“Dangerously hot,” “extreme heat” and “sweltering hot”—after a very cold spring, Ottawa broke more than century-old heat record. And it was actually hot, not the “I’m Canadian and I’m melting because the temperature doesn’t stay in the teens” kind of hot, but 45°C with the humidex.

It was too hot, even for me, who loves hot weather. Canadian houses trap the heat and feel like a sweat box. It got windy at one point but it was like having a hairdryer blowing on your face.

I escaped to the gym for great air-con, I drank liters of water to keep cool, I slept on the bed instead of inside the bed.

Mark’s much-awaited school bike trip got cancelled—too hot. With only a few days left, we cancelled school for Mark—too hot.

Meanwhile, I had to pack but guess what, it was way too hot for that. Packing involves running around to gather essentials and cleaning up the house in the process. It’s exciting and cathartic at the same time but it’s exhausting. At least, in winter, running up and down the stairs warms me up. This time, it just got me sweaty.

On Wednesday, Feng drove Mark and me to the airport. We printed our own boarding passes and my luggage tag and started to wait around in the world’s most boring airport—nowhere to go, a single overpriced Tim Hortons and almost nowhere to sit.

The flight was on time, we had good seats (i.e., not stuck in the middle), and everything was smooth. I mean, it’s not like it’s the first time I’m crossing the Atlantic Ocean. After travelling with baby Mark, then toddler Mark, and then during COVID, everything feels smooth and easy.

“You can watch Tag but then you have to sleep.”

“But…”

“NO BUT! We’re landing in Paris at 6 a.m., midnight Canadian time. Then we have to wait for a while for the train, so I’m not lugging you around the airport half asleep. Sleep.”

“But…”

I gave Mark the “I’m not kidding and the conversation is over” look, he gave me the “no-fun mommy” look, and the pilot started speaking. “Smooth flight, nice temperature in Paris, blah-blah-blah… just expect many storms along the way and keep your seatbelt fastened at all times.”

We took off, enjoyed the breathtaking views of Ottawa from Ottawa, had dinner, and flew into the first storm rocking the plane. “It’s okay, it’s not like we’re flying on a Boeing!” I told Mark. This time, he gave me the “not funny” look—we were flying on a Boeing.

We both fell asleep. I woke up every time we hit bad turbulence and took a few pictures.

It was stormy in Paris when we landed—heavy storms had just hit the country. Lightening struck the airport a few more times, and then the sun came up.

We went through immigration, picked up my bag and found a quiet place to wait for our 9:43 a.m. train. It was only 6 a.m. but the airport was packed. Mark slept, and I watched people flying to Senegal, Panama, Istanbul or Dakar.

I fell asleep on the TGV train to Nantes.

Summer adventures have started, we made it to France, it’s nice and hot, and I’m happy to be here again.