Tabac 28 Le Labo 2019

Once upon a time, there was a Belgian comic artist named Georges Prosper Remi, better known by his pen name Hergé. His multi-part adventure series "Tintin" dealt with the adventures of the young reporter Tintin and his dog Snowy. These adventures took them to all corners of the world, where they faced countless challenges and dangers. My Uncle Uli gradually gifted me all the volumes of the series during my childhood, and so many formative years are connected to this reading. Among the several dozen volumes, there is an episode titled "The Cigars of the Pharaoh"; in it, cigars play a role, their bands and boxes adorned with a mysterious symbol, somewhat reminiscent of the sign for Yin and Yang. In one sequence of the story, Tintin enters a secret, vault-like bunker in the desert, where crates containing these cigars are located (at least that's how I remember it), and somehow the whole story captivated me so much that I (as a child!) decided to start collecting cigars. It all began when I was allowed to smell a real cigar in its unlit state and found the scent very pleasant. You should know that at that time, my parents and I lived with my maternal grandparents in one house, and my grandfather (born in 1890) was a gentleman of the old school who, although he never smoked himself, kept guest cigars and cigarettes in his desk. Over time, I gathered a small collection of various cigars, which I obtained partly from my grandfather's guest supply and partly from ceremoniously requested cigars from guests who had brought their own. The adults around me let me be back then. They considered this interest somewhat peculiar but completely harmless, especially since I initially showed no interest in smoking these cigars, which was related to the fact that the smell after lighting was completely different from the one I so appreciated in its unlit state. At some point, I even found a tobacco dealer in the neighborhood where I could buy the cheapest cigars (brand "Handelsgold") with my pocket money, and he had no objections to my story ("they're for my grandpa") and no scruples about selling me the goods as a minor. It was the 1970s, after all, everything was a bit different than today. The end of my collecting passion came when my father, when I was about 12 years old, took me aside and solemnly asked if I wanted to smoke one of those cigars. Despite my knowledge of the less pleasant smell of burning tobacco, I was absolutely thrilled and chose the largest one from my collection. What followed turned into a more or less valuable educational experience, where I wished to give up after half of the cigar, in a rather dizzy state, to which my father remarked that "the best part is at the end." In the end, I threw up in the bushes of our garden, was sick for a day and a half, and my collecting passion was gone. The good news is that my review of "Tabac 28" by Le Labo refers to the time BEFORE this unfortunate end of my cigar affair. The mysterious and wonderful scent that emanated from the tightly rolled dried tobacco leaves, the fantastic wooden boxes with the ornate labels, the miniature bands that resembled little royal coats of arms - all of this comes back to me when I smell Le Labo's "Tabac 28." A great rendition of this theme, the best I have encountered in the perfume world so far. As I heard, the fragrance is supposedly available exclusively in the store in Miami, USA - only in September each year would it be offered for global shipping. A circumstance that fits well with my memories of the mysterious and rare "Cigars of the Pharaoh." Just as the fragrance belongs to the not-so-inexpensive products of the perfume world. So, a lot comes together, doesn't it? I should say that "Tabac 28" would be too monothematic and a bit too sweet for everyday use, but that's all completely okay. A perfume for certain hours, indeed, but above all a wonderful reminder of childhood before it was caught up by the reality of adulthood. Thank you for that.