By way of an introduction to this newsletter, I’d like to share a vignette from a trip I took a few days ago. It was to Da Nang, Vietnam — a city I had visited previously, on a less rushed trip. I returned there last week for a 48-hour reunion with Rashida, one of my dearest friends from Sri Lanka, and the opportunity to explore the country together.
The way I travel (and the way we travel as a family) has changed a great deal since our son, Reyan, came into our lives almost two years ago. For Vishnu, my partner, and I, it has meant a new way of seeing the world — fewer pubs, more parks; fewer fancy dinners, more football fields. There is something special about seeing your little boy grasp at the enormity of the world with his little hands and large eyes — I’d like to think that he is learning a language that can’t really be taught. But as wholesome as this kind of travel can be, I also miss the luxury of exploring as an adult.
We all travel differently. Stepping out of the familiarity of one’s home and being a stranger in a strange place is a particular kind of disorientation, and everyone reacts to it in their own way. (This is why I would never scorn at tour groups; I understand the instinct to huddle as a primal response to newness). In the last few years, I have forsaken the need (if there ever was) to tick any boxes. Instead, I follow my heart and allow it to lead me to the experiences that I know I would enjoy.
In the recent past, that has meant travelling to Tenganan, a village in east Bali, to see how Indonesia’s valuable double ikat textiles are woven. And taking a half-day class in batik printing in the outskirts of Ubud. In December, I took two modes of transport and huffed up a steep hill in Hong Kong for a fleeting visit to Perfumer H, a niche perfumery that I had read about. In Da Nang, I wanted to find a different way to relate to the country, and that’s how I ended up dragging my ever-willing friend Rashida to a store called Alison.
A cosmetics store at first glance, Alison is actually a true treasure trove of niche perfumery. Its sprawling shelves are crowded with niche fragrance houses from around the world. When you live in Asia, you may encounter one or two of these brands in a city mall or at an airport. But it’s exceedingly rare to find one store (on a commercial street in the heart of Da Nang) that makes space for perfumes from so many places.
For a couple of hours, I was lost in those aisles, free-falling through the trapdoor of aroma. I understand that this is an extremely niche interest to most, and migraine-inducing to many. But for me, it is a way of tumbling through the imagination, to travel visa-free to the farthest landscapes, and to immerse myself fully in the nuances of sensory pleasure, no matter how fleeting they may be.
A long time ago, I wanted to be a fragrance writer like Chandler Burr, the erstwhile New York Times smell critic. I suppose I didn’t want to critique so much as I wanted to share. It is the same instinct that led me to journalism, all those years ago — I knew it brought me the deepest pleasure to be an observer, to watch life from the sidelines and to report back what I found to whoever was willing to read. And it is the same instinct that ultimately compelled me to start this newsletter.
If you are still here, thank you for reading. I can’t promise that my writing will always be useful, but I hope that it gives you food for thought. Along with more regular missives on food, nourishment and the peculiarities of this moving life, I hope to also share the occasional recommendation. As my friend Widya says, I am a magpie, forever attracted to shiny things and if you’ll indulge me, I would love to share.
On that note, here’s a recommendation from my trip to Alison. D’annam, a small Vietnamese perfumery, makes evocative fragrances influenced by Vietnam. The fragrances range from bold (Vietnamese coffee) to subtle (white rice) and soothing (monsoon tea). On Rashida’s recommendation, I tried Strawberry Mochi, not expecting to like it. But it smells both starchy and sweet — like the steam that rises from rice as it cooks, commingled with a strawberry as you first bite into it. On my skin, it softens and sweetens as the day goes, reminiscent of the daifuku mochi with a strawberry in its centre, which I ate in Tokyo a few months ago.
I hope you will try it when you have a chance — both the daifuku mochi and D’annam’s rendition of it. They are both delectable.
Welcome to the Sub space, dear wonderful writer, V x