Cherry blossoms and hot stone

 

My friend Nino is one of a kind (at least from the kinds I know). We met a decade ago and bonded largely over our common interest in the field of education, until we discovered that we are both fragrance geeks. We can and occasionally do spend hours and hours talking about perfume and sniffing ourselves silly. A special treat is hitting the perfume shops together, which is always a riot for we rarely see eye to eye. She likes unusual fragrances, with notes that come out distinctly, like instruments in a jazz piece while I like them well blended and harmonious like a symphony. There is nothing like sitting on a large terrace in Tbilisi in a late summer night, nibbling on hatchapuri and lemon cake and chatting away on anything from fragrance to the history of USSR. We also regularly discuss food recipes because this woman can cook, and cook she does, usually in quantities suitable for large weddings! Since travelling is no longer fun in the age of the pandemic, I recently caught up with Nino online, to ask her about her fragrant memories.

Tbilisi scents

The smell of Georgia is different from place to place and very seasonal. In spring, Tbilisi smells of cherry blossom and a very particular plum variety (Tkemali) which blossoms among the first trees in March or even February in a warmer year. In summer, there is a pervasive smell of hot stone, because temperatures are high. In winter I remember the smell of snow and pinecones. When I was a kid, we left the city in summer and went to Abkhazia, for the sea. The Black Sea smells of a combination of eucalyptus and sea water. Eucalyptus was collected to help with sore throats in winter, by gargling. My family also used to travel regularly to Moscow and the first olfactive trigger of the trip was the smell of tea combined with that of the train. The train attendant in the sleeping car would come upon embarking and bring black tea with 2-3 pieces of sugar. Moscow smelled of leaves falling off after rain from the ever-present poplars scenting the city with a bittersweet smell. In winter Moscow smelled for me of marmalade, sold near Obraztsov Theater, where my uncle used to take us. There was also the distinct smell of Moscow apartment doors which were covered by artificial leather to keep the cold out; the smell of these doors and a certain cleaning product popular at the time I remember well.

My first perfumes

Somewhere between the 7th and 8th grade I found Zintari, a soviet brand which had decent fragrances, but not very well known or appreciated. I then got as a present a splash bottle of Jardin de Bagatelle from France, a huge one, probably 300 ml or so, which lasted until I graduated high school. During one of our trips to Moscow, when I was about 16-17 years old, I got two bottles of Coriandre (25 ml), the one with the malachite cap, from a shop in Red Square. The shop was in the hotel Rossiya, on the first floor, and there was a huge line of people waiting to buy fragrances and French cosmetics. That day the shop sold Coriandre, but they also had Beautiful Poppy (Krasnaya Mak), Perhaps (Mozhe Bit) in some of the worst possible packaging and bottle design. They were also selling Lancome mascara, in blue and black package with a short, stemmed rose on it. To avoid losing time, my aunt asked a friend to keep the place in the very long line and I went with my friend to be able to get two bottles instead of one – they were only selling one per customer.

Krasnaya Moskva and other lovelies

My great grandmother wore the classic Krasnaya Moskva from Novaya Zarya. She used to keep it in a drawer where she also stored chewing gum for me, when she could find some. This was a rare product to lay your hands on, because no gum was produced in Georgia and the imported ones were coveted. Pedro, Ronaldo, Lolek and Bolek were brands brought from the other communist countries and parents dispensed them occasionally. The gum would spend some time next to grandma’s perfume and whenever starting a new piece of gum I always got a whiff of Krasnaya Moskva. Climat and Fidji were some of the fragrances worn by family members and people around me.  I also remember a bottle of Courreges which I almost ruined trying to open. French perfumes were sold in the special shops for nomenklatura and in regular shops mostly under the counter. I read an article saying that the USSR exchanged goods for some of these fragrances, so they were imported but in small quantities.

The joys of Galanteria

In Tbilisi fragrances were sold together with other stuff in Galanteria. Soviet fragrances were named after people ( Sasha and Natasha) or plants (like Landish -Lily of the valley) but were not that popular. Their presentation was not very appealing. I remember Gvozdika (a carnation oil) that was also sold in Galanteria, in thin carton boxes prone to leaking. To have  Gvozdika, a strong and persistent fragrance, leak in your bag, it would have been the end of everything, you’d have to dig a hole and bury the bag and all its content to avoid mass intoxication. In Georgia French perfume was not terribly inaccessible in the 80s, but the choice was very limited. Everybody smelled the same of Fidji, Climat, Magie Noire and Paloma Picasso. In my second year of university, I got my first Scherrer 2, then I also acquired Nino Cerruti, Anais Anais and Lulu. Not just fragrances had memorable scents: some cosmetics like the face creams Lux, of a good and steady quality, were also pleasantly scented. Men were usually not very perfumed but there were exceptions. For instance, my uncle was a conductor, travelling with an orchestra, and had even played the Paris Olympia so he had access to the luxury products from the West. I remember him wearing cologne- Balafre and O de Lancome.

Collecting fragrances

I do have a rather large fragrance collection but it’s hard to say why I love to collect them.  It’s not because I was deprived that much in my childhood, because I cannot say I was. It’s rather linked to the power of fragrances of transporting you somewhere else. Once I smell something that takes me to a whole different place, I must get it, not necessarily to wear it. It’s not to get complimented about perfume, although that is, of course, very nice when it happens. It might have to do with the fleeting qualities of a fragrance, it’s very individual, it is thought provoking, it’s the Proustian madeleine, it’s past and future together. You have a bottle that may be a memory of you for your children. I like collecting them, I like smelling them. My memories are almost entirely linked and triggered by smells and music rather than things.

 

Featured image from Unsplash: Neil Sengupta