Salina Laboratorio Olfattivo 2013

Along the lines of Orto Parisi's sublime Megamare and a select few other fresh-coolish fragrances, Salina from the Italian niche house Laboratorio Olfattivo is one of those scents so sophisticated and elegant that you probably need special aesthetic and sensorial sensibilities to really appreciate it.
If sea salt, often paired with sweet flavours for contrast and effect, has flooded the culinary world and is now a mainstream presence in supermarket products, its use in perfumery seems to be less accepted. That might be due to the fact that, as an ingredient, it mostly turns up in freshies, a genre much unloved by the fragrance community.
Now, Salina has sea salt. Loads of it. And how lovely this composition is. Blended with pine needle, spindrift and even a substitute for a truly dry and quality vermouth (think Noilly-Prat), this miraculous creation by David Maruitte actually transports you to that Mediterranean shoreline on a clear summer's day. An ever so slight breeze, the scent of algae and other washed-up maritime things heating up in the southern sun, repeated whiffs of faraway ports - all this is evoked thanks to that very particular way of Italian perfumery art and craftsmanship.
If I told you that this magical potion makes me hear the seagulls cry in the bluest of sea skies, you'd probably think this to be a perfumista's all-too-poetic flight of fancy. But here's the thing: Salina actually does that for me. How wonderful.
As for the prosaic elements: Salina has both a fine sillage and serious longevity. On my clothes it can last for days, undiminished. What more could I possibly want?

We are in the year 1135 BC. A group of brave men, led by King Odysseus, sets out on the journey home after a bitter battle for Troy. Battle-scarred. The worst seemed to be behind them, yet dangers lay ahead that no one could foresee.

Well. My journey is not 3000 years old, and probably no one will write a book about it. So be it. Like in Homer's epic, I too was to be sent on a journey. A journey that was to last many years, seemed endless, and brought numerous uncertainties.

My journey was in search of the ultimate aquatic scent. Not so easy, considering how broadly this theme can be interpreted. I will largely limit myself to rough, salty sea fragrances and ignore classic summer scents.

With many fragrances in this category that I was able to test, one question kept coming up.

"Are these fragrances even wearable?" I ask, why not?
"Yes, brackish water smells interesting, but as a perfume?" Of course!

As long as I feel secure and the perfume allows me to indulge in memories - brings a smile to my face and with every spray ignites that youthful enthusiasm, as if it were Christmas morning and the presents were about to be opened.

But this was not to be the only adversity of my adventure.

I also encountered sirens.
In the form of eager perfume saleswomen who whispered all sorts of enchanting things in my ear. And for a moment, they managed to cloud my senses.

With Seathalasso, for example. But then I managed to free myself from the clutches of the beast and, stumbling out of the Douglas store, regained my senses. Algae, yes, but too synthetic, too citrusy, more industrial harbor. I'd rather set sail. Weigh anchor also meant for me with Toni Gard's Seaside. Sure, it was fresh and summery, but it didn't come close to meeting my expectations. And a bride in every port? Out of the question.

Continuing my voyage, a green coast lay before me. Green Irish Tweed. A brilliant companion for autumn, but it doesn't remind me of the beach. At some point, it will probably find its way into my own collection. There was land, but the wrong harbor. So back into the boat and away from Ireland.

I wanted to set sail, and what was missing? The wind! Acqua di Portofino's Sail can't change that much. A bit one-dimensional, and somehow the air was out.

I rowed out and had covered some miles on the open sea. Land was not in sight. I fished. Finally, there was some fish between the gills; I was exhausted, drained, almost starving. What species was on the menu? Sel Marin. Delicious, but not quite fresh, the fish.

Despite the snack, I temporarily lost my balance and fell overboard. When I hoisted myself back over the railing, a scent wafted into my nose; I smelled like Santa Eulalia's Marinis.

Logbook entry Day 452. I was stranded again, my God. Why me? Well. At least land. How the hell did I end up in the Caribbean? Virgin Island Water. Brilliant. Still, I repair my boat with coconut palm wood and throw myself back into the current. After all, I was not home.

The principle of chance threw me directly into the arms of Medusa. Medusa has many faces, and yet I avoided eye contact. Never look her in the eyes; you will turn to stone. One face of Medusa is Silver Mountain Water. If you don't stay vigilant, you get lost somewhere in the boredom between heart and base. I almost looked, then I closed the bag. No interest. I had a similar experience with the candidate from the far north - Shelter Island. Similar course, different base.

Then there was Poseidon. Poseidon simply refuses to disappear into the depths of the sea. No, Poseidon is omnipresent. Everyone must measure themselves against Poseidon, and Poseidon will be a constant companion. He always pulls you back into the sea, even when you want to stay dry.
His pseudonym? Acqua di Sale.

Speaking of dry. I was once again in the mood for landfall. Recharge. Restock supplies. And there I found it. An island I didn't want to leave. The island of the nymphs. They wanted to keep me there. They seduced me. The scents were so enchanting. Paradise has a name - Ichnusa.
But I left. I chose against this place. Maybe I'll return one day when the budget allows.

In the meantime, I could no longer count the days at sea. I think I got seasick. I must have seen 3000 sunrises, yet I never saw homeland. Morning dawned, a new day broke, and I was bracing for another disappointment. Am I dreaming?

*Salina by Laboratorio Olfattivo.*

Euphoria! Relief! I see land! I shout "Land ho!" No one hears it; I don't care. This is home! I was home.

The heart note reminds me of Acqua di Sale. Remember? Unlike the latter, Salina develops and dares to venture close to the coast. The opening is citrusy and somewhat biting, briefly wood in between. Then the pure seawater makes high waves, and in the base, soft vanilla pulses. Upon closer smelling, almost like sunscreen at the beach. The longevity is worse than PR's saltwater, and the sillage dissipates faster, but the scent is more balanced, not nearly as intrusive due to the variety, also more surprising, vacation-ready. Somehow contradictory. Almost like package tourism in St. Tropez. Expensive doesn't always seem better.

In principle, all the fragrances I've mentioned here have executed the theme very well, but until now, each has lacked magic. The magic of the beach. For me, Salina is that. Everything I have always sought.

And yet, the next adventure is already calling.
- During the odyssey, I also passed places that abruptly remained unexplored terrain. Montale's Sandflowers is among them, as is Louanges Profanes No. 19. Well, those are fragrances for another story. - No end in sight.

I reach the last ferry of the day after 600 km nonstop just in time: it lies there as if ordered, adorned with its cold position lights almost ceremoniously, as if it has been waiting just for me. Hardly any passengers, the crew seems almost to be in the majority; accordingly, the steward waves me relaxed to the bow.

Just 7 hours ago, the world consisted only of resistance, as if I were underwater, every step, every grip laborious, every thought sticky, like in slow motion, always too late, every phone ring a sinister announcement: Now I sit on the wooden bench of the airy foredeck, feeling overzealous-carved love vows and slowly changing from gill to lung breathing.

The engines rev up, the boat vibrates and briefly grumbles backward, so that one must hold on: we are casting off. I stare into the roaring black around me, in front and above; neither island nor water is visible as the boat reaches the fairway and only the flickering dance of the pale moonlight on the inky black seems to guide us. Upon arrival, I quickly leave the port and place behind: now and then solitary illuminated houses, then only night sliced by headlights. If I didn't know that something else was coming, I would think I was heading into nothingness. After three to four gravel paths off the last paved road, the restored turrets and bay windows of the light gray guesthouse with its white window frames emerge vaguely. Minutes later, I am already sleeping dreamlessly towards morning.

Awakening at sunrise/the creaking of the floorboards, simulating ship planks / in front the dune with the anarchistic dune grass / behind the small garden with the parade-like arranged reeds, around the pond man-high, gently swaying in the wind / the morning mist over the reeds / the rising scent of coffee / cartoonish thought for a brief moment: Maybe the mist is the scent of coffee? / from the ground floor, half-heard phone calls in Danish - incomprehensible, but cozy-sounding / later at breakfast the landlady, a fine old woman in gray, matching the colors of the guesthouse: gray suit and white hair.

The now necessary shopping must wait, the wind outside carries the call for color, although today it should primarily be gray, it will be a rough, overcast day; a play of changing clouds between scattered, clear, and overcast, sometimes drawn together, sometimes torn apart.

Shortly thereafter over the dune, panoramic view: the triple oval of sand, sea, and sky lays upon the eyes like Father, Son, and Holy Spirit / the sea is rougher than the wind suggests / heavy waves stomp against their demise and spray their mist onto the beach / I inhale the air like a drowning person after being saved / everywhere colorful failed attempts at kite flying, accordingly excited barking dogs around / the collie, who is happy every time it’s time to launch / some couples testing eternity / a surfer who almost drowns unnoticed / as he kneels on the sand after returning from the water: unclear whether from exhaustion or if he is praying / now and then quirky flotsam from the sea voyage / almost no amber / in between, breathing like an addict in withdrawal / at first still dodging the outgoing waves / shortly thereafter indifference regarding this: the shoes must go anyway / minutes later already barefoot although not uncold / shivering seagulls in flocks in the wind / anglers, timelessly waiting for the treacherous tug on the line / otherwise - as always - the difference between sand and asphalt: you leave traces; even if only until the next tide / a few noteworthy shells / overall almost autumnally fresh, the light with long shadows / the sun warm yet announcing coolness underneath; a warm feeling, but as soon as one becomes overly cheerful in a sweater: the shivering in a suit / joy in life, but feeling the limit.

The shopping that is finally due brings anticipation for unusual cheese varieties and familiar intense experiences with jam. In the fish shop, the fish is so fresh that it smells more like fish everywhere than there. I check the selection, but today I feel like simple plaice with potatoes, butter, and lemon, but there are no plaice left, so I go again to the cutter on the beach. The small auction goes satisfactorily, the selection small but fine. Otherwise, shopping here as always: cigarettes and alcohol are extremely expensive, only idleness remains and the proverb seems to have disappeared.

Back at the hotel: the rustling of the grass and the murmuring of the nearby sea; in the mirror: the 3-day beard has become 4. Whispering voices from other rooms while the plaice wriggle in the pan. New arrivals in the attic: a couple, perhaps Czechs or Yugoslavs; promptly there is an argument: Madame has taken off properly. Arguments in foreign languages sound nicer when you can't understand, so without content it remains just an excited melodic sing-song, almost like music. Later, smoking out the window: the sleepy cat on the car hood in backlight.

A randomly grabbed perfume sample from the travel bag at departure: vanillic, grassy, algal, salty; anchored somewhere between “Sel de Vetiver” and “Sel de Marin,” but without the pronounced penat smell of the former and with less fishy algal scent of the latter; almost a brother of Montale's “Sandflowers,” but with its salty vanilla without the occasional piercing artificiality and significantly less penetrating. The scent merges with the wood scent of the house and my salty skin, so that I no longer perceive it as a separate perfume the next morning - although clearly present. Balanced, good.

In the night, a dry storm announces the change in weather: air as if the world has just been born. Despite the roaring wind, a distinct hint of increasing warmth, the air, despite its wildness, kindly silky, spreading all possibilities of life before me, in every gust of wind lies a different life, each different in its own way, but all mine.

The next morning, the sun is already very high early. From the window, everything is already just yellow and blue. From afar, the children's calls from the beach echo, the flags flutter in the garden. The sea no longer wild and gray, but a blue-green undulating sparkle of millions of mirrors, reflecting and breaking the light, a true flood of hypnotically rolling thousands of small waves; only outside on the sandbank do they jealously fall over each other and crash wildly and high. The outgoing licking waves sink into the sandy blotting paper, the receding water over stones and shells raises a crackling like hundreds of extinguishing fires in the surf. But already the next one approaches, it is a single hissing and bubbling, as if the water of the world rises from the sand to us. I stand there, knee-deep, around me the hissing sea and enter a constant roar, waiting for what the tide will still bring.

Everyday life is almost as far away as the trawler making its way on the horizon. Everything sparkles and blurs in squinted, sunglass-free eyes. Just a few feather clouds up in the blue ......

Golden rays of sunshine dance through my room in the cozy white wooden house perched on a cliff above the Atlantic. Their warm light wakes me, and I push aside the freshly washed sheets with the embroidery. The white curtains billow into the room, and the gentle morning breeze carries the scent of herbs and sea inside. The air is still fresh, but you can already feel that it will be a warm day.
Time to get up! I stretch, stand up, and walk barefoot through the damp grass in the garden. There, I sit at the wrought-iron table with the ornate chairs and drink a cup of tea. My gaze sinks into the blue of the sea, and in the distance, a ship passes by. Someone has baked cake in the house; the delicate vanilla intertwines with the scent of the summer breeze. I hear dishes clattering and soft laughter.
I lean back and breathe deeply with a smile. This moment is entirely mine. Life can be so simple.

No other fragrance evokes a holiday mood for me like "Salina." The scent relaxes me, lifts my spirits, and has a wonderfully calming effect - almost like a perfect summer morning by the sea.
The sillage is impressive, although I find the scent rather delicate. The longevity is fantastic - the warm aura wafts from my clothes into the late evening hours. Unfortunately, I cannot perceive the lavender that I love so much, but instead, I smell a delicate note of woodruff, which fits beautifully into the overall picture.

Thanks to Avelus and his sharing, I had the pleasure of testing Salina.
On Tuesday morning, the sample was in my mailbox... Quickly, still in the car on the way to work, I tore open the package and boldly applied the precious drop to my hand.
What greeted me was the ultimate vacation flashback.
Suddenly, instead of being stuck in the traffic chaos of Saarbrücken, I found myself back on the Côte d'Azur, on the beach of St. Raphael, my feet buried deep in the hot sand, listening to the waves.
An authentic sea scent wafted towards me, nothing idealized, no, salt, seaweed, the scent of a harbor on the Côte d'Azur...
Individual notes are hardly recognizable to me; the fragrance simply forms a harmonious overall picture. For me, it is firmly rooted in the south of France, probably due to the lavender and cedar, whose scent lingered delicately in the air there at the end of June.
Salina is a fantastic concept fragrance with great longevity; even in the evening, it was still noticeably present on the back of my hand.
Whether it is truly wearable should be decided by each person for themselves. I thoroughly enjoyed the day in vacation dreams, but I don't necessarily want to smell like a harbor regularly :)
The sillage is rather low, which I find quite positive for such a special fragrance; I could wear Salina in the office without my colleagues immediately craving fish for lunch.

From the sample, I will definitely keep a few ml as a treasure in the dark little chamber, and whenever the dreary German weather annoys me or I simply feel the need for beautiful memories, I will dig it out and mentally dive back into the sea.