IceMachine

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".