Travel Memoirs: Singapore part 2

Walking under a lightly tinted oriental umbrella fit for the hot sun, but also the sudden shower of the tropics, I find myself savoring the sights and smells of exotic Singapore again as I reminiscence. Besides the lush vegetation, olfactory stimuli exist in other venues as well.

One of the best ways to get to know a culture is through its cuisine. Singapore’s cuisine seems to have been a fusion of other cultural influences long before fusion became the “in” word it has since become. Encompassing elements of Chinese, Indian and Malayan gastronomy it is as rich and fragrant as the wildest imagination could fathom. Tamarind, turmeric and heavy smelling ghee (a class of clarified butter) feature heavily as does sampal, a common chili-based accompaniment to most foods. Fragrances such as Black XS for Her or John Varvatos have taken elements of that rich spicy tradition of Asia and wouldn’t be too out of place in this subtext.

The aroma of spices is evident in such dishes as Char siew rice (chā shāo fàn) and Char siew noodles (chā shāo miàn), a Cantonese-inspired dish of rice or noodles served with barbecued pork in a thick sauce. Satay bee hoon, thin rice vermicelli, is served with spicy satay sauce of crushed peanuts. Kare Kare is a Philippine-inspired dish of oxtail, similarly stewed in peanut sauce. Oyster omelet, combines the fishy, iodine odor of oysters with coriander leaves. Spicy kangkung, a dish of leafy green vegetables is fried in sambal, imparting a biting hot tang that excites the tongue’s buds.

The fruit selection is both amazing and surprising in its variety and fragrant goodness. Atis, the Philippine word for Cherimoya, are to quote Mark Twain "the most delicious fruit known to men." Mangos are a breed apart from what you get in the West. If your idea of a mango is the green, unripe one in the refreshing Un Jardin sur le Nil by Hermes (which smells more like a wounded grapefruit), you are in for a welcome surprise: the deep apricot color, sweetness and yumminess of aroma in mangos of tropical southeastern Asia is a feast for all the senses. To the other end of the spectrum, in the heavier oriental category, a complex mix of the spices and fruits of the southeastern Asia is encaptured in Jungle L’elephant by Kenzo.
Kalamansi (citrus micracarpa) can also be found in Singapore, a small citrus fruit, often called sour lime, with which description it’d be hard to argue after one tongue-curling taste of the juice. Cold, served in cocktails, it imparts a zesty, tart and sweet aroma with shades of grapefruit and tangerine that is totally refreshing amidst the monsoon steam.

The desserts range from the interesting ice cream flavors like corn, cheese and ube (the Philippine word for taro) to halo-halo (pronounced hah-low hah-low), crushed ice with corn and fruit and jelly and Bubur cha cha, yam and sweet potato cubes served in coconut milk and sago, served hot or cold. Red rubies, a Thai-inspired dessert, is made by boiling water-chestnuts covered in rice flour and red food coloring, served over shaved ice, rose syrup and evaporated milk. The latter is sometimes referred to as "mock pomegranate", since the chestnut pieces bear a resemblance to the pomegranate seeds. Magical Moon by Hanae Mori includes coconut, milky lactonic notes and rose in a fragrance that reminds me a bit of this particular dessert.

After an orgiastic feast that leaves you a bit too full for comfort, seeking comfort of the soul is where your weary but satisfied feet take you. Singapore offers temples of Hinduist, Buddhist and Taoist credo and even Muslim mosques to cater for its cosmopolitan citizenship. Yueh Hai Ching temple and Thian Hock Keng temple are well known placed amidst the central part of the city. In front of the antique stores, a laughing Buddha is sitting to whom people clamor, to rub his belly and drop coins into the slot over his navel for good luck and karma.

In the relative quiet of the Hindu temple, full of the fragrant smell of what seems like Nag Champa incense and illuminated by numerous small candles under the enshrined deities decorated with flowers, one of the caretakers invites us to see the idol up close; he cups a metal bowl over our heads and gives us herbal leaves to chew on as well as red powder. The latter is used to mark a woman’s forehead.

In comparison the Buddhist temple is packed with people kneeling in prayer, chanting from dog-eared books and burning incense sticks which produce a thick smoke of what would be olfactory heaven if they had stuck to the alloted three sticks per burning, incidentally the lucky number for this. The smell of the temple overall reminds me of the peculiarly wonderful mix in L’artisan’s Timbuktu: one part incense to two parts living, breathing beings. People in their desire to please the divine universe, bowing their heads in supplication, have grabbed handfuls of sticks, their tips smoldering into ash which falls on their hands and on their clothes in fleeting moments of pain. I try to imagine what they’re praying for and fail: surely everyone is different and they have their own worries to think about, much different than what I contemplate myself.
The mystical atmosphere of the temples will accompany me on the long, long flight home as I already long for visiting once again.

Pic of Wakm Hai Cheng Bio temple and Trishaws courtesy of Worldisround.com. Ati/Cherimoya pic courtesy of Wikipedia

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Travel Memoirs: Singapore

Upon setting foot on the Changi airport at Singapore a different world unfolds itself ahead of your eyes or more accurately your whole being. The tropical humidity which reaches an all-time high during the monsoon season is catching your breath as you exit the air-conditioned cabin, waving to the obligingly polite air-hostesses with the vividly colorful attire. And the colonial ivory linens ~shades of Ivory-Merchant worth gentleman’s attire~, which you had meticulously ironed for the journey thinking they were the appropriate look, become crumbled and stick to your body in nanoseconds. It’s probably the second shock, if you count that you are instructed before you get off the plane to sign a form indicating that you are aware the penalty for carrying narcotic substances into the country is death. Nothing really prepares you for the climatic and climactic experience to be savored in such a visit.

Singapore, situated at the south end of the Malayan peninsula and really a cluster of islands, is a feast for the eyes as much as for the nose. Like the etymology of its name, and despite its small size, this highly urbanized landscape commands the respect and awe one would reserve upon gazing a lion smack in the eyes. The air is a heavy alloy: laden with moisture from the Sungei Pandan River, laced with driftwood and mysterious rainforest flora, bringing wafts of exotic fruits, the smell of functional products from the ultra-clean public places and the local spices used by coolies on the tongkangs. One is hard pressed to envision the Malayan princes sailing the river in eras past that I had glimpsed in old colonial gravures, when gazing from the top of Bukit Timah Hill; so much have the skyscrapers changed the scenery.

I remember taking Guerlain’s classic Vetiver with me on this trip; its cool, earthy and herbal character spiked with coriander, nutmeg and capsicum complimenting the heat, it resisted the somewhat yeasty air of the city which might turn another fragrance for the sour. Cities have their own scents and some leave an indelible mark on one’s memory. Singapore emits the aroma of freshly baked bread that has been leavened with sourdough starter. The citrusy blast of Vetiver first thing in the morning was akin to putting one’s face in front of an open fridge door with the eager anticipation of finding an unusual snack of green tentacles and savory taste. And usually just that kind of treat did expect us among the many little curiosities hidden inside. The fragrance also managed to keep some semblance of decorum to our glimmering with sweat-beads forehead as we ventured on extended excursions on the nearby islands, the most impressive of which is Sentosa.

Despite its ominous old Malay name of Blakang Mati, which translates as island of the dead, Sentosa is bursting with life in all shapes and forms. Crossing the Harbor Front via air cable cars one is greeted with a vista of the plushest tropical greenery and the most exquisite blossoms. Indeed the brightness of the shade of green is comparable only to the wettest spots of Britain and New Zealand.

There, in the Mandai Garden and in the Botanical Gardens the sight of myriads of colorful orchids interspersed with small lakes holds you in stasis, their scintillating aroma wafting in the moist breeze. A special Orchidarium is devoted to this most erotic-looking bloom with waxy petals. Immersing your nose amidst the stems defies any conceivable expectation. Astonishingly, different kinds of orchids smell of a variety of things. From classic softly vanillic pollen-powdery varieties to the slightly chocolaty Neostylis ‘Sweet Fragrance’, the Cymbidium Ensifolium with its jasmine aroma laced with a twist of lemon and the Maxillaria Tenufolia which possesses a tinge of coconut. That last one allied to complimentary saffron is contributing to the heart accord of Givenchy’s floriental Ange ou Démon, a composition that while not my favorite by any means, highlights the nature of that particular blossom quite well. In fact it was not until I came across the Givenchy fragrance and tested it repeatedly that I realized it reminded me of the tropical odor emanating from an orchid seen long ago yet never identified by name in my mind; until then, that is. But there are also the more displeasing, yet fascinatingly interesting orchid varieties which lure flies instead of bees, such as one which emits the pong of rotten meat and some still which have a peculiar fishy, iodine-like odor.
An evening spent amidst the surprisingly tall orchids, the Tempusu trees and the ginger perennials, (since the Gardens don’t close their doors until midnight) is very close to olfactory intoxication.

To be continued...

Pic via Wikipedia

Gardens for Lutens and for Roudnitska

Perfumers being inspired by gardens is not something new, but this very interesting article on Telegraph.co.uk highlights two of the most illustrious ones: the legendary one of Edmond Roudnitska in France and the exotic one of Serge Lutens in Marrakech.

'Many of these fragrances wouldn't have existed if he hadn't been so totally immersed in nature on a daily basis,' says Roudnitska's son, Michel. 'He even had several beds of lily of the valley planted, which he sniffed at different times of the day to catch its subtlety, as well as the surrounding atmosphere with its green and fresh tones, which can be found in Diorissimo.'

Among the cedar, cypress, sequoia, maple, magnolia and willow trees that Edmond Roudnitska planted in his seven-acre garden, there thrive jasmine, roses, violet, wisteria, lilac, irises and lush herbs. 'This land - dominant, wild, even a bit austere - resembled him,' says Michel Roudnitska. 'He was a man of challenge and ideal. His motto, "I will make flowers bloom on stones and birds sing", is engraved at the entrance of the property and summarises the thought that drove him during those 48 years of fierce labour.'

But Lutens with his 9 acres private garden rivals the 7 acres of Roudnitska's. In Morocco, where Serge has built his private haven, his magnificent seraglio that no one sees, he also takes refuge in his wild garden overgrown with many of the plants that inspire him for his scents.

'When I arrived in Marrakech there were women with big white sheets underneath orange trees shaking the trunks to make the flowers fall,' he recalls. 'The whole city was perfumed with the orange-blossom. I stayed for three months; it nearly brought my contract with Dior to an end. I was deeply in love. Without Morocco I'd never have done perfumery.'

Lutens's nine-acre private garden lies down a dusty road in the Palmeraie, the national palm grove, hidden away from the camels and tourists. After walking through a large dark wooden door set into a traditional Moroccan wall, you are greeted with a series of paths that cut through a gentle jungle in which chickens, turkeys, peacocks, frogs and a couple of cats happily cohabit. Inside grow many of the plants that inspire Serge Lutens scents - rose, jasmine, laurel, myrtle, pepper, fig, apricot, almond, orange - plus arid vegetation such as cacti, eucalyptus, Australian bottle-brush, lantana, prune trees and cyprus.

'This garden has a personality that doesn't want to expose itself,' he says in his thoughtful, poetic manner. 'Except for the palm trees, everything else grows in the shade. The garden and I are similar. I wouldn't like to be too public and this is not a public garden. Every time I walk around here I discover something I don't know, because the garden grows itself.'

I cannot imagine the costs of gardening! Then again, I know lots of us who are willing to keep his gardeners in business...


After Instanbul and the Arab world, next post will reprise travelling in exotic destinations. Stay tuned!

Link brought to my attention by Arsinoe on MUA. Thanks!
Pic of Lutens's private garden, courtesy of Telegraph.co.uk

Making Love in a Gardenia Garden

The burlesque phrase of the title, comical in its exaggeration and Fabio-jacketed-romance tendencies, sounds like the antithetical mood of Perfume Shrine's usual outlook on life.
But I am not making this up. It' a quote, funnily enough. In fact it comes from the musical Gigi starring arch-gamine French actress Leslie Caron, along with Maurice Chevalier and Louis Jourdan and based on Colette's book by the same name. It was however the inspiration for indie perfumer Ayala Moriel to create an unusual, sui generis gardenia soliflore that bypasses the drama to be pliable to your own specifications which prompted me to reference it today for your reading and smelling pleasure.

Too often gardenia fragrances remind me of an infamous literary heroine from Greek satirist Demitrios Psathas: Madame Sousou. The story is set in the 1950s, in a low-class suburb of Athens. The eponymous heroine is a small, petty bourgeois married to a hard-working fishmonger in love with her; she wants to emulate the aristocracy, peppers her talk with French, torments her naive maid and makes the most terrific blunders both in her speech as well as in her general deportment, but with the utmost confidence and high-falluting airs! After inheriting a large sum of money she tries to change her life and leaves her husband, but devious people manage to gnaw her fortune and she has to go back to her forgiving and loving husband and what she deems the vulgarity of a low-class life.
So infamous is the character that in a strike of onomatopoeia genius someone coined the phrase "sousoudismos" in Greek to describe the way of trying to emulate something unattainable to ridiculous effect. And it has since stuck.
{It is no accident that a famous Melbourne restaurant/bistro (assuredly founded by some Greek immigrant) is using the name with fabulous results}.



Yes, gardenia fragrances often take themselves too seriously, too keenly, trying too hard. Gigi is nothing like that I am happy to report.

The strange green and slightly bittersweet vibe of entering the scope of a gardenia garden greets me with a trail of mandarin and what seems like the musty bitterness of vetiver up front. Kewda Attar which is more commonly known as "pandanus", that East Indian flower whose essence is marinated in sandalwood oil to render the attar, with its remarkable sour, yet soon segueing into floral notes contributes to the peculiar aroma of the top. If one does not know it's there one would be inclined to believe as I did that some citrusy peel oil mixed with hyacinth and vetiver emits that strange, hypnotic aroma that beckons you closer.
White florals unmistakeably raise their head from the mix smoothed down with a great powder puff of cornstarch, musk, and bittersweet resins.

The overall effect is not as photographically realistic as Lauder's Private Collection Tuberose Gardenia, nor as titillatingly musky and unrelated to gardenia as Cruel Gardénia by Guerlain, but somewhere in a happy medium. You put the personality in it, more than it wearing you on its sleeve as regalia of conquest, and perhaps that is a new direction which was lacking in this genre.

Arguably the only fault is the staying power: it is admittedly rather short. Perhaps it is accountable by the sheer character of the base, which was intended not to overshadow the delicate heart of flowers. But since it is a scent to be enjoyed in warmer days, one can always reapply.

Ayala used the following natural essences to render an interpretation of gardenia without the synthetics usually used.
Notes:
Top: Yellow Mandarin, Coriander essential oil and Cardamom CO2, Kewda Attar, Rosewood
Heart: Jasmine Sambac, Jonquille, Tuberose.
Base: Myrrh, Sandalwood, Ambrette CO2, Vetiver from Sri-Lanka and Vanilla CO2 and Absolute.

GiGi is available for a limited time only while the Indian sandalwood essential oil stock of Ayala lasts, in the 1/4oz parfum extrait flacons, or parfum oil roll-on bottles, and the 1ml sample vials so you can try before you buy.
Available at Ayala Moriel perfumes and at Etsy shop.


And for our readers: an assortment of samples giveaway for anyone who is lucky enough to win the draw (my drawers were again filling up and action must be taken!). Please leave a note in the comments if you want to enter.

Pic from the film "Gigi" comes from Ebay. Clip from Madame Sousou series on Greek TV uploaded by dimdindan