A morning walk before the heat arrives

I woke at 6:15, which felt late for me. The hotel room was already warm despite the early hour, and I could see through the window that the sun was already bright and unforgiving.

The weather forecast had been clear: today would reach 30°C, tomorrow 33°C, and by Thursday potentially 36°C. An intense heatwave was coming to France, the kind that makes headlines and health warnings. The kind where you need to plan your day around the temperature rather than your interests.

So I did what made sense: I left the hotel at 7:20.

The city before it wakes

Paris at this hour is a different place. The streets near my hotel in the Marais were quiet, just a few delivery trucks and early workers. A woman was setting up chairs outside a café, stacking them with practiced efficiency. She nodded as I passed.

I walked toward the Seine, taking the route I'd discovered a few days ago that leads past the plane trees I'd photographed. The morning light was softer now, golden rather than harsh, and it caught the peeling bark in a way that made me stop and take another photo. Same tree, different light, completely different feeling.

There's something about early morning that makes me less self-conscious about photographing trees. Fewer people to wonder why a tall Norwegian is crouching beside a trunk, examining the patterns in the bark.

Along the river

The Seine was calm, reflecting the pale morning sky. I walked along the embankment toward Pont Marie, where I'd found that small park a few days ago. A jogger passed me, then another. A man was fishing from his usual spot – I recognized him from yesterday, though we didn't acknowledge each other.

I found a bench in the shade and sat for a while, just watching the city begin its day. A barge moved slowly upriver. Pigeons gathered near a woman scattering breadcrumbs. The air was still cool enough to be comfortable, but I could feel the heat building.

My phone showed 8:40. The temperature was already 20°C.

I thought about my plans for the day – or rather, my lack of plans. The forecast had made the decision for me: anything requiring significant outdoor walking would need to happen now, this morning, before the heat became dangerous. The warnings had been specific about that: extreme heat can be dangerous for outdoor activities.

I'd been in Paris for a week now. Seven days. I'd seen some of what I'd intended to see – the Seine walks, the Musée d'Orsay, those magnificent plane trees. But I hadn't made it to Montmartre yet, or Versailles, or Père Lachaise Cemetery. The list of intentions I'd arrived with felt both urgent and somehow less important than it had been.

The restlessness question

Sitting on that bench, watching a couple set up a small easel to paint the river view, I realized something: I wasn't feeling the restlessness.

For 293 days, that restlessness has been my companion. Sometimes quiet, sometimes screaming. It's what pushed me out of Osaka earlier than planned, what made me change my Amsterdam flight, what keeps me moving every few days. It's been the engine of this entire journey.

But this morning, in the building heat of a Parisian summer, I felt... settled. Not permanently – I know myself better than that by now – but in this moment, I was content to be exactly where I was.

Maybe it was the early hour. Maybe it was knowing that the heat would force me to slow down anyway. Or maybe, after 293 days of constant movement, I was finally learning the difference between restlessness that means "move" and restlessness that means "be still."

I stayed on that bench until 9:45. Not doing anything, not planning anything, just being present in the morning before the heat arrived.

Practical thoughts

By the time I walked back toward the hotel, the temperature had climbed noticeably. The woman at the café had opened the doors and was already serving coffee to a few early customers. The streets were filling with people, and I could feel the city's energy shifting from peaceful to purposeful.

I have 207 days left. Four months until my flight out of Paris on October 7th. That's a long time to stay in one place by my usual standards – I typically move every 3-4 days. But it's also a fixed commitment, a rare anchor point in this otherwise fluid journey.

The question isn't whether to stay or go. The question is how to spend these four months. Do I use Paris as a base and take short trips? Do I leave for a while and return before October? Do I embrace the extended stay and really live here rather than just visit?

I don't have the answer yet. But I have time to figure it out.

For now, I have a more immediate concern: surviving this heatwave. The forecast shows temperatures above 35°C for the next several days. Museums and air-conditioned spaces are looking very appealing. Maybe tomorrow I'll finally make it to Montmartre – but at dawn, before the sun turns the cobblestones into radiators.

The trees will still be there in the cooler mornings. The city isn't going anywhere. And neither, for once, am I.

At least not yet.