IceMachine

My late father was from Berlin. Born in the middle of the darkest period of the last century, he had to live through 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 made a life for himself there. He rarely saw Berlin again and so it didn't play a major role in my life either. Nevertheless, I have always felt a special connection to our exciting capital city and so I tested out the fragrances from Schwarzlose Berlin, mainly because of the brand name.

In addition to the authentic, lime-floral 1A-33 (2012) and the wicked Rausch, I was particularly taken with Treffpunkt 8 Uhr: unsweet, green, slightly fruity. Modern with a touch of nostalgia.
I see my father as a very young man in front of me, riding his bike through a balmy summer evening full of anticipation. He has dressed up and set off extra early so as not to be late for his appointment. The wind is warm, the evening sun conjures up reflections of light on the asphalt. The air smells of summer, of freedom, of light-heartedness; a light-heartedness that I would have wished for my father, but which the war took away from him and which he was unfortunately able to allow far too rarely later in life. for me, Treffpunkt 8 Uhr oscillates between lightness and melancholy, because despite its freshness, it is not an overly cheerful fragrance for me, even if the ginger and mango in the top note do allow a little joie de vivre to shine through. The fragrance is fresh, tart, slightly spicy and the vetiver in it is wonderfully light and bright. It is generally a light fragrance, pleasant, not too strong. And yet melancholic, a bright melancholy that makes you look back at the past and yet always draws you back to the present.

My father and I didn't always have it easy together. You could hardly tell from the outside that he could have been my grandfather in terms of age, and yet there was sometimes too much time between us. But apart from all the strictness and stubbornness that sometimes made life difficult for me, he was also a man of pleasure, and so I am sure that I could have infected him with my enthusiasm for perfume. Perhaps we would have tested our way through the various fragrance samples together. And Treffpunkt 8 Uhr would certainly have appealed to him as much as it did to me.

My better half and I like to go on vacation away from the hustle and bustle and too many people. Some time ago, we ended up on the Dutch North Sea coast, in a small former guard house in a fort. Now this was not a medieval fort, but one from Napoleonic times, supplemented by more recent concrete improvements, so that it exuded a rather rough charm. However, this did not detract from the special tranquillity that this place exuded, especially at night. The fort was relatively secluded on the edge of a village with a view of the stormy North Sea and a long beach.

My husband and I rented a room for a few days and were given the keys to our guard's cottage as well as the keys to the fort's entire grounds, including the viewing platform. During the day, the grounds and the associated museum were open for a few hours for the few visitors who still managed to get 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 on the viewing platform late at night, wrapped up tightly with a thermos flask of tea, gazing at the stars and listening to the sea, which could only be guessed at in the blackness of the night. Apart from the sound of the sea, we were surrounded only by silence and wind.

This is exactly the mood that "L'Ombre des Merveilles | Hermès" captures for me. It smells of a lonely, starry night, of the sea, of cool autumn air, but at the same time also of warmth, peace and security. For me, it is above all a tea fragrance, as the black tea stands out very clearly, and I can also smell a slight citrus. I can smell the incense mentioned in the fragrance notes, which has kept me from giving the fragrance a chance for a long time, clearly but gently, and together with a slight sweetness (probably due to the tonka bean) I like it surprisingly well.
I'm really glad that this fragrance found its way to me through a swap with a dear perfumer! It now takes me back to the quiet, peaceful moments on the viewing platform of this fort at any time, which was not originally intended for peaceful times, which gives the whole thing a little hope as well as a certain irony.

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

Happy holidays and a happy new year 2025!

I've never been to Iceland. In fact, I wasn't necessarily born into traveling. I hardly ever traveled as a child and teenager. There was hardly any money for it and due to my sister's severe disability, the priorities in our family were understandably elsewhere. As a student, money was again a problem and today, having long since outgrown my student years, I'm still not one of those people who "jet" around the world several times a year. On the one hand, this is because I don't want to fly too often due to climate protection, but on the other hand, I also lack the ease with which other people simply set off. It's just not in my blood. Nevertheless, I have been able to visit some beautiful places in Europe in my life so far, sometimes by plane, often by train, especially in Germany's neighboring countries. And in Spain and Finland and Ireland and Great Britain. I spent some time studying in England. And a few years ago I even made it as far as Canada.

In all those years, Iceland was always at the top of my wish list. Yet I've never been there, something always came up, family, new jobs, pandemics. So I can't say what it smells like in Iceland. A few weeks ago, however, some fragrance samples from the Icelandic label Fischersund found their way to me. Fragrances developed and designed by Jón Þór Birgisson (singer and guitarist of the Icelandic post-rock band Sigur Rós); fragrances that combine two of my favorite themes - music and perfume. Naturally, I was immediately fascinated and when I arrived at fragrance N°8 and its rhubarb note, I was hooked. The rhubarb is in the foreground for me, but in a very soft way, accompanied by gentle citrus and accompanied by a slightly tart, green note. I can't smell the advertised motor oil directly; only a delicate, slightly chewing gum-like and slightly bitter note emerges over time.
The fragrance reminds me of my childhood, of the 80s, of a warm summer's day. The sun shimmers over the asphalt, somewhere further away a synthesizer sounds from a radio. I throw money into a chewing gum machine, turn the metal handle and get a small red ball of chewing gum. It tastes fruity and sour and my hands now smell of it, mixed with the metallic smell of the machine handle. A light summer breeze blows the scent of the grasses and trees in the nearby woods around my nose. It's the vacations and I still have time before I have to be home for dinner. Life is easy and free and carefree. Does childhood in Iceland feel similar? I think so. It's probably only the landscapes you look at that are different.

In summer 2026, I will be traveling to Iceland with some of my loved ones. We're going to see the beautiful nature and the solar eclipse that will take place there. And in Reykjavik, I will visit the small Fischersund perfumery. If everything works out. If the world is still standing. In my mind's eye, I can see the rugged Icelandic landscape, the sun is shining, the wind is cool and the air is clear. Not a single tree for miles around! I wonder what it smells like there? Does Fischersunds N°8 really capture the scent of the Icelandic summer?
I don't 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)

At the beginning of the 2000s, I moved into my first apartment right after graduating from high school. It was small and far out of town, so it felt like I was on the streetcar for ages to get to university in the city center. The floors were crooked and creaked with every step and the small fitted kitchen was still from the 70s and in questionable vintage brown tones even back then. The heating was provided by outdated gas ovens and until they finally started up, you had to press the little 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 mixture of the cheapest Ikea furniture, old furniture from my parents and my children's room and things from the flea market. I bought a small tube TV (those are the ones that are deeper than they are wide ;-)) and often had MTV on almost all day. The older ones among us may remember: MTV, the music television channel, actually played music videos almost all day long before the days of YouTube and constantly available high-speed internet. (And does anyone else remember VIVA Zwei?) So I was sitting in this small apartment with the old, slightly crooked lime tree in front of one window and the ugly little 70s tower block - there are indeed small tower blocks - in front of the other window, flicking through my first semester university folders, slightly overwhelmed and fascinated at the same time. The TV was on MTV, 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, after all, everything was still ahead of me and the future was open and free.

"Hugo Deep Red" is not a fancy fragrance. It never was and probably never wanted to be. It smells pleasantly of vanilla and red berries and reminds me a little 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. It now has that special something of a fragrance that you don't smell that often anymore and that no longer corresponds to current trends. Today it seems a little out of date to me, but not in a negative sense, not old-fashioned, rather retro (and a little bit sexy), and absolutely still wearable, even for young people.

The house with my first small apartment has since been demolished and replaced by a new, chic apartment building with large balconies and floor-to-ceiling windows. And the ugly little tower block opposite has also been given a new coat of paint. But the old lime tree still stands, crooked as ever, defying the years that pass by. And when I walked down my old street recently, I could have sworn the air smelled of "Hugo Deep Red".