Marieschoice

The train is ready. A black monster of gleaming steel and gilded ornaments, surrounded by fog and expectation. There is steam in the air on the platform. As Quandoley 805 slowly starts to move, it is as if it had never really stood still.
"QUANDOLEY 805" - engraved in brass, hidden under patina, sounds like a secret word that only insiders understand.

Inside: dark green and golden velvet. Highly polished and oiled mahogany. Noble marble.
The air is heavy, a hint of tobacco, remnants of sweet spirits - as if soaked in stories. In the dining car, warm light glows from alabaster lamps, gold-framed mirrors cast flickering reflections on crystal decanters. The seats are dark brown and smell faintly of old leather.

A fine veil of the finest gourmet delicacies with olive oil and red pepper also hangs in the air, like the perfume of a lady who never gives her name. It is not the oil of everyday life, but a golden elixir that seems to have evaporated in the cracks of antique wood paneling. When applied, it shimmers gently on the skin.

Then cistus enters - alert and resistant, like a burning note in a lover's ashtray.
Ylang-ylang opens slowly, velvety, floral, almost numbingly beautiful. In the saloon car, between the smoky glasses of cognac, a hint of styrax and incense floats - like the hissing of brakes at an unintended stop.

Then: the chimes. It is midnight. Darkness engulfs the train. The scent descends - sweet, resinous, a whisper of vanilla and benzoin that covers the shoulders like a silken blanket. Oud lurks in the background and leaves behind a gentle reminder of the day's experiences. People, conversations, life.

This train has no destination, because the journey is its destination. The journey itself, moments, promises, aberrations, memories.
A state encased in velvet and resin, in light and shadow, in spice and sweetness - 805 is a formula, a spell, a melody on rails.

Kashnoir is not a mirage. It stands for oriental presence and timelessness.
A fragrance like a mysterious caravan journey - rich in spice, warmth and intimacy. Oriental, spicy, sweet, but with dark depth and timeless dignity. For fragrance dreamers who don't think patchouli is old-fashioned and lavender is too loud. A small masterpiece that starts off somewhat obtrusively and then gradually fades away - like a caravan that suddenly appears behind a dune and then moves on. Slowly, gently, over the sand, in the still warmth, until it disappears into the distance.

Where N°5 Parfum once reflected the highlights of the Parisian salons - aldehydic, bright, like the silk lining of a haute couture gown - Kashnoir is the night fragrance of the nomad. It also speaks of elegance, but its language is different - as if from a distant world: darker, denser, more mysterious. Where No. 5 shines, Kashnoir glows. Both interweave floral motifs with a touch of aloofness, but Kashnoir does not long for admiration. He rests. He entices. He warms.

Once upon a time there was a garden, hidden behind high walls of ivory and hope. The air was warm and sweet, as if saturated with milk and honey, and over the immaculately manicured paths walked a young girl - Héloïse, daughter of time, protected by a world that still resisted decay.

She wore a dress of gossamer muslin, through which the light fell as if through petals and gave a hint of her delicate figure. Her feet brushed the grass, still damp from the morning dew, and she soaked up the scent - a floating mosaic of tuberose, gardenia and jasmine. It wasn't just a scent, it was a moment: like the silent space between the last smile and the first cry.

The tuberose - oh, that tuberose - was the queen of the garden of bright flowers. Its scent could be detected throughout the garden, leaving hardly any room for anything else, and was so powerful, almost intrusive, yet immediately pleasing. Like Marie Antoinette in her Petit Trianon, playful and sublime, she reigned with a smile that knew no bounds. Creamy, soft, almost gourmand, enveloped in creamy vanilla. Every breath a promise, every note a sweet betrayal of reason.

But beyond the walls, the people raged. Time could not be stopped. Sandalwood and Virginia cedar began to mingle with the floral idyll, like distant cannon blasts in an enchanted dream. They broke through the tenderness and snapped Héloïse back to reality. It was the eve of a new world, but in this garden - in this fragrance - everything stood still. An eternal summer in which nothing dies, except perhaps the illusion of innocence.

So Héloïse walks on, through a paradise doomed to destruction. The scent cloaks her like a cloak of light. Powdery, sweet, infinitely tender. And yet there is this knowledge: that nothing remains as it is. The transience of the moment.

A stormy fall afternoon. The wind is blowing outside while you sit in a cozy café waiting for your friends. You look out and see the red and orange leaves swirling through the air, while you yourself are overcome by a pleasant warmth and the smell of warmed milk with honey, almond cake and Black Forest gateau wafts into your nose from the neighboring table. You order a cup of tea. It's an English black tea with wild cherry. Next to your cup is a small Amaretto cookie. As you pour a dash of milk into your tea, you watch the dark color turn into something very creamy. You place the amaretto cookie on your spoon, dip it briefly into your tea and then let it melt in your mouth. Your friends are here.

Sensory overload. This fragrance is so tasty that it makes my mouth water and my brain freezes for a moment because it is flooded with so many images and associations. One moment I see myself on a tropical beach watching the sunset and the ripe mangoes tumbling from the trees behind me, the next moment I remember the long summer evenings as a teenager and the bike ride home from the outdoor pool. Past blossoming rapeseed fields that exude a light floral sweetness, with a Cuia Mara split ice cream in one hand and the other hand on the handlebars.

In terms of longevity, bottle and sillage, the Lattafa fragrances are outstanding anyway, but this scent is so exotic, creamy and feminine with its bright florals, it could have been called Mango Tango. Coconut does not penetrate the fragrance, but rather appears gently in the background to my nose. The mango and passion fruit also don't come across as synthetically overloaded, but rather ripe. They make the fragrance pleasantly fruity. This fragrance is neither tangy nor too sweet and sticky. As it progresses with cashmeran and vanilla, it becomes increasingly creamy and balanced by the musk.