Habana 1791 (Mercaderes con Obrapia, Habana Vieja, Havana, Cuba)

To the scent-obsessed traveller, globetrotting presents a wealth of thrilling smell experiences. Heavy rose oils wafting out of hammams in Turkey; the glowing hum of sandalwood factories in Mysore; hot saffron bread being carted out of a Livonian bakery; a tray of rotting-meat-scented durians in an East African market; burning rainforest hardwoods in Brazil as the local peasants make way for Big Oil; the unspeakable shit-stench of the Chao Praya on a hot morning. In pursuit of the world's best and worst smells, it pays to be intrepid. Just a few weeks ago, I chased a musk deer around the proud Himalaya, attempting to get my nose in its pod. Alas, it was fleeter than I, and also turned out to be a baby cervus elaphus, disappointingly unmusky.

Imagine, then, my delight on encountering the Habana 1791 Perfumery and Museum in Cuba. I adore Cuba: it is a glorious, sensual place; just the sort of place, in fact, that promises exceptional smells. Furthermore, Havana is unexpectedly well-supplied for beautifully restored ancient pharmacies, and the Habana 1791 is a wondrous-looking palace of earthly delights. Musty old bottles line the shelves; old-fashioned diffusing and distilling equipment lies around like thumbscrews in a medieval torture chamber; special scents have been created for the likes of the Prince Bonaparte and several glamorous women of note.

There is only one problem, in fact, with Habana 1791. Everything in there smells absolutely fucking disgusting.

I began with the signature scents, which turned out to be "created in the style of these personalities", rather than "created for these personalities". Hence the Prince Bonaparte is evidently imagined by some cretinous anosmiac to have had a strong desire to smell like a market-stall knock-off of Jovan White Musk For Men. The three women's scents – courtesy would prevent me from shaming their legacies in any case, but I have indeed forgotten their names – would be much appreciated, respectively, by a woman who found J-Lo Glow just wasn't sweet and ersatz enough; by a woman with an unquenchable addiction to supermarket Battenberg cake topped with Pic'n'Mix; and by a woman who was attempting to hose down the Augean stables.

Gasping and spluttering, I moved on to the single notes, which were displayed in a variety of test tubes in a rack. "These are all naturally derived," the shop assistant told me haughtily. Yes, indeed. Naturally derived from barium, ammonia and concentrated sulphuric acid. She handed me a tube of luminous green goo. "This is natural vetiver." No, senorita, this is natural Toilet Duck. And a yellow one. "This is natural lemon." Like being drowned in Cif floor bleach. And a purple one. "This is natural lavender." Cillit Bang, I swear.

My eyes blistering, my face cracking and peeling, and my poor, delicate nasal receptors nuked, I stumbled blindly back on to the Calle Mercaderes. I should just like to note that the Wallpaper City Guide recommends you go to the Habana 1791 and have a signature scent created for yourself. Ha! Not unless you want to Tyler Brûlé your skin off with an evilly-scented liquid blowtorch.

If the CIA is reading, by the way, I think I may have found where dear old Fidel Castro is hiding his chemical weapons manufacturing plant.

The website seems to be French and under construction at the time of posting, and you shan't want it, but here it is anyway: http://www.habana1791.com/

Tom Ford For Men (Tom Ford, 2007)

Tom Ford For Men is Mr. Ford's company's first foray into the world of male perfumery. Together with knowledge of the perfume's title, the print ads (see above) suggest one of two things. One, this perfume smells of lady's undercarriage or, two, smelling of this scent will gain one access to a lady's undercarriage. Given the staggeringly nonsexual smell of the fragrance I must assume it is option two that Mr. Ford's advertising agency is attempting to persuade us is in prospect. That said, returning to the advertisement for a moment, quite who would like to spend any intimate time with a hairless, oiled up anorexic I cannot imagine, certainly no-one with a penchant for sensual delights. And perhaps that's just it, here is a perfume aimed at people who like to think of themselves as deeply sexual and sensual but actually aren't, they need to be explicitly sold a product which puts vagina and perfume in as close physical proximity as mainstream publishing will allow to get through their heads: "Oh this is the sexy one. This one will get me laid". They must lack the capacity (or interest perhaps) to smell the array of profoundly sexy smells that perfumers have created to delight our noses, summon our blood and stiffen our sinews. What kind of mind sees this advert and buys this scent I wonder? It can only be someone for whom the vapid objectification of women, the rendering of the act of sex itself in its most artificial manner combined with the removal of any passion or emotion appeals. There is no humanity, no warmth and no sensuality. I don't doubt that people exist who get their kicks from such empty idolatry but marketing to them makes me almost speechless with anger and disappointment at my fellow males.

Returning to the product itself I had personally hoped, given the photo (setting aside social and political objections for a moment), that it might smell of ladies' undercarriages but my disappointment in finding that it did not was as nothing compared to the disappointment that it did not stir the slightest twitch of excitement in my nether regions. There are so many scents competing in this perfume that it is almost as if the perfumer, unsure of what Mr. Ford wanted for his first masculine fragrance, decided to put them all in just in case. Allow me to list them for you: citrus, lemon leaf oil, bergamot, mandarin zest, basil, violet leaves, ginger, orange blossom, black pepper, tobacco leaf, grapefruit blossom, amber, cedar, patchouli, vetiver, oakmoss, leatherwood and cypriol. It is the latter that all the fuss is being made over. Mr. Ford has commented that cypriol, a root from India, is the vital ingredient that gives, "that slightly dirty, sensual, sexy smell...It's not the same as natural musk used to be, but it has a bit of something that some people would think slightly dirty...I think it's warm and sensual." I think it's insipid and weak: semi-skimmed musk at best. To be honest, to my nose the scent it recalls most is that cheap soap that Boots used to sell, the allegedly unperfumed sort that instead had a slightly soap flakes kind of pong to it, not acrid nor pine-fresh clean but still a long way from a dirty tussle in some damp sheets. This scent has no libido at all; I really can't find anything animalic in this fragrance. Actually looking back at the compendious list of ingredients, the reason I can't get any sexy animal scent is because there is indeed no sexy animal ingredient to be found. And here is where this fragrance falls apart for me given the pure sex hyperbole of the advertising.

There is nothing offensive about the perfume itself, it is quite clean and fresh smelling, there is a hint of Earl Grey in amongst the citrus and gentle spices. But musk? No sir, nary a hint. This is no perfume to widen the nostrils; it would suffice for meeting ,and not frightening, an elderly maiden aunt perhaps, but not one's paramour. The deliciously sexy Musc Ravageur from Editions de Parfums which, despite Mr. Ford's placement of musk in the past tense, is positively engorged with the stuff is described thus on their website, "No flowers, just a refined and exalted skin scent." And that's what you need to get you horny. Lemons, violets and bergamot all have their places (in a martini, the garden and Earl Grey tea for example) but it is the smell of sweat and human skin that is arousing and Tom Ford For Men lacks any sense of it.

Après L'Ondée (Guerlain, 1906)

No spice, no comestibles, no sweetness, no warmth: Après L'Ondée is a rarity and well worth getting your hands on, although that can be difficult. The parfum has been discontinued but the EDT is still available (in Europe, anyway); sadly I find this form rather weak on my skin. I still wear it but tear through the bottle at great speed.

It starts citric, giving way very quickly to cut grass, and then on to damp violets and wet earth. It's fresh and cold, and nothing like the 'Parma Violet'-style sweetness that comes with most violet scents. There's a very slight anise bitterness. It doesn't smell like anything else I wear and I only wish I didn't have to bathe myself in it quite so generously.

Tea for Two (L'Artisan Parfumeur, 2000, Olivia Giacobetti)

When I squirted myself with Tea for Two this morning, I wasn't impressed. Smoky to the point of caustic, like standing next to roadworks. I thought I'd made a dreadful mistake putting it on, but, over the next few hours, the fragrance matured and Olivia Giacobetti once again proved her worth. I can smell cloves and nutmeg, honey and cinnamon. I can smell the deep smoke of lapsang souchong and the delicate bergamot of Earl Grey, as well as the honey spice of Indian chai and a touch of orange blossom.

This is a deep, dark, sensual smell, and I love it. I might even love it more than Dzing! although that's a little like trying to choose your favourite child.

Safran Troublant (L'Artisan Parfumeur, 2002, Olivia Giacobetti)

Throughout history, saffron has been associated with healing, and has been used to cure just about everything. Alexander the Great used saffron on his battle wounds; in ancient Persia, saffron tea was prescribed for bouts of melancholy; modern medicine uses saffron's anticarcinogenic, anti-mutagenic, immunomodulating and antioxidant-like properties. Cleopatra, wishing to make lovemaking more pleasurable, took saffron baths before encounters with men. Saffron has been used for thousands of years as a sacrifice to the gods and a dye for Buddhist monks' robes; saffron could, therefore, be called a physical, emotional, spiritual and sexual cure.

L'Artisan Parfumeur's Safran Troublant aims straight for the culinary side of saffron. Although you get quite a bit of spice in the first squirt (cinnamon, cloves and cardamom) those disappear very quickly and you're left with saffron, vanilla, cream and a little sandalwood. It's a warm, friendly, cosseting scent, like a big milky hug - highly suited to saffron's healing powers, and very akin to some kind of creamy Indian pudding with rose petals. Like many Indian puddings, it's too sweet for my tastes, but I think most people would like it: when I wore it yesterday people couldn't stop telling me how lovely I smelled.