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02/19/2024
StenLaurel
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StenLaurel
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Quartz gray and the pike
"A lot of fun with the quartz gray. Not the first time I've heard it described as a "feel-good fragrance"."
This sentence, which I read in a forum, was my first encounter with quartz gray. I like gray, preferably dark gray. Machine gray. Like before everything turned green, reseda green. But I digress.
My curiosity was piqued. The perfumer himself had written this sentence. I wrote to Martin and ordered a sample. Everything in gray. Opal gray, Ceylon gray, malachite gray, quartz gray. Opal and Ceylon were not for me. Not that they are bad, no quite the opposite, just not for me.
Malachite and quartz, I liked them both. The malachite gray reminded me of something that I couldn't place at first. A familiar smell. But what? What was it? What did this scent remind me of? It was gear oil, good hypoid gear oil. I love the smell of gear oil, others turn up their noses. Then there was the quartz gray. That also reminded me of something. I didn't think of it for a long time. More on that in a moment. The samples were running out. I ordered a bottle. 100ml. Gray. Quartz gray by Grauton. This fragrance had flashed me. It still does. And I'm glad I ordered 100ml straight away, a treasure.
The year is 1971 and it is 6:00 in the morning. A fresh yet warm morning in May. I'm on the Elbe. On my bike. Through the city, through the dunes. Wooded dunes. Wooded with mighty pines. They no longer exist today. It's now an industrial area. Everything used to be better, they say. That's true here.
The water bubbles around my feet. It's not really light yet. I'm all alone, standing on a stack. They call it a stack here, elsewhere it's called a groyne. Foam is bobbing on the water, distributed by the current. The current is strong here, very strong, the stack is the third behind the weir. I cast out my fishing rod. Spinning rod, a thick lead-head spinner at the end of the line.
The smell of the Elbe fills my nose. The Elbe has a very characteristic smell. You can't describe it, you have to smell it. A pike takes the bait. I reel it in right up to my feet. It's not a giant, but it's not small either, I don't have a landing net. I'll have to grab it. With my bare hand. Behind the gills, the pike has sharp teeth, I have to be careful. The rod flicks up, the pike! Gone! The pike is gone. The black water gurgles, I have the feeling it's laughing at me. I'm all alone, on the verge of tears. But I don't cry, I'm already big. The smell of the Elbe rises up to me. I take a deep breath. Next time I'll get you!
I'm standing in the bathroom. Freshly bathed. I spray. Spray quartz gray. Close my eyes, breathe in deeply. The smell of the past. I'm back at the Elbe, the black water washes around my feet, today I'm catching it!
This sentence, which I read in a forum, was my first encounter with quartz gray. I like gray, preferably dark gray. Machine gray. Like before everything turned green, reseda green. But I digress.
My curiosity was piqued. The perfumer himself had written this sentence. I wrote to Martin and ordered a sample. Everything in gray. Opal gray, Ceylon gray, malachite gray, quartz gray. Opal and Ceylon were not for me. Not that they are bad, no quite the opposite, just not for me.
Malachite and quartz, I liked them both. The malachite gray reminded me of something that I couldn't place at first. A familiar smell. But what? What was it? What did this scent remind me of? It was gear oil, good hypoid gear oil. I love the smell of gear oil, others turn up their noses. Then there was the quartz gray. That also reminded me of something. I didn't think of it for a long time. More on that in a moment. The samples were running out. I ordered a bottle. 100ml. Gray. Quartz gray by Grauton. This fragrance had flashed me. It still does. And I'm glad I ordered 100ml straight away, a treasure.
The year is 1971 and it is 6:00 in the morning. A fresh yet warm morning in May. I'm on the Elbe. On my bike. Through the city, through the dunes. Wooded dunes. Wooded with mighty pines. They no longer exist today. It's now an industrial area. Everything used to be better, they say. That's true here.
The water bubbles around my feet. It's not really light yet. I'm all alone, standing on a stack. They call it a stack here, elsewhere it's called a groyne. Foam is bobbing on the water, distributed by the current. The current is strong here, very strong, the stack is the third behind the weir. I cast out my fishing rod. Spinning rod, a thick lead-head spinner at the end of the line.
The smell of the Elbe fills my nose. The Elbe has a very characteristic smell. You can't describe it, you have to smell it. A pike takes the bait. I reel it in right up to my feet. It's not a giant, but it's not small either, I don't have a landing net. I'll have to grab it. With my bare hand. Behind the gills, the pike has sharp teeth, I have to be careful. The rod flicks up, the pike! Gone! The pike is gone. The black water gurgles, I have the feeling it's laughing at me. I'm all alone, on the verge of tears. But I don't cry, I'm already big. The smell of the Elbe rises up to me. I take a deep breath. Next time I'll get you!
I'm standing in the bathroom. Freshly bathed. I spray. Spray quartz gray. Close my eyes, breathe in deeply. The smell of the past. I'm back at the Elbe, the black water washes around my feet, today I'm catching it!
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