Top Notes 
Cardamom
Basil
Mint
Heart Notes 
Honeysuckle
Lavender
Base Notes 
Jasmine
Pepper
Saffron
Oud
06/07/2025
Grinse579
21 Reviews
Translated
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Grinse579
1
Ameerat Al Arab - A lady asks for the file
She sits behind glass.
Not just any glass - but the milky checkered official glass with wire mesh.
"Room 7 - Mrs. Amtsrätin Dr. Ar-Rab" is written on the door sign, slightly askew.
Her scent reaches you before her gaze.
A floral tsunami.
Not subtle, not spun - but with the self-confidence of a mahogany-look filing cabinet.
Flowers? Yes. All of them.
Jasmine, rose, lily - maybe a hint of soap from the Intershop.
But it's not a meadow. Not a garden.
It's an office corridor with a linoleum floor, where the air has been perfumed since 1973.
Mint.
It is listed in the official pyramid. The bottle probably stood next to a peppermint tea.
Pepper?
Only in the canteen.
And the oud?
Rumor has it that it called in sick.
Saffron?
Possibly.
A hint of oriental hope on the third copy of a carbon copy.
She herself - the wearer - is dapper. Perfectly coiffed. The bun is in place. The glasses too.
She looks refined, almost austere, but that's just a veneer of efficiency. In reality, she dreams of tango travel and gold-edged stationery.
And of someone saying: "Mrs. Ar-Rab, you smell like a memory today. But a quiet one, please."
But the scent is not quiet.
It is loud. Floral. Sweetly sticky.
And it stays. Like a paragraph that you can't get rid of.
Conclusion with stamp & irony:
6 out of 10 - not badly made. Just unfortunately made for someone who decided 40 years ago that "modern" was not for them.
A fragrance like an invitation to a staff meeting: too long, too flowery, too over-perfumed.
But well-intentioned. And somehow... touching.
For those who like it nostalgic, this might be a retro treasure.
For me? More like: a fragrance like a visit to the authorities. Polite - but please pass soon.
Serefe! - to the eau de bureaucracy.
Not just any glass - but the milky checkered official glass with wire mesh.
"Room 7 - Mrs. Amtsrätin Dr. Ar-Rab" is written on the door sign, slightly askew.
Her scent reaches you before her gaze.
A floral tsunami.
Not subtle, not spun - but with the self-confidence of a mahogany-look filing cabinet.
Flowers? Yes. All of them.
Jasmine, rose, lily - maybe a hint of soap from the Intershop.
But it's not a meadow. Not a garden.
It's an office corridor with a linoleum floor, where the air has been perfumed since 1973.
Mint.
It is listed in the official pyramid. The bottle probably stood next to a peppermint tea.
Pepper?
Only in the canteen.
And the oud?
Rumor has it that it called in sick.
Saffron?
Possibly.
A hint of oriental hope on the third copy of a carbon copy.
She herself - the wearer - is dapper. Perfectly coiffed. The bun is in place. The glasses too.
She looks refined, almost austere, but that's just a veneer of efficiency. In reality, she dreams of tango travel and gold-edged stationery.
And of someone saying: "Mrs. Ar-Rab, you smell like a memory today. But a quiet one, please."
But the scent is not quiet.
It is loud. Floral. Sweetly sticky.
And it stays. Like a paragraph that you can't get rid of.
Conclusion with stamp & irony:
6 out of 10 - not badly made. Just unfortunately made for someone who decided 40 years ago that "modern" was not for them.
A fragrance like an invitation to a staff meeting: too long, too flowery, too over-perfumed.
But well-intentioned. And somehow... touching.
For those who like it nostalgic, this might be a retro treasure.
For me? More like: a fragrance like a visit to the authorities. Polite - but please pass soon.
Serefe! - to the eau de bureaucracy.
