Swansch

I have somehow always lived by the sea. First at the North Sea, then - for my studies - at the Baltic Sea, in between at the Swedish coast, and now I've found my way back to the North Sea.
Thus, I can firmly claim that I know the scent of the body after a day at the beach (or alternatively at the North Sea after a mudflat day). Nothing beats the skin scent on a warm summer evening after spending the whole day at the beach: salty, a little sweaty, full of sunscreen, and as a crowning touch, the incomparable smell of sunshine. Wonderful!
Batucada has authentically captured this state and bottled it.

What I don't know, however, is exoticism. My vacations tend to take me to France, Denmark, or Rügen. If I go further away, it's usually Italy. The Caribbean or Brazil is - quite literally - uncharted territory for me.
And that’s exactly the catch with Batucada - at least for someone like me: Why let this scent of a summer day slip into cliché with lime, coconut, and mint?
In this combination, these notes are much more irritating than the skin accord. Why not focus more on the "human" aspect instead of forcefully quoting the Caribbean?
Well, I am aware that I might be the only one with this opinion, but for me, this combination of intimacy and exoticism is incompatible.
But I won't give up; the scent is by no means bad and is also absolutely interesting.

My father is from East Frisia, my mother is not - that makes me a half-East Frisian. Therefore, I am wonderfully familiar with the tea customs of this region. In Norden, the town where my grandmother lived, there is a tea museum. Instead of coffee, people in East Frisia drink tea (with Kluntje and cream. And woe betide anyone who stirs the tea!). The teapot may only be rinsed with clear water, and even the love for a woman is compared to the enjoyment of tea: The infatuation phase, creamy and rich. Then comes the bitter tea, and only if the man endures this phase does he discover the sweet sugar at the bottom of the teacup.
In short: East Frisians have a particularly intimate relationship with their tea.
I own a fine, delicate tea set with an East Frisian rose pattern on it. Unfortunately, it mostly sits in the cupboard as decoration, because I drink espresso every morning. I prefer to satisfy my tea craving with "Still." Because here, there is the most beautiful tea note I have ever smelled in a perfume. Suddenly, I find myself on the dike in Norddeich. The lovely Jennifer has captured the East Frisian tea, refined it with a bit of sandalwood and iris, resulting in this delicate masterpiece. In my opinion, all the other fragrance notes are merely supporting actors for this wonderful tea note.
But perhaps I am a little biased, after all, I was partly socialized in East Frisia.

Vanilla,
Home, love, security
Basic trust.
Childhood, apple strudel, vanilla sauce, raisins, fruit.
Wood, rum, and cedar.
Cuddling, gentle sweetness, fine powder.

All of this and much more is Eau des Missions.
I even believe that it transports many directly back to childhood. What they ate there, they also smell in Eau des Missions.
Through the nose straight to the brainstem.

Perfumer Professor Nasus turns to his intern:
"Listen, Hein, the folks at Calvin Klein want us to create a sweet perfume that all the young girls will wear. And as a special challenge, they want to see the results in an hour, after all, time is money. So first, dissolve the gummy bears in water."
"Yes, Professor," said Hein and got to work. But since it was his first day as an intern and Hein wasn't the brightest, there was a serious misunderstanding. When the professor returned to the lab half an hour later, he threw his hands up in horror. "Oh my God, Hein, what have you done?! I said 'water'! Now the gummy bears are floating in my cough syrup! And we don't have time to make a new tincture."
"Oh dear," said Hein, turning pale and wanting to make up for his mistake. He grabbed the cleaning cloth that was next to him and tried to fish the bear remnants out of the syrup.
"Heeeein!" The professor's voice almost broke with horror. "Not with the dirty cloth in there!"
But it was too late. In the meantime, the bear cough syrup had mixed with the moldy water from the cleaning cloth.
"How are we going to explain this to the bosses at Calvin Klein?" the professor lamented. "They wanted to make quick money with this."
"Oh, Professor," Hein placed a reassuring hand on his superior's shoulder. "They can still do that. They just fill the stuff into a fancy bottle, slap their brand name on it, and that's it."
"Oh Hein. You're not as stupid as I thought," the professor beamed.

This little gem has quietly become my summer favorite. And yes, I can't deny the similarity to Light Blue. But while Light Blue is more about lemons for the citrusy aspect, here it’s more about oranges. Everything feels a bit softer and rounder, plus I can clearly smell the spices that ensure Soleil de Capri, while being a refreshing summer fragrance, still stands out from Light Blue & Co.
To put it this way: Light Blue is a scent you spray on when you want to come across as freshly showered. Soleil de Capri smells a bit dirtier - in a positive sense ;-) It’s as if the shower was one or two hours ago in the height of summer. You still appear well-groomed and fresh, but there’s something in the background that gives it a more personal touch.
I hardly need to say anything about longevity. Only Montale manages to make a citrusy summer fragrance last about eight hours.