IceMachine

My late father was from Berlin. Born right in the midst of the darkest times of the last century, he had to witness the Second World War as a child. A few years later, when he was just old enough, he left Berlin, ended up in another big city several hundred kilometers away, and built a life there. He rarely saw Berlin again, and so it didn't play a significant role in my life either. Nevertheless, I have always felt a special connection to our exciting capital, and so I tested the fragrances from the house of Schwarzlose Berlin mainly because of the brand name.

Besides the authentically linden-blossom 1A-33 (2012) and the sultry "Rausch | J.F. Schwarzlose Berlin," I was especially taken by Treffpunkt 8 Uhr: not sweet, green, slightly fruity. Modern with a touch of nostalgia.
I see my father as a very young man, riding his bike through a warm summer evening full of anticipation. He has dressed up nicely and left early to avoid being late for his appointment. The wind is warm, the evening sun creates light reflections on the asphalt. The air smells of summer, of freedom, of carefreeness; a carefreeness I would have wished for my father, but which the war took from him and which he unfortunately could allow himself far too rarely later in life. Treffpunkt 8 Uhr wavers for me between lightness and melancholy, because despite its freshness, it is not a particularly cheerful scent for me, even though ginger and mango in the top note do let a bit of joy for life shine through. The fragrance is fresh, herbaceous, slightly spicy, and the vetiver in it is wonderfully light and bright. Overall, it is a bright scent, pleasant, not too strong. And yet melancholic, a bright melancholy that allows one to look back at the past while always pulling one back into the present.

My father and I didn't always have it easy with each other. That he could have been my grandfather in terms of age was hardly noticeable from his appearance, and yet sometimes there was too much time between us. But alongside all the strictness and stubbornness that sometimes made life difficult for me, he was also a person who enjoyed life, and I am sure that I could have sparked his interest in my passion for perfume. Perhaps we would have tested ourselves through the most diverse fragrance samples together. And Treffpunkt 8 Uhr would surely have pleased him just as much as it does me.

My better half and I enjoy vacationing away from the hustle and bustle and too many people. Some time ago, we found ourselves at the Dutch North Sea coast, in a small former watchman's house in a fort. Now, this was not a medieval fort, but one from the Napoleonic era, complemented by more recent concrete improvements, giving it a rather rugged charm. However, this did not detract from the special tranquility that this place radiated, especially at night; on the contrary. The fort was relatively isolated on the edge of a village with a view of the stormy North Sea and a long beach.

So my husband and I rented it for a few days and received, along with the key to our watchman's house, the keys to the entire grounds of the fort, including the observation platform. During the day, the grounds and the associated museum were open for a few hours for the few visitors who wandered there during the cold off-season. For the rest of the day and at night, we had the whole fort to ourselves. We strolled around the grounds at dusk, watched seagulls and sunsets, and sat late in the evening, bundled up with a thermos full of tea on the observation platform, gazing at the stars and listening to the sea, which could only be sensed in the darkness of the night. Besides the sound of the sea, we were surrounded only by silence and wind.

It is exactly this atmosphere that L'Ombre des Merveilles captures for me. It smells of lonely, starry nights, of the sea, of cool autumn air, while also conveying warmth, tranquility, and security. For me, it is primarily a tea scent, as the black tea stands out very clearly, and I also detect a slight citrus note. The frankincense noted in the fragrance notes, which had long kept me from giving the scent a chance, I can smell distinctly but gently, and together with a slight sweetness (probably from the tonka bean), I surprisingly like it a lot.
I am truly glad that this fragrance found its way to me through a swap with a dear perfumista! It now brings me back at any time to the quiet, peaceful moments on the observation platform of this fort, which was originally not intended for peaceful times, lending a certain irony and a bit of hope to the whole experience.

I wish you all such an observation platform, especially now in these times.
Don't forget to look at the stars!

Happy holidays and a happy new year 2025!

I have never been to Iceland. In fact, traveling was not something I was born into. As a child and teenager, I hardly ever traveled. There was barely any money for it, and due to my sister's severe disability, the priorities in our family understandably lay elsewhere. As a student, I again struggled with finances, and today, having long outgrown my student years, I still do not belong to those people who jet around the world multiple times a year. On one hand, this is because I do not want to fly too often due to climate protection, and on the other hand, I also lack the ease with which other people simply set off on their travels. I just don't have it in my blood. Nevertheless, I have been fortunate enough to visit some beautiful places in Europe throughout my life, sometimes by plane, often by train, especially in Germany's neighboring countries. And in Spain and Finland and Ireland and Great Britain. I studied for a while in England. And a few years ago, I even made it all the way to Canada.

Throughout all these years, Iceland has always been at the top of my wish list. Yet, I have never been there; something always came in between, family, new jobs, pandemics. So, I cannot say how it smells in Iceland. However, a few weeks ago, some fragrance samples from the Icelandic label Fischersund found their way to me. Scents developed and designed by Jón Þór Birgisson (singer and guitarist of the Icelandic post-rock band Sigur Rós); scents that connect two of my favorite themes - music and perfume. Of course, I was immediately fascinated, and when I arrived at Fragrance N°8 with its rhubarb note, I was completely taken in. The rhubarb stands out for me, but in a very soft way, accompanied by gentle citrus and underlined by a slightly bitter, green note. I do not directly smell the advertised motor oil; only a delicate, slightly gum-like and at the same time somewhat bitter note reveals itself over time.
The scent reminds me of childhood, of the 80s, of a warm summer day. The sun shimmers over the asphalt, somewhere in the distance a synthesizer sounds from a radio. I drop money into a gumball machine, turn the metallic handle, and receive a small red gumball. It tastes fruity and sour, and my hands now smell of it, mixed with the metallic scent of the machine's handle. A light summer breeze wafts the scent of the grasses and trees from the nearby little woods around my nose. It’s vacation time, and I still have time before I need to be home for dinner. Life is light and free and carefree. Does childhood feel similar in Iceland? I think so. Probably, the only differences are the landscapes one looks at.

In the summer of 2026, I will travel to Iceland with some of my loved ones. We will admire the beautiful nature and the solar eclipse that will take place there. And in Reykjavik, I will visit the small Fischersund perfumery. If everything goes well. If the world is still standing then. In my mind's eye, I gaze upon the rugged Icelandic landscape, the sun is shining, the wind is cool, and the air is clear. Not a single tree in sight! I wonder how it smells there? Does Fischersund N°8 truly capture the scent of the Icelandic summer?
I do not know yet.
But I will report back!

You know you‘re always welcome to stay
You, you know at the end of, of the day
We all, we all die anyway
(Sigur Rós - Gold)

In the early 2000s, I moved directly into my first own apartment right after graduating from high school. It was small and located far outside the city, so I spent what felt like an eternity on the tram to get to the university in the city center. The floors were uneven and creaked with every step, and the small kitchenette was still from the 70s, decorated in questionable vintage brown tones even back then. Heating was done with aging gas stoves, and until they finally kicked in, you had to press the small button under the cover dozens of times, especially at the beginning of the cold season. To make a long story short: this little apartment was perfect. I furnished it with a mix of the cheapest Ikea furniture, old pieces from my parents and my childhood room, and items from flea markets. I bought a small tube television (the kind that is deeper than it is wide ;-)) and often had MTV playing almost all day long. Those of us who are older might remember: MTV, the music television channel, actually played music videos almost all day long back then, long before the era of YouTube and constantly available high-speed internet. (And does anyone still remember VIVA Zwei?) So there I was, sitting in this little apartment with the old, slightly crooked lime tree in front of one window and the ugly little 70s high-rise - yes, there are indeed small high-rises - in front of the other window, slightly overwhelmed yet fascinated as I flipped through my university folders from the first semester. MTV was on TV, maybe Linkin Park or Avril Lavigne or an episode of South Park. And the room smelled of "Hugo Deep Red," vanilla and berry and sweet. Life felt eternal, in a positive sense, as everything was still ahead of me and the future was open and free.

"Hugo Deep Red" is not an extravagant scent. It never was and probably never wanted to be. It has a pleasant aroma of vanilla and red berries, and it somewhat reminds me of red fruit jelly with vanilla sauce. I used to find it very sweet, but compared to the sweetness of some modern perfumes, it is not. Nowadays, it possesses the uniqueness of a fragrance that you don't smell very often anymore and that no longer aligns with current trends. Today, it feels a bit out of time to me, but not in a negative sense, not outdated, rather retro (and just a tiny bit sexy), and absolutely still wearable, even for young people.

The building with my little first apartment has since been torn down and replaced by a new, fancier residential building with large balconies and floor-to-ceiling windows. And even the ugly little high-rise across the street has received a new coat of paint. But the old lime tree still stands, as crooked as ever, defying the years that pass by it. And when I recently walked along my old street, I could have sworn the air smelled of "Hugo Deep Red."

I grew up on the outskirts of a big city, in a small rental apartment in a block of flats amidst other blocks in a typical working-class neighborhood where people didn’t have much money. Nevertheless, our neighborhood was well-kept, the balconies were filled with colorful sunshades, and geraniums grew in the flower boxes on the balcony railings. Since we could hardly afford a vacation, my parents rented a small allotment garden on the edge of our neighborhood at a low price. There was a crooked cherry tree on it and a garden shed with a dark wooden porch. My parents set up a swing for my sister and me, and my dad planted vegetables in the back part of the little garden and some currant and gooseberry bushes in the front. During the summer months, we all gathered in the garden on weekends and during the holidays; my dad sunbathed, my mom flipped through magazines, my sister did puzzles, and I devoured piles of children's books from the city library, painted, swung, or snitched berries. The air smelled of summer and grass and green bushes, and a bit of the nearby city with all its sun-heated concrete.

“Dance Amongst The Lace” captures this scent for me. The fragrance smells like a garden on the outskirts of a city, of grasses, herbs, of berry bushes, woody and tart. It smells minty, citrusy, but I also smell the dark wood of the garden shed in my parents' allotment garden. The scent is bitter, fresh, cool (but not cold) and still somehow summery and wonderfully timeless. It also smells a bit like my childhood hands did after I had plucked the currants from the bush; a bit of the wood and leaves of the bush, mixed with the tart aroma of the small dark red berries.

Unfortunately, my dad is no longer alive, and the allotment garden had to make way for more blocks of flats years ago. I live in another city in a residential area where the sunshades on the balconies are not colorful but are in modern gray and beige tones, and most people have enough money for their vacations. But when I smell “Dance Amongst The Lace,” I am seven years old again, snitching currants from our bushes, my dad is snoring in his deck chair in the sun, and on the radio, “Ella, elle l’a” by France Gall is playing. And I can’t imagine a better place.