A close-up shot, taken from a slightly low angle, of a sun-drenched café table with a half-finished coffee and a glass of water. The background is slightly blurred, showing hints of people walking slowly in the shade of Parisian buildings. The lighting is warm and natural, suggesting mid-afternoon heat. Shot on a smartphone, with a slight tilt and natural depth of field
A candid, slightly off-center shot of a lone woman standing in the middle of an empty, vast public square. She is looking down at a small bouquet of flowers placed on the ground near a monument. The sky is a pale blue, and the overall atmosphere is quiet and contemplative, with a hint of the morning sun. Captured with a smartphone, as if spontaneously taken
A wide, slightly shaky shot from a moving perspective, showing people swimming and enjoying themselves in a river on a hot day. The water is a murky blue-green, and the sunlight reflects off the surface. In the background, city buildings are visible. The image feels unposed and captures the simple joy of people seeking relief from the heat. Shot on a smartphone, with a natural, slightly imperfect framing

Watching the world change

I'm sitting in my usual café near Place de la République. It's 13:00, and the owner just brought me a second coffee without asking. The temperature has climbed to 25°C, and through the window I can see people moving slower than usual, seeking shade.

This morning I woke early—6:30, which felt luxurious compared to my usual routine—and walked to Bastille. Yesterday, tens of thousands of people gathered there to protest against sexual violence, sparked by something terrible that happened to an 11-year-old girl named Lyhanna. The square was empty when I arrived at 7:15, but you could still feel the energy of what had happened. Someone had left flowers near the base of the July Column. A woman was standing there, just looking at them.

I didn't take any photos. It felt wrong somehow.

Instead I walked along the river. The supervised swimming areas have reopened, and already at 8:00 there were people in the water near City Hall. The Seine has become something different this summer—not just a monument to look at, but a living thing people interact with. I watched a man dive in, surface, shake water from his hair. He looked so free.

There's a yellow weather warning starting tomorrow—extreme high temperature. The forecast shows 36°C Monday, 37°C Tuesday, climbing all the way to 39°C by Saturday. The café owner mentioned it when he brought my first coffee this morning. "Encore la chaleur," he said. Again, the heat. His tone suggested this is becoming the new normal, not an exception.

I thought about the elderly woman I met at Père Lachaise during the last heatwave. On fait ce qu'on peut. We do what we can.

The Tour de France started yesterday in Barcelona. It won't reach Paris until July 26th, but already I can feel the city anticipating it. There's a different energy, like Paris is preparing to show itself off. The cyclists will ride through heat that would have been unusual a generation ago. They'll adapt. Everyone adapts.

I've been thinking about yesterday's post, about stillness becoming the destination. This morning at Bastille, standing in that empty square where thousands had stood the day before, I understood something new. Stillness isn't passive. Those people who gathered yesterday weren't passive. The woman leaving flowers this morning wasn't passive. Staying in one place doesn't mean accepting everything as it is.

Maybe that's what I've been learning here. That you can be still and still be part of change. That transformation doesn't always require movement.

The waiter just brought me a glass of water. He didn't say anything, just set it down next to my coffee and gave a small nod. These small acts of care—they matter more in the heat. They matter more when the world feels heavy.

I have 93 days left here. October 7th, my flight leaves. The ticket is booked, the date is fixed. I find myself counting differently now—not the days until I leave, but the days I still have.

The woman at Bastille finally walked away from the flowers. I watched her disappear into the morning crowd. The flowers stayed.

Some things stay. Some things should stay.

I think I'm starting to understand what I came here to learn.