Cravache

French steam lock lubricating oil. Museum Railway.
Not polished to a high gloss. Béret instead of pimple cap.
The oil has already done some work. Thick brown the consistency.
The steam engine is in Sleeping Beauty Depot. Still cold.
Black oil stains on the cold naked floor.
The engineer oils his locomotive.
Call me Knorrli.
The black boiler is fired up. With gnarled birch logs.
And tarry juniper from rough mountain country
On the last trip, one of them threw a tire into the fire.
The stoker slurps a homemade vegetable soup.
The smoke is smoking in his scary face
He already wore his Sappeur jacket yesterday, when he had Black Forest Ham with Hasi ass.

Cambouis by Gaglewski Grasse is a technical fragrance. Cambouis means lubricating oil. And specifically used lubricating oil. Lubricating oil that you can smell in the halls of technical museums - department of historical ship engines and locomotives. Except for the human sapphire jacket made of coarse material, there is no human being in the fragrance - a fragrance like Franz Conrad von Hötzendorf.

An uncompromising olfactory replica of mainstream grandiosity and pseudo-nonsense in a fine-expensive cloth, without falling into the brut-niche of the confusing scent images.

But real, technically well made niche - not only for railway romantics. Like a Märklin catalog from the 1950s. Or the Wullesau.

Technical explanations:

- Knorrli = bulky person.

-Unfortunately the scent is not easy to find. The easiest way to order it is at Manufactum (make sure to order the Swiss Pitralon aftershave). However, blind purchases are strongly discouraged.

-Wullesau/Wullesou = wool pig. Thick sweater made of wool from the Swiss Army in 1962. A legend! And stylish alternative to fibre fur/Softshell/etc. for a walk, a ride on the open museum train, an outdoor cheese fondue chat or the winter-cold screwdriver workshop. To be found in some army shops.

Badertscher Jürg (in Switzerland the surname is prefixed - Klaus Kinski is called Kinski Klaus) is standing at the window. He is satisfied with himself. CFO of a medium-sized company, the figures are good. From his spacious office (top floor, art prints of pictures by Miró Joan and a picture by Tell Wilhelm on the walls), Badertscher Jürg can overlook the runways and hangars of the nearby airport. And look at his reflection in the tinted glass. White shirt by Dior Christian, dark blue Slim Fit suit by Ford Tom. Badertscher Jürg is also satisfied with this. Even if the suit doesn't fit as tight as it does with Kern Christian. But doughy like Trump Donald, he is not, Badertscher Jürg.

When Badertscher Jürg wanders through the lonely corridor of the top floor (those in charge with a workplace on lower floors have no access to the top floor), he leaves a fine scent trail. Eau Sauvage by Dior Christian, which his wife, Badertscher's grief Vreni, puts next to his white shirt every morning. Badertscher Jürg is satisfied. With his numbers, with his suit in the mirror, with Badertscher grief Vreni. And of course with his scent of Dior Christian. But on this radiantly beautiful Friday in November, Badertscher Jürg stays a little longer at the window. His gaze does not wander over the sugared peaks of the foothills of the Alps, he looks out at the nearby airfield.

Even though Badertscher Jürg hasn't spoken to people who don't hold a management rank for a long time, he feels like a friend of the Blue Collar worker - at least if he knew any. Sometimes he regrets not meeting them at his golf club on Lake Zurich or during his skiing holiday in St. Moritz. The chypre aura of his Dior Christian fragrance makes Badertscher Jürg melancholy today. To the astonishment of his assistant Kneubühler Livia, Badertscher Jürg leaves his office shortly afterwards without a word (even the daily inspection of his assistant's butt has been omitted today to her irritation) and gets into his limousine.

In a luxury department store on Zurich's Bahnhofstrasse, he is looking for distraction when he is torn from his thoughts by a sonorous voice with a French accent. The young perfume saleswoman, whose name tag reads Martineau Sophie, asks him, "You want to test a perfume," and beams at Badertscher Jürg. After a brief glance, Badertscher Jürg decides to take up the offer to test the perfume. "Isch riesche Eau Sauvage. This is the ultimate perfume de mon père! "I show you other perfumes from the Eau Sauvage perfume universe!" Badertscher Jürg is satisfied. With the distraction, with the sight of the distraction, with himself, and the test proposal. And so Martineau Sophie conjures up three bottles on the counter next to the cash register: Aéroplane by Detaille, Aigues Vives (perfume) by Galimard and Eau d' Aviateur by Flou Atelier.

Badertscher Jürg immediately recognises a relationship between all three fragrances and his Eau Sauvage. Aéroplane reminds him of his 1994 vintage bottle of Eau Sauvage: deeper, spicier, more herbaceous than his current Eau Sauvage - and more petrol-filled. More precisely: aviation gasoline. Badertscher Jürg shakes his head. Aviation gasoline? He can't score points with this at Badertscher-Kummer Vreni, vice-chairman of the Greens in his community. "The whole flying Majorca party people destroy the environment. Flying has to become more expensive again", Badertscher Jürg remembers the grunting of his wife in the First Class Lounge, when he flew with her last year in the Christmas season to New York for shopping.

Next he turns to Aigues Vives (perfume). His melancholy is gone. Which is due to the charm of Demoiselle Martineau on the one hand, but also to the scent on the other. "It's Eau Sauvage with the sun of southern France. Three-day beard. "And Corsican joie de vivre That's the real Eau Sauvage perfume, not the one Dior Christian sells under that name", Badertscher Jürg thinks to himself and remembers the first holiday in Avignon with Badertscher-Kummer Vreni, which was then called Kummer Vreni - and which was married by Badertscher Jürg 7 months later for primarily career reasons. "Badertscher, you can't wear that in the office! This is a fragrance for carefree vice presidents or dream-walking humanists." And so, Badertscher Jürg also discards Aigues Vives, although he has a kind of nostalgia for it.

After a further test look, Badertscher Jürg turns to the last test candidate. Eau d'Aviateur. Badertscher Jürg is also related to Eau Sauvage, although Eau d'Aviateur reminds him a bit more of Aéroplane.

In the top note Badertscher Jürg makes his Eau Sauvage. Garnished with a touch of orange and enlivened by Monsieur Balmain's graceful, sun-drenched lemon (unreformulated version from 1990 by Becker Calice). Petitgrain projects the citric scent image into a kaleidoscope, giving Eau d'Aviateur a texture of soft citric clouds in southern French yellow and green tones.

The flowery heart of Eau d'Aviateur is herbaceous and green in colour, slightly less musty than Aéroplane. The heart is framed in soft light wood, natural, soft, carrying in decency.

Badertscher Jürg likes what he smells: his Eau Sauvage, a petroleum-free version of Aéroplane and the citrusy joie de vivre of Aigues Vives, though not as exuberant. Badertscher Jürg pulls out his company credit card and allows himself to afford the fragrance.

Badertscher Jürg is back in his office. Shortly before his lunch at the golf club, he makes out the further scent of Eau d'Aviateur. He misses a little the oakmoss note of Eau Sauvage, which in its current formulation is once again clearly richer, crisper and darker green. The green, slightly smoky leaf note (probably maté) in Eau d'Aviateur is not a full-fledged substitute.

Badertscher Jürg stops at the window for a while and watches the aircraft mechanics at the nearby airfield. Suddenly he thinks he smells the grey-blue overalls of the mechanics. Overalls that are human, a touch of fresh metallic sweat, some oil on the hands. A smell of adventure, freedom, and the satisfaction of a job well done. Cibet and white musk. Cibet, like a tiger walking across a lonely plain under a milky sky in wet and cold snow. Musk, which stands like soft cloud castles in the sky over the South Seas

When Badertscher Jürg arrives home in the evening, he is expected by Badertscher's grief Vreni. "You smell familiar. Just like back in Avignon", Badertscher-Kummer Vreni beams at her Badertscher Jürg.

And when Badertscher Jürg sometimes stands at the window of his office, looks into the clouds, wearing eau d'aviateur, he imagines himself in the leather lambskin jacket of the adventurous pilots of the 1930s, somewhere over the Atlantic, flying through cloud castles, without a specific destination.

It's surprising that eau d'Aviateur is not more common on Parfumo. It would actually be a perfumo scent. Eau Sauvage universe, niche, a touch of civet, moderately priced - and a fantastic bottle. As heavy as a full steel petrol can, with great attention to detail, it's beautifully crafted. If Eau Sauvage had this civet note or Eau d'Aviateur had the oakmoss note of Eau Sauvage, then this would be my perfect fragrance.

I came into contact with the olfactory treasures of the Occident in my early youth. A key youthful experience was a long personal conversation with Jean-Paul Guerlain. Another key experience I was allowed to experience about 8 years ago: the discovery of the fragrances of Hind al Oud from Dubai. While high-priced fragrances from the Arabian region are generally oriented entirely or largely towards the European (or rather specifically the French) perfume tradition, the low-priced and often also the medium-priced fragrances from this region are unfortunately mostly of rather moderate quality. And often anything but an olfactory revelation.

Hind al Oud confidently orientates himself on the handicraft of Arabic perfumery without making any compromises in terms of quality. For European noses, the fragrances are undoubtedly unusual, strange, surprising, fascinating, exciting - comparable to the first reading of the Gilgamesh epic. If one lets oneself be seduced by the olfactory treasures of the Arabian scent culture, if one lets oneself be seduced by them, if one drops the prejudiced concept of the olfactory Orient, one is rewarded with a wonderful expansion of horizons into a region which is also the cradle of our occidental-European (scent) culture.

Na'em Al Oud evokes images of a large cow pasture where you want to rest. Surrounded by fragrant wide mats in rich summer flower colours, on the horizon the eternal snow of the Alpine peaks, deep blue sky. Until recently, majestic brown cows and some hares grazed on the cow pasture. On a sunny day, one sits relaxed in an evening dress or tuxedo on the edge of the warm and summery cow pasture. The smell of an old, splendid Emmental farmhouse decorated with flowers, whose wood tells the story of generations. The sun warms the face, the hair, the pasture, the old dark brown wood of the farmhouse. The scent of wood, the pasture, the cows, the flowers cuddles you up in the summer warmth of the pre-alpine nature.

If you like this direction of oud, you will find Na'em Al Oud very attractive. This kind of warm oud has the magic of love within it. If you don't like this kind of oud, you will find the scent as repulsive as an involuntary bath in cow dung. The perfumer of Na'em Al Oud must be an animal lover - or a friend of animal women (did Minotaurus have a cow-eyed sister?) If you work in an open-plan office or want to be nibbled on by a vegetarian, Na'em Al Oud should probably not be used.

The body-warm, animalistic oud note is the red thread running through the fragrance. Na'em Al Oud starts warm and spicy. Black pepper emphasizes the pleasantly charming, animalistic note of the oud after application. When the pepper has evaporated after a few minutes in the summer air, the fragrance develops in a fresh spicy direction (saffron, fruity like kiss-red lips). Musk is quickly added.

At the beginning of the fragrance process, the musk is noticeably more animalistic, without drifting off into a Mephistophelian animalism. The musk forms a bridge to the typical Arabic floral notes: A red rose with animalistic aspects and somewhat lustful body parts, as well as jasmine - elegant, warm, sensual, with light hay notes. Jasmine has not yet showered, the skin and hair smell of a mixture of familiarity and the evening essence of the day experienced. She sits on the big white musk bed in her dark evening dress. Between her lips she has a few black berries. One tries to pinch the berries with one's lips.

Towards the base, Na'em Al Oud becomes warmer, woodier and earthier - which again emphasizes the animalistic oud note a bit more. The erotic "useful area" of Na'em Al Oud is considerable: the perfume oil lasts forever on the skin, the sillage is strong.

Thesis
"Don't you think, comrade, that the lawyers are the cavalry of the civil cavalry: the fine breed!" (Caricature from Simplicissimus from the turn of the century before last, to be found in my album)

Formalities
The scent pyramid is more or less exactly right, pleasantly woody ISO E Super is suppressed in the heart and base, the discreet chocolate is milky white and not dark, the essence is a little more herbaceous than one would expect from the pyramid.

Material
Prelude: a lot of natural, fresh, dirndl-breasted bergamot, wrapped in other citric love affair
Heart: white philologist orchid, rather masculine green herb, first a lot of sparkling pepper, then general kitchen shelf spiciness, a hint of Nestlé Galak milk chocolate, ISO E super-woodiness
Basis: ISO E Super, slightly sweetish-creamy light wood, ISO E Super, hash-belliedunanimal and downduvet soft musk, ISO E Super

I have no idea who Zarko Ahlmann Pavlov's Lawyer is. He or she is a shot in the dark. A soft beaver. This may be a prejudice, but prejudices are, after all, judgments in the name of the vernacular. For law is not one of the soft orchid subjects at university. Drinking ability, a celebratory and vicious temperament in combination with promiscuity are as much part of the minimum student requirements as a critical distance to all other classical virtues.

After this has matured for a few years, the diabolic to Mephistophelian nature of the alumna and alumnus is ready for a successful career start. In olfactory terms, the day's work of good Lawyers goes in the direction of animalistic camel stalloud, particularly malicious musk, lumbar-skin-animal Labdanum, beaver's horny, civet and other olfactory injuria. Anything that someone of the caliber of Denny Crane would wear. Whether it's in the daily chase, perjury, or sowing dissension.

The cavalry of the Mephistophelian of the Lawyer is completely off the scent of "The Lawyer". The Lawyer smells like a philologist in a green woollen sweater who is close to nature, has never abused her desk for morally at least questionable debauchery and fights for good every day.

Verdict
The Lawyers are the Civil Cavalry. Diabolical to Mephistophelian in spirit. In the post-paradise realm of darkness, Lawyers (recte: Liars) are undoubtedly a very fine breed. The Lawyer with his herbaceous-spicy, light floral, modern-woody nature is far too politically correct for a Lawyer and far too much inspired by good and fine things. Decent people, The Lawyer is a modern ISO-floral dream with pleasant sillage, with an equally pleasant nature and good durability.

Above the entrance to the Abbey Library of St. Gallen is written in large letters: PSYCHES IATREION (pronounced: psüchäs hiatreion). This could be translated from the Attic with "sanatorium for the soul". The literature and especially the library, where literature was consumed in former times, was and is still partly regarded as a "soul pharmacy"

With the Joint the Club line, XerJoff has created fragrances where, to the chagrin of the fragrance pyramid rollator pilots, individual fragrances are not the focus of attention. XerJoff deliberately does not publish a pyramid of fragrances. The fragrances should convey a specific scent image, which usually works very well. More than Words is dedicated to a specific club/circle. That of literature, especially the writer and the reader. The fragrance transports one to a powerful, dark, old library.

Libraries with their dark corridors and discreet niches, however, have their appeal especially in the youth. Whether it is the deafening silence and tranquillity of a library, thoughts turn sometimes to Judith, then again to Anna, from the coquettish restlessness, the reckless grace, the light-hearted remorse to discipline and credit points for graduation.

One day, my former fellow student S. from the Land of Smiles took the current issue of a Big 'Uns publication out of her pocket with her tender, pale, discreet fingers - in Asia, especially in Japan, it is quite common to consume such adult magazines in public - and put the booklet on the ponderous reading table. S., leafed calmly through the booklet and commented. First the lecture, then the seminarium.

In short, a library addresses not only the intellectual part of the psyche, but also the sensual part. So does More than Words

More Than Words is fruity and sweet after being sprayed on. Woody and smoky notes (frankincense, ambergris and labdanum) are quickly added. The woody and smoky notes evoke the image of dark, mighty cupboards and shelves full of old books preciously bound in leather.

At this stage, the fragrance thrives on the interaction between light, fruity, sweet, immaculate notes and dark, mysterious and even verr(a)ucht-erotic notes. Just as a library houses works by Thomas Aquinas as well as works by Catullus ("The honourable poet must be chaste, but his verses are not.") or Giovanni Boccaccio.

Soon Oud joins in. Oud with smoky, dark, earthy, slightly animal notes. The oud symbolizes the preciousness and grace of literary works. But the oud does not dominate the fragrance completely or even one-dimensionally, it is artfully woven into resinous, sweet, leathery and smoky notes.

At the end of the fragrance process, More than Words becomes softer and quieter. One sits relaxed and mentally satisfied in a quiet, warm, dark, cosy reading room of a library. The fragrance envelops the wearer in an intellectual and sensual sense of security.

More than Words is a deep, sensual perfume. It reflects the whole range of literature. More than Words is complex, but not as exhausting as the "Quiet!" fetishists of a library picking up the hasty Aphrodite, light and dark at the same time, sweet and lustful and at the same time bitter like very old dark wood. More than Words transports the emotions of literature, more than individual words (or scent pyramids) can do on their own.