Ambre Sultan, Serge Lutens

Feeling nostalgic tonight and decided to hang out with the one that started it all. Or the last few millilitres of my first bottle of niche perfume, my first Serge Lutens, my first Amber. Quite a few firsts. 

Up till now, Ambre Sultan is still the watermark when it comes to amber scents. It's like Goldilocks would say, it's just right. Some ambers tend to turn powdery like Calypso's Ambre, although that is a very good amber patchouli for its inexpensive price-tag. Some are too sweet and sedate for my taste like L'Artisan's Ambre Extreme which is anything but extreme, it's soft, polite and a tad boring. 

Ambre Sultan smells like ages past in a land that no longer exists or all that remains is a decrepit pile of rubble of past grandeur and a civilised life...its dryness makes me think of hostile, arid deserts that stretch as far as the eye can see, its spices transport me to multiple places at once, following my mother when I was about the height of her knees, to the market and watching the seller selecting various spices of burnished ambers, a myriad of reds and mounds of yellows, pouring the eye-watering blend into a cone fashioned out of old newspaper.

Or travelling in the Middle East and North Africa, experiencing multitudes of foreign smells and flavours that I never came across before and falling in love with newfound exoticism. The balmy coziness of Ambre Sultan that calms and reassures...it takes me back to around the time we first met, using the scent on rare, precious free evenings spent with friends or just chilling alone by a water's edge, watching the sun in it's last dazzling performance before it goes to say hello to another part of the world. 

This is the potent power that Lutens' have on me, that trigger a slew of memories and create dreams where I surf the olfactory waves to different lands. There's something pleasurable yet poignant about each Lutens' scent that I meet and Ambre Sultan is no different. Yes it is a French interpretation of the Orient but by someone who is not just familiar with it but understands it as well. 

“Some of my old memories feel trapped in amber in my brain, lucid and burning, while others are like the wing beat of a hummingbird, an intangible, ephemeral blur.” 

― Mira Bartok