Carnet de voyage

Santorini's dress economy, Turin's factory-turned-museum, and a Parisian window that saved me.

The thing nobody tells you about a community approaching 300,000 people is that the number stops meaning much and the individual conversations start meaning everything. This month I spent a lot of time talking with you, sometimes in comments, sometimes in person when we got the chance to actually meet. That second one is the direction I want to move in: less counting, more being in rooms with people. In the meantime, I spent July crossing Greece, Italy and France in a heat that made me reconsider several life decisions. Here is what I saw between air conditioners.

Santorini, and the business of the blue dome

It was my first time in Greece, and despite an established hatred of crowded places, I ended up in Santorini. It was everything I expected and slightly more, the island is much bigger than I had imagined, the views are what they promise. Walking down into Fira, I passed a woman in an emerald satin dress being photographed in front of a blue dome above the caldera. She looked tense. I thought: what an original way to remember a place. Then I turned the corner and found an entire industry, teams of photographers, women in dark blue and red satin, one after another. A graduation ceremony, essentially, held on a burning Greek afternoon.

Milan, in under 24 hours

From Santorini I went to Milan, for two reasons: there was a direct flight, and a direct flight is reason enough to go almost anywhere. Also I had never seen the Italian capital of fashion. I stayed less than a day and it was still worth it, the Duomo (mostly the rooftop), the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, the Fondazione Prada. Dinner with a view of the Duomo was spectacular, and also gave me the opportunity to watch people silently judge other people for taking photographs, and then take the exact same photograph themselves, with shame and anxiety on their faces. Btchette, take the picture. They will judge you regardless, and you will probably never see them again.

Liguria à la Shania Twain

Then a train took me to Liguria. I do not stop falling in love with Italy, and the small coastal towns did not disappoint. On a Saturday evening walk after dinner, in pursuit of gelato, I noticed a trend among the teenage girls of the town: leather cowboy boots. This would not have surprised me if we were not in a beach town in the middle of summer. Then I remembered every trend I ever followed without question, and saw myself at sixteen in very tight skinny jeans and pointy leather shoes, in a club with no air conditioning, and I smiled.

Turin, where the factory became a museum

Then Turin, where I did most of the eating I have not yet mentioned, since one obvious perk of Europe is the food. Turin gave me the strangest and best building of the trip: the old Fiat factory at Lingotto, which now holds an art museum on its roof — the Pinacoteca Agnelli — and the very first Eataly in the space beside it. A car plant that became a gallery and a grocery. Very Italian. The heat, meanwhile, was punishing. The Airbnb technically had air conditioning: one small unit installed in a corridor, in order to "spread the cold air" through the entire apartment. Btchette, the cold air did not spread.

Paris, and the architecture that saved me

Then Paris, and Paris was hot. The Airbnb also had air conditioning, which produced something closer to a warm exhale. If you have followed my Stories for a while you know the workaround: most Haussmannian buildings are built to breathe, so opening windows on opposite sides lets the air move through. That is how I slept. Merci, Monsieur Haussmann. I also spent a morning at the Fondation Louis Vuitton for Calder. Rêver en équilibre — a hundred years since Calder arrived in Paris, roughly three hundred works, mobiles moving inside Gehry's architecture. It runs until August 16, so if you are in Paris, you still have two weeks.

A wedding, and the end of my Euro summer

Last, my cousin's wedding. A beautiful reception, and more emotional than I anticipated, particularly for someone who does not get to see his family often. Being back in places I had not visited in years reminded me of the child I used to be, and of how much has changed since. It was the best possible ending to a European summer. So I will leave you with this, Btchette: regardless of how often you see the people you love, you can always build a memorable moment. Not by making a scene or starting an argument about politics, although yes, memorable. But by doing something small and specific together. Like wearing leather cowboy boots with your entire family while getting ice cream.

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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