Carnet de voyage

September was a month of things not quite being what they were labeled. The tree on my balcony produced a fruit I still cannot identify with confidence. Los Angeles continued its long project of not being the Los Angeles that television promised me. A twenty-two-dollar smoothie turned out to taste like a smoothie. I have decided this is fine, and possibly the entire point: a thing is allowed to be itself rather than the version of itself I arrived expecting. Here is the month, in five photographs and one unresolved citrus.

My first lemon, probably a lime

I have always liked the idea of fruit trees. I picture myself picking fresh fruit to make a pie, a fantasy that completely ignores how fruit actually behaves: you have none, or you have five hundred pounds. In spring we planted a small tree on the balcony, and thanks to what DC calls humidity and Costa Rica would call Tuesday, it has produced its first fruit. I say "fruit" because I am working on the assumption that it is a lime. I gave it time and space to become a lemon, should that be what it wants. The label said "citrus tree," which is about as useful as being told to calm down. The salmon was better that night. I also made a lemonade. One more is coming, which should conclude our 2026 production.

The assisted Tour de France

Another bike photograph, you might think. Is he training for an assisted Tour de France, the dystopian edition, with e-bikes and scooters? No. I simply enjoy the outdoors, for clearly defined and relatively short periods.

What I am actually appreciating here is a specific luxury: not commuting, not driving, moving through a city on foot or on two wheels. It lets me do the two things I enjoy most, which are looking at buildings and nature, and judging strangers.

Which version of me am I choosing today

We spent Labor Day weekend in New York, which is the correct weather and the correct mood for vintage shopping. I love it, but it requires concentration. I have lived several lives in several countries and have had, let us say, a range of styles. Standing in front of everything a store has to offer, the question is never what fits. The question is: which version of me am I choosing today? As you can see, I was auditioning the version who works the counter at a diner, probably in 1983, and who will ask whether you'd like a refill, hon.

Cities know their angles

Los Angeles fascinated me as a child, entirely through television, and then I visited and disappointment was at the rendez-vous. It took me years to understand why. Cities, like professional models, know their angles. When a film is shot in Paris, the city is at its absolute best, you could eat off the pavement, and people approach something resembling a smile. Your subconscious files this away as the permanent condition. It is also an investment, because it brings tourists. Which is how everyone ends up standing on the Walk of Fame, or in front of an unsmiling Parisian, wondering what went wrong. Nothing went wrong.. you were shown the perfect angle.

Twenty-two dollars, tax and tip not included

I cringe at every video of someone trying a celebrity Erewhon smoothie. So naturally I tried one, though not on purpose. I went to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, as the cultured French person you would expect, and discovered that the only café on site was Erewhon. I debated, the menu had no prices, which is itself a kind of answer. Then I decided there would never be a more perfect opportunity. Twenty-two dollars, tax and tip not included. It was tasty, it was organic. It was also the price of a plat du jour with dessert included, in exchange for something I would describe, in terms that carefully preserve all future partnership opportunities, as average. Btchette, if you ever see my name on a smoothie, assume the offer was generous.

Et voilà! If you saw something I missed, hit reply, I read all of them and answer most. Until next month,

Jacques

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