What I love most about Abu Dhabi is the way the spice feels alive, like you are literally on a spice bazaar in the high sun of Middle East, not sharp or aggressive. On my skin, the saffron and warm spices don’t announce themselves - they radiate. It’s that dry, golden kind of spice, like warm air over stone, not kitchen spice or sweetness. It immediately gives the fragrance depth and soul. There’s a moment early on where the spice feels almost mineral, slightly dusty, blending into the warmth rather than sitting on top of it. That’s where it really gets me. It doesn’t feel decorative; it feels embedded in the scent, like part of the landscape. The florals that follow don’t soften it too much - they smooth the edges, but the spice stays present, steady, confident. As it dries down, the spice melts into amber and woods, but it never disappears. It becomes quieter, more intimate, like warmth held close to the skin. That’s why I love Abu Dhabi so much: the spice isn’t there to impress, it’s there to ground. It makes the fragrance feel sensual, calm, and deeply reassuring - something I wear when I want to feel centered, warm, and completely myself.