ArneD

The heat of Havana hit me like a wall as I stepped out of the air-conditioned airport building. After over 30 years in Northern Germany, I had almost forgotten what the Caribbean sun feels like on the skin. But my body remembered - it was as if the 17 years of my childhood here had been waiting for this moment to come alive again.

My father, a German engineer, had taken a job in Cuba back then. When we moved back to Northern Germany, I brought back only a few mementos - a worn baseball, a shell from Varadero beach, and the indelible scent of this island.

The taxi drove me through streets that were both foreign and familiar. Colonial buildings in pastel colors, some restored, others left to decay. Children played on every corner, just like before, as if time had stood still.

My accommodation was in a renovated house in the old town, just a few streets away from our old neighborhood. The owner, an older Cuban with a mischievous smile, who reminded me of
Santiago from "The Old Man and the Sea," called me "the German who has homesickness." Homesickness is like the tides - it always comes back."

The next morning, I woke up early. The shutters filtered the first sunlight, and from somewhere, the scent of freshly squeezed limes wafted in. I showered, shaved, and sprayed a hint of my favorite perfume - Cuban Cedar & Lime by Bath House. A find from a small perfumery in Hamburg that had accompanied me for years. My personal talisman, my olfactory connection to Cuba.

I decided to walk to the little café that used to stand at the corner of our street. Did it still exist? My path took me past houses whose facades I once knew by heart. I stopped at an old cedar tree - it had grown larger, but the notches that my childhood friend Miguel and I had carved into the bark were still visible. The spicy scent of the wood mingled with my perfume, enhancing the notes I loved so much.

The café was indeed still there, albeit under a new name. "El Cedro" now stood in ornate letters above the entrance. As I entered, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sweet pastries enveloped me. Behind the counter stood a pretty woman with her black hair tied in a braid. She looked up, smiled, and something in me paused.

"Bienvenido," she said. "New in Havana?"

I explained in my rusty Spanish that I had returned after a long time, and she nodded understandingly. "I’m Luisa," she introduced herself. "This was my grandparents' café. They passed it on to me two years ago."

While she prepared my coffee, I told her about my childhood here, about the summer evenings when my parents and I sat at one of the tables drinking lemonade. Luisa's eyes widened. "Wait - were you the German boy with the red bicycle? The one who always made up stories?"

It was as if someone had flipped a switch. Of course - Luisa! The little girl with the big, curious eyes who always listened to our tales. She must have been six or seven back then, the granddaughter of the café owners.

"I always wondered where you disappeared to," she said as she sat down at my table. Her smile was warm, but in her eyes was a mix of curiosity and caution.
And again and again, my steps led me to El Cedro, to Luisa. She had studied business in Miami but returned when her grandparents retired. "Some roots are too deep to uproot," she said one evening as we strolled along the Malecón, the famous promenade of Havana.

It was that evening when she leaned in and paused. "What is that scent?" she asked. "It's like walking through our old garden - the lime trees, the cedar wood of the garden furniture my grandfather built..."

I told her about my perfume, and she laughed, a bright, clear laugh that mingled with the warm evening air. "You wear Havana on your skin," she said, gently stroking my arm. "No wonder I feel so drawn to you."
She showed me the Havana I missed.
We cooked the things I missed
We shared so much.

It was on my last evening when she handed me a small package. Inside was a hand-carved bracelet made of cedar wood. "So you always have a piece of here with you," she said softly. "And a reason to come back."

As I boarded the plane that would take me back to Germany, I carried not only this bracelet but also Luisa's phone number and the promise to return in three months.

The scent of Cuban Cedar & Lime has since then become not just a memory of my childhood - it is also a promise for the future. A future that smells of limes, cedar wood, leather, and Havana. Of home and of Luisa.

---

Bath House Cuban Cedar & Lime is more than just a perfume - it is a time travel, a mediator between worlds. The first encounter is a citrus shock: Sharp, juicy lime meets bitter grapefruit and is balanced by the aromatic freshness of cedar in the top note. It is this opening that immediately reminds me of the mornings in Havana when the fruit vendors prepare their fresh fruits.

In the heart note, a surprising complexity unfolds. The bergamot, elegant and understated, blends with a subtle leather note that evokes thoughts of old suitcases, of travels and adventures. It is this phase that gives the fragrance depth and sets it apart from ordinary citrus scents.

The base note of musk holds everything together and ensures remarkable longevity. After a long day, the scent is still present, albeit more subdued - like a quiet reminder of the morning.

What impresses me particularly: Cuban Cedar & Lime is a charismatic scent that remains versatile. In the Northern German winter, it brings a piece of the Caribbean into gray days, while in the heat of summer, it unfolds its full freshness. It suits business meetings just as well as relaxed evenings - a fragrance that accompanies its wearer without overwhelming them.

Although marketed as a men's fragrance, it is, in my experience, also suitable for women. On Luisa's skin, it reveals a softer, almost floral note that harmonizes with her natural warmth. It is one of those rare fragrances that knows no boundaries - neither between genders nor between cultures.

The longevity is impressive for a fresh scent - it remains perceptible for six to seven hours. The sillage is moderate, a personal scent cloud that only those allowed to come close can perceive.

Cuban Cedar & Lime
Thank you, Luisa

The old pharmacy on Calle de Alcala awakens early today with the first rays of sunshine.
It is already very warm today.
Don Jose wipes down the polished wooden shelves, between the copper jars and the noble flacons made of rock crystal.
The sweet scent of oranges wafts through the windows in the morning.

It mingles with the herbaceous fresh aromas of the herbs that Juan has hand-tied into bundles, now hanging from the ceiling throughout the pharmacy.
Jose smiles at the thought that his grandfather wrapped these bundles a hundred years ago.
A small spray into the air, and immediately this unmistakable freshness unfolds.
Lemons, rosemary, bergamot, thyme, and a hint of lavender linger in the air.
The Mediterranean morning sun captured in a flacon.
Madrid in a bottle.
He knows the stories of his grandfather who experimented in his back room, distilled herbs, pressed citrus fruits, again and again until he found the perfect balance.
When the old shop bell rings, Jose awakens from his thoughts of the past.

Buenas, Jose
Buenas, Maria
The first customer in the morning, punctual like the morning sun, his grandfather would have said.

Agua de Colonia concentrada is quite good for a cologne in terms of longevity.
For me, it is clearly a summer scent, perhaps also suitable in spring with the first rays of sunshine for the mood.
In the south, it’s a go-to.
The sillage is subtle.
But it is refreshing like a cold glass of water.
A Mediterranean breeze.

Jose, could you pack me a bottle of the Concentrada?

Of course, Maria, of course.
Summer is going to be hot.

Manolito couldn't sleep
He felt that this night was the longest night he could remember.
Manolito lives with his mother in Montecristo, Cuba.
He listened, he strained to hear, and he tried to smell something.
In Montecristo, there is a small cigar factory, and when autumn approaches, the wind shifts, and Manolito can smell the spicy tobacco remnants.
His mother works in the small factory, and every time autumn approaches, Manolito can't get enough of the morning air. The bitter spicy tobacco and his mother, who prepares breakfast for both of them early in the morning, smells as wonderfully sweet and fresh as only his mother can smell..
Manolito cries, would today be the day he might see his father again on the breaking waves?
These waves that grow so large when autumn approaches, when the wind shifts, these waves that come when he can smell his mother early in the morning.
These waves that took his father from him.
The waves that meant everything to his father.
In the past, when autumn approached, the scent of tobacco, along with the sweet fragrance of his mother, was accompanied by his father's morning aftershave.
In the past, everything was perfect.
Now he listened to see if he could hear the waves breaking. A thunder and a roar. Sometimes a sigh and a lament.
He knew the legend of autumn, when the waves rise early in the morning, just before the sun says Adios to the night on the horizon, just before that, one should see the brave men on the waves, the men who were swallowed by the sea.
Manolito strained to hear if today there might be a chance to see his father.
No matter, the sun would soon say Adios to the night
He quickly got dressed, ran to the sea, he could see the bright horizon, and
He could hear the waves, yes he could see them, he could smell them.
And
He could smell his father, just briefly but distinctly he could smell his father.
The aftershave he had never smelled again.
In the last moment, he noticed his father's wave.
His father was sitting on his board and clearly waved to him.
He was happy, anxious, and he could say Adios.
Manolito, Manolito, manolito he heard his mother calling from afar.
Something grabbed him by the shoulders
Manolito, get up finally, breakfast is ready, the waves have come, you surely want to watch the men. Get up now.

Hoja de Cuba embodies all of this for me.
There is nothing more to say about the scent.
It is wonderfully beautiful, I can even imagine it on some women.
It radiates appropriately and its longevity is great for me, I think it is perceptible for about 5 hours.

It is a warm, cozy scent that can also work in the evenings during summer.

The legend says that little Manolito went to Europe, with the thought of capturing the scents he smelled early in the morning when autumn approached.
Manolito returned to his mother from France only at the age of 38
He probably had 2 suitcases with him, one with clothes, a suitcase full of perfume, says the legend
I hope I haven't bored you with Manolito.

It is my last evening in Salala
Or one of the first evenings of many.

A job offer has brought me here to the Indian Ocean, right in the middle of Oman.
My head is full of many impressions, of considerations and already a bit of sadness.

I decide to go to the beach again before dinner, also to clear my head.
From afar, I see the faint glow of a small campfire on the otherwise rather lonely beach, the beach where spice traders once received their goods.

The southern Milky Way shines over Salala so brightly that it reflects in the sea.

What a beautiful picture
Silently, a nomad sits by the campfire, his gaze directed at the seemingly endless sea, as if he is sitting there waiting for something on the horizon.

The smoke from the small fire scents the warm air aromatically, heavy, slightly sweet, like in "1001 Nights"
I can almost smell the spices that were once shipped here.
I can also almost see the crates filled with sweet, juicy fruits right before my eyes.


"Do you like what you smell?"
I look towards the campfire
Only now do I notice the long hair,
dark hair, so black that it almost swallows the light from the fire.
Dark hair and her eyes that are even darker.
Eyes that radiate trust

I burn memories,
Memories from decades
yes centuries, millennia

What memories smell so incredibly familiar, so beautifully resinous when they burn.

The last time I smelled such a resinous beautiful fire was .................Hmmm I can't remember.

I feel her hand on my hand
Together we now sit by the fire, in which the memories burn.
In delicate sparks, they glow out in the dark night

Also memories that led me here, that made me leave everything behind.

Her head on my shoulders, the scent of her hair makes me dream.
Oriental, something floral catches my attention.

A little further away, she has her bedding
And tonight she is the hostess

Une Nuit à Oman - Ambre Khandjar
Immediately captivated me
Touched and fascinated me
The scent starts distinctly oriental-spicy
The slight sweetness never feels intrusive, rather affirming
With Une Nuit, you are right in the middle
you sit in the smoke of the campfire
as if you could hear the resinous wood crackling in the fire

And time and again, I also perceive something floral
the oriental aspect is always distinct, sometimes light, sometimes regal
Une Nuit is a truly beautiful companion
Especially in the evening on not-so-warm nights
Clearly perceptible for an entire evening, sufficient

I blink and perceive their outlines
The soon-to-set sun, glowing

Orange, blinds me after I have opened my eyes.
One might feel as if they could squeeze it like a juicy sweet ripe orange.
Now Flora stands smiling in front of me, having brought a Tequila Sunrise.
Flora is lucky to have a father from the Philippines and a mother from Valencia. Accordingly, her appearance and temperament
are not just good-looking, but also deeply warm.
I sit directly at the harbor of Porto Petro
on the terrace of a bar, take the first sip of the Tequila Sunrise and love the scent that the orange at the rim of the glass exudes.
On the table is a candle that Flora has lit.
The oriental scent of incense reaches my nose.
Golden glowing, resinous warm, and so beautifully calming.
I think I will treat myself to a cognac later in the evening when the sun has set.
I enjoy the day in Porto Petro,
In the morning, soaking up some sun at the small bay. The refreshingly cold water in May
Fruits and a bit of salad at noon
In the evening, following the still quiet flow in sleepy Porto Petro
Enjoying some tapas or a bit of Pa Amb Oli and also, like today, a cocktail.
Just before we set off for Porto Petro, I got myself the Porto Bello from Le Couvent and, of course, packed it in my suitcase.

And today, before I made my way to the harbor, I took a few sprays.
Sitting at the harbor, a cocktail in hand, I keep perceiving the Porto Bello

The Porto Bello fits very well in May in Spain

The bitterness of the orange peel blends wonderfully with the warm resinous sweetness of Davana and cognac, which I can't perceive as such.
I perceive the orange for quite a while
The warm resinous scent too.
I find it somehow not very herbal
The sweetness fades more into the background for me
My wife can still perceive it after 5 hours

Le Couvent gets a lot right here

A beautiful, rounded, very elegantly appearing fragrance
A reasonable longevity
A good price and for me, a great noble bottle in black.