NARCOTIQUE

Who remembers the carefree summer days spent at the outdoor pool as a child? Of that turquoise blue water, the pool that seemed so big back then, the diving boards, the slides whose spiral staircases were adorned with children & teenagers standing in line.

These days, so taken for granted back then, are now etched in our hearts as core memories. Each of us had a favorite moment on such a day. Mine was the crowning moment in the evening with a portion of chips & an ice cream for dessert.

From Solero, to Bumbum & to Calippo, we each had our favorite. Mine was Cornetto Buttermilk Lemon. Don't ask me why, but there were things I associated with adulthood back then & desperately wanted to emulate - this ice cream was one of those things.

The creamy sweetness of the buttermilk caressed the tartness of the lemon - so complementary & yet so wonderfully harmonious. Upon reaching the cone, a caramelly, slightly cinnamony note appears - "Casamorati - Lira (Eau de Parfum) | XerJoff" perfectly translated this scenario into a fragrance & gave me my childhood memory in a bottle.

In Turkish, a mocha is considered a sign of 40 years of friendship and courtesy. Whether in everyday life, in business or for marriage - virtually every decision is sealed with a strong Turkish coffee.

Black Phantom takes on the following shape for me & tells the story of the coffee culture of the Orient.

With my eyes closed, I find myself in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul. The alleyways, which are hard to beat in terms of diversity, invite every visitor to make a purchase. From food to textiles & electronics, every shopper's heart is catered for here.

After an extensive shopping tour characterized by price negotiations, I go in search of a quieter spot and turn into a narrow side street. There's hardly any light & my bags brush against the stone walls of the buildings I'm walking between. At the end of the street, the light is so bright that I can only make out the outline of a small car. It could be a simit stall or a stall selling homemade Turkish desserts such as lokma. I walk towards the light & enjoy the calm before the storm.

Cabs honk, crowds of people cross the street, eager vendors shout inaudible slogans of prices & welcomes into the crowd. A pleasant smell of vanilla, sugar and cinnamon beguiles my sense of smell. It doesn't smell like Christmas at all, although that would be very obvious. The sun is blinding, which is why I squint my eyes and can now clearly see the previously unrecognizable stand. "Lokmacı" is written in capital letters on the trolley. Lokma are deep-fried dough balls that are doused with sugar syrup. If the sugar syrup is heated too much, it produces a caramel-rum smell. The lokma balls are crispy on the outside, soft and fluffy on the inside & are traditionally enjoyed with a bitter Turkish mocha.

I sit down on hand-carved wooden furniture between the lokma stall and a wood shop with my purchases, which are now cutting into my hands, and order a mocha.

An elderly gentleman emerges from the wood store. He wears a thick, well-groomed moustache, pleated trousers, a shirt with rolled-up sleeves & a suit vest - all in black. He had a pipe in his mouth. He looks at me with bright, chestnut-brown eyes adorned with laugh lines. "Iyi günler, kızım." (Good day, my daughter) he grumbles, in a deep but velvety voice. I return his greeting & automatically adapt the oriental hospitality. "Kahve içermisiniz?" (Would you like a coffee?) I ask him. Wordlessly, he moves in my direction & I realize that his work has taken him years of physical exertion.

He seems to be known to the Lokmacı, because without exchanging a word, he was served a mocha. Small wood shavings were visible on his clothing, but they did not detract from his well-groomed appearance.

"Bu kahvenin 40 yıl hatırı var, biliyormusun kızım?" (This coffee represents 40 years of favor & friendship, did you know that, my daughter?) I nodded. We talked unconditionally about God & the world. Time passed & I was amazed at the wisdom of my counterpart.

I reluctantly interrupted him, but wanted to go to the toilet briefly - on the way there, I wanted to pay for our coffees & my Lokma without him noticing. The Lokmacı asked me to pay when I got back.

I slowly walked out of the door & was already looking forward to hearing more stories from the wood merchant, but there was no sign of him. He was gone, his store door was locked & the light in the store had gone out. The Lokmacı was busy with his customers, so I was reluctant to interrupt him.

He was gone. Who is he anyway? Didn't I ask his name? Him. He conveyed a fatherly figure through his aura, with almost all my senses being beguiled. My eyes, by his aesthetic appearance for his age, my ears, by the warmth of his voice & my nose, by the dance of the scent chords of lokma, coffee & the wood.

Oh yes & my heart, which strives for beautiful souls & found what it was looking for in a phantom dressed in black.

The first rays of sunlight glimmer through the semi-transparent linen curtains, wafting in the light sea breeze.

The clicking sound of the gas stove can be heard from the kitchen & shortly afterwards the smell of coffee envelops the whole room.

In the light-flooded bathroom, I freshen up for the day, put my hair up loosely & seal the day with the tingling sweet and sour scent of grapefruit.

My light dress blows against my legs as I walk along the beach to the weekly market. The sun warms my arms, which are carrying a straw basket containing a few freshly picked wild flowers.

This citrusy scent reminds me of this summer day in Cannes, which catapults me to the Mediterranean lightness of the south of France.

Yes, the H/S could be better, but if you are looking for a light & yet slightly different, easily accessible summer fragrance, you will be happy here & if grapefruit is not for you: the Aqua Allegoria range offers many summery alternatives.

My rather boyish, wild & adventurous cousin never had financial difficulties. She was always smartly dressed, but preferred to roll around in the mud, climb trees & collect flowers, leaves & berries to press them into small glass bottles. She called the liquids "magic potion" or "elixir". She always possessed the best & only knew the value of things to a limited extent.

We couldn't be more different. I grew up in rather simple circumstances as a fashion-interested, style-conscious & modest woman. At 13, I was already called "Lady" by everyone, as I was very careful with my pocket money and used it to buy fashion magazines so that I could sneak more of the fashion world & those in this seemingly financially independent storybook world into my fantasies. That's when I read the name, which by the way reads beautifully, for the first time: Coco Chanel. It depicted an androgynous, yet strong woman, bursting with femininity, who wore elegant clothes with clear lines and yet was recognizable. In her hands, adorned with lace gloves, she held a black quilted handbag with a golden double C & a gold chain braided with the black leather. This bag is still one of my goals today.

My cousin received luxurious gifts, including the eau de toilette version of Miss - for her 13th birthday. She opened the box, tore off the foil, sprayed the air once or twice & wrinkled her nose. I remember closing my eyes for a moment & seeing myself on the cover of that fashion magazine. I was wearing lace gloves & the beautiful ta. "haaappy birthday, to you!" - the celebration was crowned with a strawberry cake.

Two years and a heart operation later, my cousin gave me the opened bottle as the scent was "not so hers". Suddenly the dream of the bag didn't seem so far away after all. I didn't touch the bottle for about 6 months because I didn't want the pink liquid to run out at some point. Until he asked me at some point if we would like to meet. On the day of the meeting, the time had come: I sprayed myself with Coco Chanel's Mademoiselle for the first time & believe it or not:

My first date, my first great love, my first fragrance, my hope & my failed relationship after 10 years were accompanied by the scent of Mademoiselle. Timeless is probably the most apt adjective & it hit me right in the heart.