Quandoley 805 Maison Noir 2024
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The journey is the destination
The train is ready. A black monster of gleaming steel and gilded ornaments, surrounded by fog and expectation. There is steam in the air on the platform. As Quandoley 805 slowly starts to move, it is as if it had never really stood still.
"QUANDOLEY 805" - engraved in brass, hidden under patina, sounds like a secret word that only insiders understand.
Inside: dark green and golden velvet. Highly polished and oiled mahogany. Noble marble.
The air is heavy, a hint of tobacco, remnants of sweet spirits - as if soaked in stories. In the dining car, warm light glows from alabaster lamps, gold-framed mirrors cast flickering reflections on crystal decanters. The seats are dark brown and smell faintly of old leather.
A fine veil of the finest gourmet delicacies with olive oil and red pepper also hangs in the air, like the perfume of a lady who never gives her name. It is not the oil of everyday life, but a golden elixir that seems to have evaporated in the cracks of antique wood paneling. When applied, it shimmers gently on the skin.
Then cistus enters - alert and resistant, like a burning note in a lover's ashtray.
Ylang-ylang opens slowly, velvety, floral, almost numbingly beautiful. In the saloon car, between the smoky glasses of cognac, a hint of styrax and incense floats - like the hissing of brakes at an unintended stop.
Then: the chimes. It is midnight. Darkness engulfs the train. The scent descends - sweet, resinous, a whisper of vanilla and benzoin that covers the shoulders like a silken blanket. Oud lurks in the background and leaves behind a gentle reminder of the day's experiences. People, conversations, life.
This train has no destination, because the journey is its destination. The journey itself, moments, promises, aberrations, memories.
A state encased in velvet and resin, in light and shadow, in spice and sweetness - 805 is a formula, a spell, a melody on rails.
"QUANDOLEY 805" - engraved in brass, hidden under patina, sounds like a secret word that only insiders understand.
Inside: dark green and golden velvet. Highly polished and oiled mahogany. Noble marble.
The air is heavy, a hint of tobacco, remnants of sweet spirits - as if soaked in stories. In the dining car, warm light glows from alabaster lamps, gold-framed mirrors cast flickering reflections on crystal decanters. The seats are dark brown and smell faintly of old leather.
A fine veil of the finest gourmet delicacies with olive oil and red pepper also hangs in the air, like the perfume of a lady who never gives her name. It is not the oil of everyday life, but a golden elixir that seems to have evaporated in the cracks of antique wood paneling. When applied, it shimmers gently on the skin.
Then cistus enters - alert and resistant, like a burning note in a lover's ashtray.
Ylang-ylang opens slowly, velvety, floral, almost numbingly beautiful. In the saloon car, between the smoky glasses of cognac, a hint of styrax and incense floats - like the hissing of brakes at an unintended stop.
Then: the chimes. It is midnight. Darkness engulfs the train. The scent descends - sweet, resinous, a whisper of vanilla and benzoin that covers the shoulders like a silken blanket. Oud lurks in the background and leaves behind a gentle reminder of the day's experiences. People, conversations, life.
This train has no destination, because the journey is its destination. The journey itself, moments, promises, aberrations, memories.
A state encased in velvet and resin, in light and shadow, in spice and sweetness - 805 is a formula, a spell, a melody on rails.