BeJot

The war is almost forgotten. The rubble has been cleared away. The chimneys are smoking again behind the pit houses. You're driving a Kugelporsche, as you called the black one with the pretzel window. The pride in what you have accomplished over the last 10 years shines in your eyes. "Road construction is future building," you always said when you went to work. Some push the tar cart, others spread the hot tar with the wooden shovel. And you, on your knees, smooth the surface with skilled strokes.
Hot steam rises to your nose. "Someone has to do it." Your words still echo in my ears.
One could do it particularly well. That was you. In the photo, you smile, the cigarette in the corner of your mouth. White ribbed fabric, with wide suspenders over it. That's how I knew you.
The thin parchment page with the spiderweb embossing smells of tar…

With heartfelt thanks to ElAttarine for this olfactory experience!

And as the summers grew cooler, we heard the voices from the underbrush whispering: Warm yourselves by the resin of the fir! We rubbed our lavender garments with its balm until a waxy layer covered us, from which a sweeter sap, warmed by our bodies, rose in thin threads and tangled in our hair. We looked to the sky, which was already dark, sending us small clouds of incense, or was it the mist from the earth into which we sank? I do not know. I only know we glided deeper into the dark comfort of ourselves.

…..
I immediately have fir balsam in my nose. And a waxy, light sweetness with bright incense. This phase reminds me of the Neuffer fragrances. And after two hours, what I also know from Annette's scents happens: I slip right in. I have my nose in the sleeve and feel like I'm about to glide under my own skin or implode.
I believe this is either a specific incense or the way it is incorporated into a more complex accord. In any case, it is totally fascinating.

With heartfelt thanks to ElAttarine for the opportunity to get to know the fragrance and to Floyd for his inspiring review!

In the past, when I was still young, green, not just behind the ears, when the tomatoes still grew like clementines, their skins slowly peeling away and sinking down, tart, almost sharp, forming little air bubbles at their edges that rose until they burst at the water's surface, letting in the sunlight, shimmering, between the leaves of the tomato algae swaying in the waves, I could see them, the dolphins, playing with the shadows of the tomato leaves, how their touches created little fountains from the leaf hairs that colored the water green. Today they have hidden behind the wooden bars made of numerical sequences, which branch out infinitely long as logical chains of zeros and ones. The water has become murky. The tomatoes in front of my tired eyes block the view. Only the vetiver wind pushes the waves aside and allows me to become green behind the ears again for small moments.

The path leads through tall grass. Beneath my bare feet, the crushed blades release their spicy green scent. From somewhere, the wind beckons in lemon yellow. I follow it. It caresses me softly-smoky. Spins me faster and faster. Whirls me right into a tree. The space opens up to a high hall. I breathe in the resinous, woody air. The bright walls are adorned with sculptures and ornaments. The closer I get, the clearer I see the delicate carvings. My hands trace the reddish-brown grain. They feel openings to other rooms through which a little light falls. And floral scent. Exotic, beautiful flowers I see through the openings. A few steps further, the ground becomes softer, earthier, more mulchy. Spicy forest floor. In the middle of the tree. Here I want to stay.
But then the tree releases me again. Through a dark, herb-scented corridor.
I wake up, surrounded by dark green, tall steppe grasses. It smells of earth, roots, and resinous wood. A gentle breeze surrounds me. It accompanies me throughout the day.

Rocks, bitter herbs, dry scrub. The wind tousles the dune grass with sea salt. The afternoon sun stretches the shadows. A warm stone wall invites a pause. Aromatic spice creeps deep inside me. I take it with me, walking barefoot through sand, up the dunes. Vastness. Hills. In the next hollow, it is windstill. The sea far away. The sun still there. I lay down in the warm dune sand. Silence. In the finely spiced air, lemon feathers float, tickling my nose. Smiling, I close my eyes … … and find myself in a wooden cabin. The coal stove is out. Cold ash lingers in the air. Someone must have been here yesterday. Two empty glasses sit on the table. I sit down. Look out the window. Gray waiting. For what? For whom? Emptiness. The smoke becomes milder. Or have I gotten used to it? Used to nothingness?
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I enter the now familiar NOAM forest. Dark, resinous, spicy, and after a short time, smoky. Oh, how I love that!!!
An old wooden barrel smells liqueur warm. I sit on the ground and lean my back against the barrel. With every breath, warmth and vastness flow into my back with the scent. Strong! I've never experienced anything like it!
The scent becomes brighter, mistier. In the distance, the forest is still visible. I stand up. Driftwood lies there. Light-footed, almost floating, I walk along the wide beach with my eyes closed. The wind blows gossamer silk cloths over. Light blue lightness. Resin yellow, floral white, tobacco beige. I dance with them… …The ground beneath my feet transforms. Steppe. Dry grass. Gnarled, low bushes. The sun is high. It is quiet. Serious. A pang in my heart. Caused by old memories. Loneliness. The bushes bear long thorns… …I feel the scent in my back again. In the distance, the silk cloths still dance. The tobacco cloth settles on my left shoulder. It gently brushes my cheek. A delicate touch in loneliness… …A shiver runs through my body and I suddenly stand in a room. Dim light. A workshop? A cellar? I cannot tell. Birch tar? A workbench. Gray. Shabby, dusty, old. There is hardly any tool left. In the pale light, I recognize a rag. It must have been used for cleaning tools. …
Lost in thought, I stand there. Calm. How long? I do not know. The thoughts slowly disappear into the mist at the beach.

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Apéro Riviera reveals itself to me differently every time. At the beginning, I always dive into the Noam vibe and look forward to a few hours in good scent company. Sometimes it is pure joy of life. At other times, it is an interesting walk through nature. But then comes the point where the mood shifts. Sometimes it makes me sad, sometimes it is melancholy, deprivation, or loneliness.
I am curious whether this effect will remain or if the scent will change further, thus bringing forth other images.
For another eight to ten hours, an inner calm and security accompany me, which I also know from many NOAMs.

I have posted photos about this in my blog regarding the creation of the bottle: Apéro Riviera - a bottle for N•O•A•M is created | BeJots Perfume Blog