Essen
I stopped a taxi. What was that smell? The taxi-driver mentioned it straight away.
"A lady sprayed herself with a strong scent. I opened the window, but it didn't help."
"Is it Issey Miyake?", I asked him.
"Are you in the perfume business?", he asked, taken aback.
"No, no. A few years ago, on holiday in Spain I met a couple, Kristina and Dirk. They used to lived in Essen. I recall this scent exactly. It was Kristina's perfume. It has to be Issey Miyake. To the railway station, please."
I bought a train ticket to Essen. It had needed Issey Miyake to reactivate my sense of smell. A working life in front of the computer and recreation and family life in the city had blunted it, while this train journey in an air-conditioned carriage wasn't doing much to help. I nodded off, and dreamed of a walk in the forest, a bathe in the scents of nature.
