Oud Imperial Perris Monte Carlo 2015 Extrait de Parfum

There we have it!
Another one of those mysterious fragrances that initially scare you off with a good slap in the face, only to reveal a noble composition afterwards.

This desert prince does not make it easy for me, his world seems strange and closed to me at first.

Not that I should admit defeat with this kind of animalism.
No, quite the opposite, here the house once again proves its best quality.
It is this incredibly dry and dusty atmosphere that made me despair at first.

Here is another attempt.

Hiss!

What a strange opening!
Earthy patchouli sets the coordinates, the dusty desert welcomes you.
And immediately, natural papyrus scrolls are spread out to tell a story from the Emirates. One that describes the rapid structural development and expensive motorization despite the adherence to traditions.

The scent becomes drier and drier, I can literally smell the desert sand.

Or is it a lemon citron?
This citrusy fruit seems trapped, constricted by earthy and woody notes.
The ruthlessness of the seraglio.

The desert prince slowly approaches me in his immaculate white robe.
Olive green eyes, stern gaze, like this olive note amidst the woods.
Perhaps he masterfully defeats a falcon on his leather-protected forearm.

And the prince smells quite masculine under the bright sun, thanks to cumin and saffron.
But he wouldn't be a nobleman if the jasmine didn't exude this floral, virile elegance.
So he has mastered the cleanliness required on the Arabian Peninsula.

His homeland underwent a colossal transformation.
Buildings that surpass themselves in height with the help of what is technically possible, literally built on sand.
And I can sense this in the scent.
The dusty sand leaves room for a slightly metallic note, sourly infiltrated by vetiver.
The steel frame of the skyscrapers.
The interior design of these modern palaces of the skies is dignifiedly woody, austere and purist. Several types of wood were carpentered by master craftsmen.

The freedom-loving citrus fruit is also held captive here. Thanks to Elemi, her whimpers echo in the expensive alcoves as she searches in vain for an escape.

She is drugged with smoky hashish. Not over the top, no, well-dosed and skillful, so that no one here drifts off indecently.
The subtle intoxication as a substitute for insight.
This is how he tries to calm his conscience, because giving in would be a sign of weakness.

I do not overstretch his hospitality and would like to say goodbye.
The image of citrine captivity is too much for me.

Well-mannered, he drives me to the special-class international airport in his tailor-made twelve-cylinder vehicle from Maranello.
An oily note in the base tells me about the engineering achievement from Italy, the engine of his white sports car leaves nothing to be desired.

And so we say goodbye.
He is spicy and dry with an elegant wooden posture and commanding olive-green eyes.
I am stirred by the contrasts of sandy, built-up oases and the pain of citrus fruit.

Salam, dear prince!