It is just before 6 a.m. in Paris. It wouldn’t be accurate to say that we are growing familiar with our new neighborhood’s moods and manners, its habits and rhythms. We have only been here three days, and they have been such sweltering days, with temperatures reaching the high nineties, that we have found ourselves lethargic and out-of-sorts, alternately optimistic and anxious, waiting for the air to cool so that our lives here can begin in earnest.
Of course, one always hears that Paris is empty in August. I thought this would be a good way to approach the city–when it is at its calmest–but only after our arrival did it occur to me that Parisians leave Paris in August because the heat is so oppressive. Parisians don’t believe in air conditioning, so there is no escaping from one’s overheated apartment into a cool library. In Paris, there is no such thing as “cooling centers.” If you stay, you bake.