L'air du Desert Marocain by Tauer Perfumes

You take a road trip to the desert, dreaming of the rejuvenation of wide open spaces, hot sun, baked earth, dry sage -- and, at first, that's what you get, your car windows down and the scorched dirt adding a soothing, throaty undertone; then, as you keep driving, the dry, dusty sage gives way to the high-pitched resin of cedars and pines.

You keep moving forward, the air sharpening around you like butchers honing their knives. "It will get better," you tell yourself, but the once open horizon starts to hem you in. More cedars and pines spring into view, spreading their branches into the sky.

You think about stopping, turning around. "Did I take a wrong turn?" But the map is open on the seat beside you, the road a straight line with no deviations.

You turn on your headlights as the thickening, spreading forest smothers the light, and you enter what seems an interminable, hot tunnel of pine sap and prickly green scrub. Venomous sharp spikes claw at the metal of your car.

Your head pounds. You feel nauseous and try to roll down your windows to get some air, but your windows are already rolled down and there's no air to be had, just this choking, waxy substance your lungs are now drowning in, like a million piny air-fresheners dangling from the cosmic trickster's rearview mirror . . .

UPDATE:

I've recently engaged in rapport with several women on the Perfume of Life board who adore L'air du Desert Marocain, not to mention that Tania Sanchez gave it a five star review in 'Perfumes: The Guide'.

Perhaps there's something this fragrance does on a woman that it does not do on me -- four hours into it and I felt like I was buried alive in a cedar box, whereas female correspondents rhapsodize about its smoldering, sensual qualities. I say I love how it opens, all dry and dusty desert sage, but then it turns on me like a nightmare that won't shut-up or go away -- and they counter that for them it opens too sharply but then smoothes out, languishing on their skin and vibrating . . .

So I ordered a sample of it to be sent to my sister. Maybe it'll be stunning on her.

UPDATE 2:

So the other members of Perfume of Life were so overwhelmingly in favor of this fragrance that I decided to give it another go round. You know, sometimes you hit it off badly when you're first introduced to someone -- the initial impression fails to go well, they had a bad hair day or you spilled coffee on your shirt, or maybe you expected someone different than who actually showed up. So in all fairness, it's worth giving second chances to what may be a worthy prospect.

What helped this time, though, is that I was given some expert guidance: 1.) don't put it near the face -- no neck or shoulders or chest; and 2.) apply it sparingly -- very, very sparingly. Check, and check.

It's now been about an hour into it, and I can say that I'm having an entirely different, and much more enjoyable, experience this time. The sharp, cloying cedar from my first attempt has been replaced with a scent character that's drier and less harsh. No stabbing pine-resin overtones. And the other layers involved -- the vanilla, the flowers, the dusty incense -- are breaking through. I'm getting none of the previous Death By Cedar effect, and the dark, nauseating tunnel I'd stumbled into on my first journey appears to have been all my fault.

I'd read the map wrong. I'd missed my exit. I'd accidentally dumped the entire bottle on my head. Something!

I'm happy to say that this is actually brilliant stuff, and I love it. It's moody, and languid and it makes me want to turn off my phone, curl up on the sofa and gaze wistfully out the window as I listen to the sound of my heart beat . . .