Rosca Ametlla - Nolença
by Mylène Alran and Sidonie Lancesseur
One must rise at the hour of dawn when bells sing the rhythm of the coming day. One must rise in a fog of white linens, in the gentleness of cotton clouds as they swim through an early summer sky, in the warm yet shivering light of winter's last winds.
One must journey accross the vast heath which lies in between the horizon and the Black Mountains, between the sea salty and blue and the dark summits adorned with bony citadels. One must see as they pierce through the sky the red walls of cathedrals mighty and the pink cobblestones of the High City ; the Roman columns and the platanes lining the vineyards like an army in trenches.
One must feel the stone heating on the squares and the colour of the great organs and the smoothness of antic stalls and the suncracked lye on the walls.
One must smell the ochre rooftops and the amber coffee as it roasts in the burner. One must feel again the petulant youth sharing secrets by the murmurs of a river.
One must feel the body's torpour at the high tide of noon and that which falls asleep at the ringing of the bell. One must feel the other, a tumbler in hand, softly swayed into a realm of dreams ; the icecubes of liquour drenched and the lip darkened with tannins - and the children outside laughing.
One must escape the turmoils of the world and let oneself be ravished by the song of cigals and get lost amidst the rosy salt lakes.
One must remember the fleeting minutes we share as friends, the butterflies as they flutter to the sugar of a first kiss and the summer loves we weave, unforeseen, and live, unconscious. The mindless mindlessness of blooming teenage years ; the dolce vita we embrace as soon as life gets rough.
The sudden freedom that we live with a full heart. The sugary skin of him or her we love. And the boozy sweat and the hair fragrant with salt and the vapours of aniseed as they perspire through the tent.
And this night of first love.
One must as one wears Rosca Amettla conjure the beautiful hours of a fading youth. To the sound of grapefruit, a herald of sour, one must remember the blondess of sundrenched hair. To the sound of anise and its drunken melopy, one must let go of the sorrows of age.
Clouds of powdered sugar sticking to one's skin, turning it into a candy calling for a lick and a bite and a kiss. A sunny gourmandise, a luminous skin glistening with oil ; whiteness of a smile and a strand of hair washen with chloride ; juicy, pulpous exaltation of orange and orange blossom.
Yellow, yellow, pink, yellow.
Such is Rosca Amettla. A non-gourmand treat, avoiding the fall into cloying ; to preferring sugar to caramel and anis to almond and grapefruit to passionfruit. Reminiscent of the elder days, reminding the finger-licking rousquille of younger years and the bright yellow light of the Southern sun as it grazes acres of pine trees and red hills.
A marvel of aequilibrium covering the skin like a veil of white silk and a gauze still fresh to apply on one’s neck.
It is fresh and zesty, a memory as acute as the work and emotion of the two women behind this young house. Nolença, the occitan fragrance now becomes catalan. With her, she brings the bundles of flowers of the other Catalonia and the heat of its ever-brazing Sun.
White flowers, a tad pompous, an illusion of jasmine alcoolat, of a rest of concrete stuck to the alambic. Pastry blossoms of orange in an almond shell fade into a honeyed amber albeit naughty, leaving on the skin a trail of sweet saliva.
We taste it. We leave it. We come back to it.
A sincere fragrance reaching for heights unimagined. Virginal sincerity of an unending youth, it is the laughter in the elders’ eyes and the smile lines on their cheeks. It is the powder we use to cover the passing of time and the ingenuous honesty of them we love. Gushing without burning, it is the soaring of nostalgia from melancholy to gioia. It is the happy memories, it is the first moments.
The perfume of unforgettable,
Rosca Ametlla - Nolença
EdT 50ml - 60€
Available online on their website : www.nolenca.com