffing of my nearest and dearest isn’t as oddball as it seems. And it’s nice to finally have a name for it.

PS: it occurs to me: is Joop! (the fragrance) named for kissing? I wonder. Also, by the time many of you read this I’ll be in bed, and we’re leaving for Siem Reap at 5 a.m. Tuesday, so I may not respond to comments right away.

image: Ta Prohm, Angkor Wat, abiyoyo.com

Samples are taking over my house and are about to bury the dog. Poor Buddy! I’d take a picture to prove it, but Buddy seriously hates to have his picture taken, almost as much as he hates the wind and me opening boxes — this poor pup has some serious kinks - so an old pic will have to do.

Let’s see what’s new that keeps showing up on my doorstep that needs a review, and I’ll tackle a handful that came from Luckyscent, which is where you can get all of these fragrances. 

First, Profumum Volo AZ 686, with notes of gardenia, coconut and vanilla.  This starts off with some notes that aren’t gardenia, coconut and vanilla, but I can’t put my finger on what it is, maybe it’s just the blend, but it’s a little like the open of Tubereuse Criminelle, slightly camphorous. The gardenia, instead of being overly sweet, is slightly sharp, and there’s no bleu cheese, thank goodness!  Now, I usually hate gardenia and coconut and vanilla, this one was a scent I expected to despise, but it sort of fascinates me. The gardenia takes on more of a classical gardenia smell in the drydown, but never gets too sweet or bloomy.  It smells pretty much unlike anything else I can think of — the drydown has me sniffing it furiously during the day, but it takes a couple of hours to get it to the magical point, but I certainly have enjoyed the trip. At the price point it has, $205 per 100 mls, I don’t know that I’d get a full bottle for my personal use, but I can see where gardenia lovers would find it interesting and likely necessary.

Next up is Bois 1920 Sushi Imperiale. So far, out of all the Bois 1920s, this is the only one that I’ve felt strongly enough about to write on.  Notes of citrus, pepper, nutmeg, cinnamon, Madagascan vanilla.  The citrus/pepper/spice blend on the open is pretty enchanting, and they’ve got it exactly right, the citrus pulls back the spice enough so it’s not overpowering, and the spice pulls down the effervessence of the citrus.  I never really smell the vanilla distinctively, but it’s just a vague notion running through the scent, keeping it warm and really lovely.  I’ve only got a sample to dab, and I feel the need to spritz this, I just have a hunch that’s where the real magic happens. It has a grea sillage just in dabbing — almost too strong for a while, but once you get past the two-hour mark, it’s nearly perfect on sillage.  Now, why they named it Sushi Imperiale?  No clue, but it doesn’t matter, this is the one in that line that’s worthy of the whole line’s existence.  It is truly special.

Alba is another new one from Profumum, with notes of sandalwood, hazel wood, almond wood, and amber.  This is all soft, creamy woods, with just a touch of a resinous note in there that keeps it from being too smooth. This would be great for a man or woman, and it also begs to be spritzed and not dabbed. I have a hunch that this is one that snuggles up in your clothes to leave you a wonderful nose hug the next day.

Play is new from Comme des Garcons.    Its notes are bitter orange, black pepper, lime, saffron, thyme, sage, sea notes, oak moss, patchouli and musk.  I keep waiting for the weird, but it seems to be pretty much a straight-up citrus, along the lines of Santa Maria Novella’s Eva, in the opening phase. There are some other notes in there that give it some of the dark weirdness that pokes its head out as it dries down, and it’s perfectly nice, and I’d be happy to wear it, but… well, it’s not moving me in any significant way.  This might have more to do with my expectations of CdG than the actual scent, so I leave it open to trying again.

Last, I got the new Narciso Rodriguez For Him and Musc for Him.  I did have the right bottle before.  The spray is just…. I don’t know, it doesn’t do it for me, not dislike, just meh. However, the Musc…. perfection!!!  More on that next week.

And! let’s do a drawing!  Drop a comment, and the winner will get at least these four samples and a sample of the NR For Him and Musc for Him, and probably more samples just so I can empty out my sample file!

The problem with staying in a hotel is they want you to leave the room so they can clean it. I took my early morning walk on the beach, but now it’s noon and hotter than hell, and I’m too enervated to deal. The Big Cheese is in Phnom Penh, slaying his own dragons, and here in paradise we’ve devolved into every parental touristic joke – kids watching Die Hard and Napoleon Dynamite on local cable, or the 60-baht bootleg DVDs they sell in the streets, ordering hamburgers from room service and falling asleep by the pool.

I read this book before I left, 12,000 Miles in the Nick of Time, about a nice New York (liberal intellectual) guy and his wife who decide to unplug their three kids for the summer and take them on a slumming-through-India-Asia, etc. tour. Their kids, predictably, think most of their vacation sucks. It’s a hilarious and sad book in many ways – the hapless, well-meaning dad flummoxed by various failures and bad decisions. For instance, Tuol Sleng, the infamous Cambodian school-turned-prison, turns out to be a real bummer. Throughout the book the kids are jonesing for email and a place they don’t have to brush their teeth with orange soda. Our trip is different from theirs in several key ways – for starters, we’re hardly slumming it – but much of the journey still resonates. I bring them to the Land of the Emerald Buddha and they turn their faces toward the familiar – the glow of television, the nepenthe of Sprite. They think Thai food is disgusting beyond words.

Today I’m wearing Laura Tonatto’s Safram. I’m not loving it. I love a note of saffron, although I suppose it can wear out its welcome, and maybe it has. Maybe it’s just too hot to appreciate anything that doesn’t smell like lime ice. Maybe that faint nausea I’m feeling isn’t ennui. I’ve been hitting the local cuisine reasonably hard (we jokingly refer to all the food stalls, collectively, as Scary Noodle) and maybe last night’s $2 dinner wasn’t as fresh as it could have been. Maybe I need to lay off the mango before I turn into one.

From culinarycafe.com: “Saffron is the stigma of Crocus sativus, a flowering plant in the crocus family. Saffron, the world’s most expensive spice, is costly because more than 225,000 stigmas must be hand picked to produce one pound.”

Safram is a linear scent on me. It’s not a foody smell. I can’t find a list of notes, but I swear I remember this as having some sort of spice note, pepper and more herbs, maybe, but instead I’m getting a definite hit of vanilla, like saffron ice cream, and it’s not making me happy. It’s also got a tiny hippie-oil vibe I don’t care for, that murky, mushroomy co-op smell that’s fine in a $8 hippie-oil, but not at the prices the LTs go for. I wish I’d brought along my L’Artisan Safran Troublant for comparison, which I think must be drier than this, but maybe that’s because I was layering it with one of the other Epices in the set, the Poivre? I wonder if that set is still available… yep, there it is on Luckyscent, a bargain at $75. Questions, questions. Like, how can Troublant have rose in it? I’m not remembering rose. Dang, it’s hard being away from the perfume mother ship.

You all have your bottles close at hand. Is there a singular smell – like saffron – that you love as a dominant note or soliflore in one fragrance, and inexplicably dislike in another seemingly similar fragrance? Say that last sentence three times fast.

image, saffron pistils: profumo.it

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Guerlain’s L’Art et la Matiere line has really escaped my attention for quite a long time, until I smelled Iris Ganache, which has quickly become a favorite.  Before IG, I was thinking they were a little on the boring side or at least didn’t capture my interest, but finding love with Iris Ganache prompted me to snag some Bois d’Armenie to try and now I may have to revisit the whole specific line.

Based on the scented paper that is burned for incense, Bois d’Armenie has notes of pink pepper, iris, rose, coriander, benzoin, Indonesian patchouli, incense, precious woods, musk and balsams.  First spritz is very smoky, almost tarry, an almost bitter, ashy blast.  As it dries down, the ash smell softens, the flowers emerge from the ash-covered earth, softened by the woods and vanilla.  It is like hope and life that always comes from destruction, but there is a gossamer feel to it like smoke, but it as smooth as a velvety iris petal.

Wearing it is a pure joy, the sillage wafts and enfolds you in velvet smoke.   This is how I think Bogie would smell.  Yes, I’m sure he smelled of real stale cigarette smoke and strong whiskey, but it’s my fantasy, you get out of my head and stop spoiling it with reality.  Since I first tried it, Bois d’Armenie is one of those that I think about putting on, even when I have something else on –  it’s become a wonderful comfort scent. There is just enough smoke to give it interest, a hint of mystery, but not so much that you think you have landed in a bar or a bonfire.  It’s the fantasy without the reality. 

I thought about doing some other reviews with this today, this doesn’t seem quite long enough, yet it just seemed wrong to have anything share space with Armenie, because nothing should sit next to Velvet Smoke… Or Bogie.

They sell flower garlands on the streets, and you find them hanging in front of the shrines – shrines at the busiest streetcorner in Bangkok, like the Erewan shrine pictured here; shrines under the spooky banyan trees hidden in the jungle behind the hotel we’re staying at. Shrines everywhere. There are spirit houses, and burning incense, and food, and the garlands. A tiny old woman walked by me yesterday, selling the garlands, which she carried strung on a long stick resting on her shoulder. There are two kinds – jasmine with roses, and jasmine with marigolds. There’s a third flower called roc, like a white bead, but I don’t know what it is in English. You can smell the Erewan shrine a block away. Even the perfume from the garland sellers is so powerful I can smell them long before I see them approaching.

I’ve been looking for perfume here to sample. They sell it in a few market stalls over here, along with the endless Chanel and Louis Vuitton knockoffs, and the chief value for me is entertainment. I took careful notes for once, and so far I’ve seen: Tommy Summer Colonge; 8^th Evame (looks like Elizabeth Arden’s Fifth Avenue); Jaodo’re by Cristian Dior; and an Asian anime figure bottle called, inexplicably, “Latino.” But there was one bottle in particular I wanted; when I saw it I had to have it. I was haggling with the seller via dueling calculators, and I was already writing it up in the blog in my head. Patty and Lee may think they’ve tried everything. They may think they have access to endless rare perfumes. But I was sure neither of them had ever heard of, or seen, much less tried, the delectable … Wanker. The seller and I were within a couple hundred baht of a deal when I realized it read “Hanker” and immediately lost interest. Who the hell wants a bottle of Hanker? That’s just stupid.

So I dug around in the random candy sample bag I threw into my suitcase before leaving and came up with Ormonde Jayne Champaca. Champaca was one of those scents I tried early on and it bored me to tears. I could barely smell it, first off. By the time I realized how intereresting it was, I was still in my leather-porn phase. But Champaca is an ideal summer fragrance.

Like most of the rest of the Ormonde Jayne line, I find it beautifully done, but it’s the only one I can think of off the top of my head that doesn’t have what I’d call the OJ base – that signature accord that links Ta’if to Tolu to Ormonde Woman. Ormonde Jayne has its lovers and its haters (one of the chief complaints is the tendency for bottles to go “off” quickly), and whether you like that base would probably factor into it, but I haven’t read anyone calling them boring. Champaca might be the exception only because its distinction is how much less in-your-face it is than the others. Notes are neroli, pink pepper, bamboo, champaca flower (used in nag champa incense, please see endnote), freesia, basmati, myrrh, green tea, musk.

Smelling it again on this trip, sitting with my feet on the damp morning sand, is like smelling it for the first time. How could I ever have dismissed this as dull? The neroli is dry and peppery, but delicate. The bamboo and champaca combine to give a green, resinous, incense smell of enormous refinement. The famous basmati accord (that rice steam smell) is actually quite subtle on me, dominated by the faint spiciness of the myrrh and the previous notes. On my skin, the drydown is a trifecta of peppered bamboo incense. Champaca is a study of subtle contrasts – the sweet tea versus the pepper; the bright bamboo versus the shadowy champaca. There is nothing at all feminine about it; I think it would smell wonderful on anyone. It is less subtle and much less sweet than, say, KenzoAmour. And for all its delicacy, it is a tenacious fragrance. I am curious how the hardcore Ormonde Jayne fans feel about Champaca; is it the Bud Lite of the line? Also, why does this scent not get more love on the summer fragrance lists?

ps for anyone with further interest, here’s a link to Ayala’s great article about champaca’s relationship to nag champa. As Ayala notes, the smell of champaca is extremely difficult to describe — it’s both floral (magnolia, star anise?) and woody (gaiacwood).

To catch up on the adventures of Nawt so far, if you’re new to the story, you can go here.  This is the continuing adventures of Nawt Agin, with a new installment most Fridays, rookie perfumer for Irrational Fruity Florals, who has been contracted, against his will, better judgment and perfuming principles, to make the celebrity scent for Voracia Tatas, who is famous for absolutely nothing.

When we last left Nawt, Voracia Tatas, the woman he is making the celebuscent for, had spun out a story about being an orphan, raised by wolves and chattering nuns, and Nawt bursts into laughter….

Voracia: What are you laughing at? I mean, sure, my childhood is a bit odd, but I don’t think it deserves this cruel regard!

Nawt:  Voracia, I’m sorry, but you do know that Mauritius is not an island that would support wolves as occupants, much less enough remote land to hide an orphaned little wolf-girl for years?

Voracia:  How do you know?!  Have you ever been there?

Nawt:  Yes, I have.  My father’s family was originally from Madagascar, and we traveled to that area several times while I was growing up visiting family.

Voracia:  *looks perplexed*  Oh.  Well, it may not have been Mauritius or a Dodo bird, or maybe they were island wolves, not the sort you normally think of… bigger!  Or… monkeys.  Or was it Romania? I was young, and my memory is a little hazy on some details.  

Nawt:  Listen, Voracia, you really need to be honest with me. Getting yanked around with some fable is not how I like to spend my fictitious sick days.

Voracia: *a pause as Voracia stares off into space, deciding something, and she turns back with a look of resolution on her face* Nawt, we have a choice here. We can go with the childhood I’ve given you and believe that it lines up essentially with what was my childhood experience, though some details may be less clear in my head this many years later, or you can insist that I be more accurate on the details because truth is more important than avoiding facts that may be a little uglier and more pedestrian. Either way, the essentials are the same –my parents are dead from a car accident, I have no family, I was raised for a time by animals who, by turns, were cruel and kind.  I eventually was saved or rescued and taken to live with a bunch of chatty nuns, and Jean-Claude did make me a wonderful perfume with all the notes I gave you. 

Because it is my memory of my life, I’m going to insist on the details I prefer. If that doesn’t suit you, then, by all means, insist on accuracy, but I’ll not participate in that sort of vivisection of my life.  This 2.0 Version of Voracia’s Life spares me the looks of pity that long ago became unbearable and the endless dwelling on things that I can never change.

Nawt:  *long silence* So tell me, I’m curious, when they rescued you, did the pack try and protect you, or was it every wolf for itself?  It’s a miracle you survived, but it seems like they were as kind as wolves can be, no?

Voracia:  *smiles woflishly*  Definitely every wolf for itself, though my adoptive wolf-mom, Toofiika, did at least fight alongside me. That’s their nature, you know, so I expected nothing else.

(Voracia and Nawt giggle and then break out into hooting laughter, followed by companionable silence with the occasional chuckle)

Nawt:  So what time you want to head over to Unkie JCE’s hotel for dinner?

Voracia:   We should probably start soon, but I have to ask, why are you so hot to talk to Jean-Claude?

Nawt:  Oh… That. For a little while, I completely forgot why I’m so depressed.  Smell has been my life since I was little, it’s always fascinated me. My mom (Nawt smiles impishly) – um, the banished Queen of Finland — wore, of course, Chanel No. 5 most of the time, but she was one of the few women of that time that had more than one or two perfumes.  She must have had 20 bottles — Replique, Shalimar, Jicky — the classics… in parfum… Solid 24k gold bottles (smiles bigger).  She wore perfume every day.  My memories of her are wrapped up in those perfumes mingled with the smell of bacon or cinnamon rolls, or whatever else she was cooking or baking, and sweat from an overheated kitchen.  She spent a lot of time in the kitchen, which is unusual for deposed royals, but the housekeeper was more often than not off on some revolutionary escapade, which was pretty normal for Peru in those days . 

Mom died when I was in college.  To this day, when I smell Chanel No. 5, I also smell the bacon and sweat and I see her and feel like she’s right there beside me.

So, after my chemistry degree from college, I got a job interning at Irrational Fruity Florals for a summer. Usually you get shoved over into consumer scenting – smells for detergent, towels, bubblegum, the pedestrian stuff that’s their bread and butter.  I got lucky and worked in the perfumers’ division.  The first time I realized I could create a scent that had the aldehydes, bread, jasmine and sweat in it that smelled like my mother AND smelled great, I knew that’s all I wanted to do forever.  After my internship, I got hired on in a permanent position and worked my way into the perfumers’ division as an assistant.  Thus far, I’ve only been assisting on perfume projects, but I make all sorts of things for me and my friends just for the fun of it, honing my skills, waiting for the big olfactory break.

I knew I was close to getting my first lead assignment on a perfume, and I was