Cravache

The girl drives on the freshly tarred smelling minimal techno street in black and white. Animated by oudfeste will pure. On the road from somewhere and nowhere to the craggy, warm walls of the Montsauvage in the niche country.

The girl on the motorcycle rides without a helmet. She has tomboyishly thrown a milky white plastic blouse over her bony shoulders. The blouse unbuttoned over the skin-warm sillage of caraway aura. Raindrops hang on the blouse like oval beads of kaleidoscopic-grainy water.

Under the pale, milky Sunday sky of matte white linen, the graphite gray motorcycle of brushed oud chrome glides along the tart-dry minimal techno road to the horizon in the eternal night blue of niche land. Sometimes the side stand scrapes over the uneven asphalt.

The girl with the spicy-herbaceous hawk-eye and vintage ankle boots glides past dark Minecraft hills of lush Triassic vetiver and mute green cacti.

A cool fractal wind gently caresses oak moss hair over the girl's head. The wind caresses the green hair from his spicy face, gently caresses the musky warm soul of the girl.

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The year 2011 or 2012 as a fragrance concentrate. More a feeling than a fragrance.

Minimal techno-oud, black and white, Minecraft blocks. Green-hard vetiver and coriander, physical-spicy cumin. Dry oakmoss. Tough. Clean as the Minecraft desert. And yet with familiar musk soul.

Music accompaniment: Minimal Techno & EDM Minimal House - Dark Monkey Music Live Radio 24/7 Car Music

This commentary is about the favorite fragrance scent of my beautiful, charming, dear sister. So now it's time to put her essence and the essence of her signature scent into semi-worthy words.

Even today, the works of the Venetian writer, adventurer and seducer Casanova are read with pleasure. Less well known is the incident that the catalyst for Casanova's laudable (from the point of view of the time, licentious) goings-on - as a result of which he was thrown, among other things, into the infamous Piombi, the oppressive lead chambers above the Sala dei Inquisitori - was the Venetian princess Hyperbela (or Hyperbella, both spellings can be found in the archives).

Hyperbela was a princess whose noble family had fled to Venice after the fall of Constantinople. Princess Hyperbela's skin was finer than Ottoman velvet and shimmering red like a peach from the Garden of Eden, redolent of the noblest Persian rose petals. Her long brown silken hair flowed to her petite waist, her emerald green eyes sparkled like the star of Bethlehem. Princess Hyperbela was fluent in seven languages, a witty and immensely charming conversationalist, often entertaining guests with her sweet singing.

Princess Hyperbela seemed to rise each morning more graceful, beautiful, and charming than the morning before, and to grow more graceful and lovely with each passing hour until evening. Princess Hyperbela's scent was so beguiling that the best perfumer in the lagoon city refused to dull her scent aura with his best and most expensive perfume oil; not even the immortal Raffaello or Michelangelo would have dared to capture her gracefulness on Flemish canvas or carve it in marble from the island of Paros. When Princess Hyperbela walked delicately through the narrow streets of the city or rode in her golden gondola through the canals of the city, the water of the canals, the old white palaces as well as the sky were wrapped in lovely pastel colors, but the beauty of the palaces and canals, even the beauty of the sparkling firmament seemed to pale next to Princess Hyperbela like the void moon next to the Mediterranean August sun.

Venezia EdP starts with a ravishing olfactory explosion of ripe plum, fruity peach, lovely berries, and a few more sweet, minimally citrusy fruits. This is what it must have felt like when Princess Hyperbela entered the room, her most lovely grace like fireworks overwhelming those present down to the last fiber.

This overwhelmingly beautiful top note lasts for a few minutes. You can not keep your nose off your own skin, just as it was impossible to take your eyes off the shining beauty of Princess Hyperbela.

Blessed was he beside whom Princess Hyperbela sat at a reception in her great white marble palace. If one sat first demurely and some distance keeping beside princess Hyperbela, one smelled sweetish-flowery notes of blossoms (jasmine). If one moved Hyperbela slowly a little more near, one could hear her after roses and after the beguiling flower of the flowers (Ylang-Ylang), flowery-sweetly and balsamic, smelling skin.

Seized by bold exuberance, the young Casanova stole a kiss from Princess Hyperbela one day. Princess Hyperbela seized young Casanova and dragged him into her most private chamber, decorated with marble columns, and divested herself of her robe of the most precious Byzantine cloth.

Casanova, overwhelmed by the grace of Hyperbela's unclothed body on the golden four-poster bed in the light of a thousand flickering candles and still somewhat shy, runs his nose over Princess Hyperbela's neck, breasts to her loins. Princess Hyperbela's skin smells beguilingly fruity in the more intimate places, erotically resinous-smoky, very slightly animalistic.

The combination of osmanthus (slightly animalic notes) and resinous notes (amber, smoky, somewhat dirty) in the transition from the heart note to the base creates a tantalizingly erotic tension.

After the mutual devotion Casanova hears from Princess Hyperbela's damp skin a lovely woody sweetness (sandalwood) together with powdery vanilla notes - to then turn to his adventures, quietly disappearing over Princess Hyperbela's balcony: Lucietta, Ninetta, Lilla, Venice's suburban girls of fleeting embraces, passing annoyances, coquettish restlessness, rash grace, lightly seasoned regret.

Venezia EdP is a feminine, lovely and beguiling fragrance. Granted, the somewhat girly, Byzantine kitschiness may dazzle. But Venezia is a fragrance that doesn't make women smell like crushed or squashed fauna or West Laotian ox-mouth hyacinth, but just a little bit like Princess Hyperbela.

*hach*-factor: 80%+

Our fellow parfuma Hasi, called Hasi, has been a groupie of Central African dignitary Becker Boris since her youth (remember: in Switzerland, the family name always precedes the first name).

At the latest since the Becker Boris homage by Bongo&Bruce (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=03FnBFscMVM), nota bene a star hour of British dance, Hasi can no longer be stopped when she sees her idol on the early evening program of the Bavarian Radio. Especially since the above-mentioned song, in addition to Becker Boris equally praises the disc jockeys and monkeys - quasi brothers in spirit, comrades in eavesdropping.

Therefore, Hasi Becker wanted to visit Boris in time for April 1 in his mailbox domicile in Zug. A larger place to stay than a mailbox Becker Boris can not afford anyway in view of the salted Swiss real estate prices.

And so on April 1, Hasi moved out, heading for Becker Boris' chamber (on a broom, of course), with a carrot and the diary in his pocket. And accompanied by valiant fellow parfumos: the daughter of Klaus & Klaus, Ole W. and Polyester.

[Note: for readers of German native language subtitles were inserted in brackets]

Excerpt from Hasi's diary (PS: thank you, dear Hasi!)

1. April, 7 o'clock. Dear Diary. Friesian daughter lost in one-way street. Residents tell us to sweep (turn around) on the spot. Miserable cleanliness fanatics, the Swiss.

Sign discovers: "Abösser gestattet" (residents free). The Friesian daughter and I treat the eight cheeks some sun. Police comes, wants to fine us (fine for misdemeanor). Polyester in the white feather vest is thrilled. Want to meet Vachcra at 8 o'clock.

08.00 o'clock and 1 second. Meet guide Vachecra. Points out our typical German unpunctuality. Such a Fetznschädel.

9 am. Vachecra insists on Znüni (meal between morning meal and lunch) in the bakery with café. We reserve all the seats with our DFB towels. Vachecra says the Schwöbli (sweet roll) is not resch. He should really be nicer to polyester!

11am. Arrival in Zug. Walk through the town on foot. Frisian daughter, polyester and I are well received by the Zug people. Ole W. gets a beating from a red-cheeked farmer's daughter. They were just following the instructions on the sign at the traffic light: "Pedestrians press".

12 o'clock. All hungry. Vachecra suggests restaurant by lake. On sign says: "Today we sit outside" (restaurant garden open). The boys find it convenient, I disgusting. We go on and want to go to the family restaurant to the Tell. Was however a Popoclub and no restaurant! Had Fotzelschnitten (poor knight; both word components have no anatomical resp. anthropological reference in Switzerland; Fotzelschnitten can be found in every cookbook) on offer. Another local ordered a stuck-in (sandwich).

2pm. Finally want to meet Becker Boris. Come past furniture store. Have stand lamps (floor lamp) on sale. Cute that the Swiss install genital lights for high holidays!

4pm. Vachecra invites for Zvieri (meal between lunch and dinner) next to horse pasture. He thinks the horse apples taste (smell) good. I don't think so at all! Polyester orders tap water (tap water), is also disappointed.

1630 Hours. Found the Zug mailbox system. 100,000 mailboxes. But which one does Becker Boris live in? The others are supposed to help me. But where are they? A local says they are whoring (squatting, kneeling; not ambiguous) on the ground in the city park. Am very indignant and move on alone.

5pm. Becker Boris can no longer afford the mailbox either. He now lives in the city post office. On top of the pile of packages that no one has picked up. And he smells like that too.

Seven o'clock. Dear diary. What a day. The Swiss confuse me. And so rudely unfriendly they are. But how did Becker smell Boris? [big pink heart]

After application, I smelled brackish nail polish remover and homebrew from blind Uncle Mareczek. Plus a screeching Bongo&Bruce orange that goes through your marrow. As natural as the color of Trump Donald. An orange slowly rotting in time-lapse under a plastic bell with imprints of fat fingers. At its heart, the orange is adorned by a thyme-scented tree and the sole of new Converse sneakers from Axel Oxenstierna's old Volvo. And a heavy spray of toilet spray lavender punches right into the bunny nose. Finally, the rotten orange rolls around penetratingly in a dirty pool of Bhopal wood.

Becker Boris is an unholy blend of Office for Men, Nautica Blue, and Boss Orange Man. A generally and specifically mean synthetic muff combined with penetrating, chemical lavender toilet spray stench. Subtle as a first date boob grab, subtle as the oeuvre of Bongo&Bruce. Fragrance notes with contours of slimy octopuses on a basketball court.

In short, Floyd's evil twin, a toilet-spray-elirant plastic orange rat wafting through broom closets in massively synthetic expressiveness. Or in other words, the nastiest perfume I've ever smelled. Kinski would have shied away from scenting Werner Herzog with it.

This revelation hit the idyllic Parfumo village like a new batch of Aventus in the Jeremyan sect. The Parfumo philosopher Yatagan is really Pierre Montale. And vice versa. Pierre Montale, the creator of the 15,390 Montale fragrances (plus 8,690 Mancera flankers) and inventor of the Bhopal oud. This also made it clear why Yatagan withdrew once every year for a few months: he conceived Montale's 3,400 annual new releases in silent retreat.

Since one missed now in the Parfumo village Yati on the one hand very much, on the other hand feared, the Montale new publications could take over too much with excessively long seclusion, one decided to look for Yatagan. The oracle of Parfumo, Gleigoline, was consulted, and the answer was given: "Honored brothers and sisters of the nose, waldschrattet through the black Black Forest, wafting through the waves of the Swabian sea to the petrichorbekuhweideten mountain Appenzell!" An expeditionary force was hastily assembled with Appenzell as its destination, under the leadership of the wildest perfumo, Ole W. Chizza. The expedition was joined by Speesuit Spee of the Spree, Polly Norris, a Frisian woman, Loyd the woodsman, and Melisse3 with her bloodied scimitar.

For the 20th day of the month of Hornung, the Parfumo expedition arranged to meet at the border of the country of Appenzell. Appenzell, that fabled realm where there are three first names and two surnames. A land where cows are allowed to vote and choose, while women are still denied this.

The first to arrive was Polly Norris. On foot, not by car, for she was in a hurry. With a basket of Swabian country eggs and a squeeze-box under her wing-arm, for the sustenance and edification of the expeditionary force. Then Loyd forest-scuttled up, with a hockey-bag-sized tobacco-bag, rolling three empty barrels before him. With them he wanted to capture Yatagan and the green fairy that lives in Swiss valleys. Ole W. Chizza, the as always heavily armed Melisse3 and the Speesuit, who carried his exorcism tongs, were also not long in coming. The last to race up was the Frisian from Friesland in her Swedish road cruiser Knut. Since Appenzell is hardly bigger than a well-stocked perfumery, the Frisian didn't catch the last curve correctly and parked Knut on Polly's country eggs and Ole W. Chizza's motorcycle, which now had the dimensions of a tricycle. And one of Loyd's barrels was also small wood. A nasty riot broke out, and if the Speesuit hadn't pinched everyone with his exorcism tongs, the Parfumo troupe would have split into Parfumo Innerrhoden and Parfumo Ausserrhoden.

Since Knut was full of helmets, folding sticks and other Frisian trinkets, the troop now had to move on foot, cackling, barrel-rolling-rolling, encouraged by an occasional exorcism pincer pinch. On the evening of the 20th of Hornung, the Parfumo expedition arrived in Hundwil (named after the national dish of Appenzell). Quickly Bob, the Frisian builder, put together a shelter. The Frisian fed the troop from her Knut galley with cereal bar crumbs, Polly's squeezebox sprinkled the troop with lüpfigen Hudigäggelern (country music) and the Speesuit secretly quarried Loyd's tobacco pocket empty.

Unfortunately, the hut proved to be less than stable and collapsed in the middle of the night. "Good architecture and stability are not mutually dependent!" opined the Frisian. A view that Loyd did not share at all, for he had to lament the loss of another barrel in addition to his daily ration of tobacco. The Parfumo expeditionary force set out that very night and reached Appenzell at dawn on the 21st day of the Hornungs.

The first thing the troop heard was a strong whiff of Montale incense. Yatagan's perfume lab bosom could not be far off, I suppose. A not-too-pious incense, purple-dark, but not as black as a hare's soul. Incense bedded on a warm cedar pyre, its base not yet burnt off but no longer incense green like YS Uzac's BOM behind the ears. Unisex spiced and gender star balanced. At the start, the scent is animated with a pre-Alpine morning chill, sunlit, resinous at the heart, with a balsamic pine robe. Black resin drips from the sky onto the patch earth. An incense aura of the magic of an oriental king's gift, Persian gold like. Not as shy as the nocturnal shadows on the masonry of the southern French papal seat. Rather, floating through the button-nosed cathedral, if only in one dimension, not floating away into transcendence. The Speesuite liked the sacred incense without any rococo airs, so ornamentless that it would please even Melisse3s brother-in-arms Zwingli. Unruffled as eternity, fragrant as the violin varnish of the firmament.

The Parfumo expedition imagined itself close to its destination as it moved into the Appenzell collection of houses. Melisse3 was the first to storm Appenzell's Landsgemeindeplatz with her scimitar drawn, the other Parfumos following her. More collateral damage was caused when Knut parked - Loyd's last barrel was flat as a flounder, and Polly's squeezebox was also more squeeze than still commodious. But the people of Appenzell were heavily impressed by the Parfumo expeditionary force, and the male Appenzellers and the horn-bearing voting public elected them as the new Standeskommission (government of Appenzell). Ole W. Chizza, the first expedition leader to reach Appenzell since the end of the last ice age, became the governing Landammann. Speesuit Spee von der Spree became Stillstehender Landammann, as the dashing exorcist was fond of standing still. Polly became Frau Statthalter, since she considered Appenzell to be a town, and the heavily armed Melisse3 was appointed Frau Landeshauptmann (even today, at the Appenzell Landsgemeinde, the Landsgemeinde sword can be raised as a sign of approval instead of the voting card). The Frisian chose the office of Frau Säckelmeister because she found the official name teasing and naked hiking is a popular sport in Appenzell - Zipfelstürmer ahoy. Knut, as the only one in possession of a folding rule, was elected Appenzell builder. And last but not least, Loyd was appointed the new national ensign. Although he found neither Yatagan nor the green fairy, the Appenzeller Alpenbitter made him the first flag bearer in the country of Appenzell.

And so the expeditionary force in Parfumo Innerrhoden lived happily for many years to come. Meanwhile, in Parfumo Ausserrhoden, the phantom Pierre Montale was once again not caught.

Rentsch Hans-Ruëdi is getting impatient. As chairman of the supervisory board, he has long since passed the age of 80. His shirt, soaked with mighty sweat stains, is a bit baggy, so that after the sumptuous lunch (1 large beer for the worst thirst, 1 bottle of house wine red, garlic ravioli, calf's head with onion rösti, 2 fruit schnapps) he has not only opened the top button on his shirt collar, but also two other buttons at the level of his belly button.

"We must now finally move on to the next item on the agenda. New head of green washing at Haas&Riechter Automotive. I have a supervisory board meeting later this evening at the private bank Von Schloesser, Guenther & de Besson," Rentsch Hans-Ruëdi whines.
Von Klemmt Gertrude, Head of Human Resources and, at 69, the nestling on the Supervisory Board, protests. "Hans-Ruëdi, first of all, it's early afternoon, secondly, you are currently chairing the supervisory board meeting of the private bank Von Schloesser, Guenther & de Besson... You chaired the Human Resources Committee at Haas&Riechter Automotive yesterday." "...and thirdly, today we still have a supervisory board meeting at Maja MedTech, an audit committee at Dyolf Verena & Rubichizza and a wine evening at the Bankers Club followed by a stroll through Zurich's Langstrasse," wheezes his equally portly deputy, Grämiger Uëli (76), lighting up his third cigarette.

Von Klemmt Gertrude snatches the floor and focuses Rentsch Hans-Ruëdi with a serious look. "We now turn our attention to filling the vacancy Head of Compliance - the private bank Von Schloesser, Guenther and ... er ... de Besson. Waiting outside the door are the two candidates, Dr. Kluge Sophie and Brechtbühl Urs-Peterli. Or rather, only Dr. Kluge Sophie, Brechtbühl Urs-Peterli will be a little late." "Christmas event at the Rotarians Zurich-Bahnhofstrasse. Yesterday," also interrupts Rotarian Grämiger Uëli, whose alcohol plume is still room-filling 12 hours after the end of the event.

After the federally stiff welcome of the candidate Dr. Kluge Sophie by Messrs. Rentsch Hans-Ruëdi and Grämiger Uëli, von Klemmt Gertrude took over the scepter. "I will now ask you a few questions about your background, the two gentlemen supervisors will take notes," von Klemmt Gertrude begins the interview with the candidate.

While Dr. Kluge Sophie confidently answers the questions about her impressive international CV and explains her understanding of leadership with a lot of empathy, Rentsch Hans-Ruëdi notes on the otherwise blank sheet of paper "Frau Doktor has a big butt!" and pushes the sheet in the direction of Grämiger Uëli. The latter nods in agreement - for which, to their surprise, the two receive a stunned look from Klemmt Gertrude.

Grim Uëli takes the paper and notes: "Penetrating perfume, exhaustingly sillage-ized - wadded-up powdered sugar cotton, florally indefinably pale hors sol pale flower, rose in orange concentrate sugar juice if necessary, disinfectant jasmine, medicinal binding stuff, tepid fruit saffron, greasy angel hair, needles from inflatable faux-wood fir tree, wall of ambroxan clouds with lush mugginess.»

"Do you have any final questions for us?" asks von Klemmt Gertrude, who is visibly thrilled with the candidate so far, at the end of the interview. "I assume that I will be able to perform my function in a 90% workload. I would like to devote an afternoon to my family," says Dr. Kluge Sophie. Von Klemmt Gertrude's countenance darkens abruptly and she notes with red Stabilo Boss "Kampfemanzenzickenamazone!!!". Which Messrs Rentsch and Grämiger acknowledge with a sympathetic nod.

In the handwritten report on the assessment interview with Dr. Kluge Sophie, von Klemmt Gertrude will later cross out the comments of the gentlemen supervisors on the candidate's buttocks, but will add the note: "Sensuality of a robot woman - the nature of the candidate is like her scent. Generally exhausting synthetic being. Abstract, empathy-less, over-sugary and stale all at once. Bloodless orangery of arty boredom."
When, after the interview with Dr. Kluge Sophie, candidate Brechtbühl Urs-Peterli still has not shown up, the Supervisory Board decides by a vote of 2 to 0 (the Supervisory Board of the private bank Von Schloesser, Guenther & de Besson is the only body without women's suffrage after the involuntary introduction of women's suffrage in the Canton of Appenzell Innerrhoden in 1990) to appoint Brechtbühl Urs-Peterli, Rotarian and senior member of the Banker Club, as Head of Compliance without prior hearing.

On the fringes of the next management meeting in Hamilton/Bermuda, which the taxpayer after some write-offs in the books of the private bank Von Schloesser, Guenther & de Besson has treated its senior management, von Klemmt Gertrude does not miss the opportunity to address Brechtbühl Urs-Peterli after some compliments on its fragrance - Baccarat Rouge 540.