Waves of wildness crash into our sensory receptors, leaving us bewildered and besotted: like Blamage before it, Baraonda is a gargantuan crush of odd bedfellows that manages to smell entirely seamless and delectable. Upon first sniff, we experience a moment of recognition--could the tangy sweetness we identify be emitted by something as familiar and earthly as a grape? Perhaps. Perhaps, as we inhale, our eyes shift to take in a dawn vista of a vineyard, dewily resplendent in the grey early morning. Yet just as we revel in the night-cooled-sugars surge, Baraonda twists out of our grasps racing overhead towards the sea and its churning, navy-teal textures. As saline streams into the first sweetness of this scent, Baraonda grows creamier and slowly backtracks, to some unknown grove between the shore and the mountains, where herbs nestle and emit the bittersweet reek that fairy tales are scented by. Something smacks of anise in this eerie den of verdancy, while a dank pile of fire-colored leaves is part rotting funk and part (almost cinnamon) piquancy. Baraonda reminds us most of the anachronistic sensation of cool spice; like a stick of Big Red, this fragrance chills and heats us simultaneously, probably closer in function to a big bodied, crimson wine that's best enjoyed chilled. Refresh your understanding of 'a cooling sensation' with this delightful, indecipherable phenomenon.