1# Nota di Viaggio
(rites de passage)
Trilogy of Journey
Istanbul
Everything was born in Istanbul. Each of us experiences a rite of passage in our lives and for me it was that journey, amidst the chaotic voices of the grand bazaar and the swirling scent of spices of the ancient market. 1# travel note (rites de passage) is my dedication to nomads, to souls always on the move and the elusive spirits.
Nostalgia
A warm and spicy perfume, that from the very first notes of Black Pepper, Grapefruit and Bergamot, celebrates the door to the East that was Constantinople. A perfume in continuous evolution, an olfactory metamorphosis that runs through the spices of the grand bazaar to the scent of the ancient and precious fabrics of the market. The perfume arrives at its beating heart, a warm bouquet of Ylang-Ylang, Jasmine, Geranium and Rosewood.
Spiritual notes
A dusty echo of nostalgia. From herbalist to perfumer, I left my way, of the “medical plant”, to embark on a new path, perfume as “olfactory memory”. Finally, I intertwined spiritual notes, to create a woody, resinous and deep base, Benzoin, Vetiver, Patchouli, Sandalwood and Incense. Like being at the end of the journey, alone, in one’s own self, in a mystical and spiritual place of this magical city, of this suggestive door that looks to the East.
1# Nota di Viaggio
(rites de passage)
A timeless elegance, enigmatic and dreamy.
Musical inspiration: Songs and Sufi Music
Composition
- Geranium
- Incense
- Black Pepper
- Rosewood
- Vetiver
- Patchouli
- Jasmine
- Sandalwood
- Grapefruit
- Benzoin
- Bergamot
- Ylang-Ylang
Olfactory family: Chypre
Facets: Aromatic, Woody, Spicy
Bottle of perfume
€ 155,00
€ 7,00
What is time here in Istanbul?
Why do I hear dialects close to my heart here too?
I try hard to remember the priest’s orange grove in front of my house,
the smell of new furniture and clean sheets spread out in the sun,
the breeze and the scent of distant incense.
Every ritual in this journey drag me away,
I was alone on the big square,
men flocked to the chant,
and I got lost, on this lonely journey.
My soul is full,
when I speak in the words of this place,
I feel the bark of my heart vibrate.
And I don’t need earthly adjectives,
but only of its scent.
What is time here in Istanbul?
Why do I hear dialects close to my heart here too?
I try hard to remember the priest’s orange grove in front of my house,
the smell of new furniture and clean sheets spread out in the sun,
the breeze and the scent of distant incense.
Every ritual in this journey drag me away,
I was alone on the big square,
men flocked to the chant,
and I got lost, on this lonely journey.
My soul is full,
when I speak in the words of this place,
I feel the bark of my heart vibrate.
And I don’t need earthly adjectives,
but only of its scent.
