This July, 2015, France is a furnace. The country is a sauna right now–the more you move, the hotter your skin tingles. When you stand still to gulp great choking mouthfuls of cotton, the sweat pools, your very mind oozing from your temples. It’s a feverish temperature, surrounded by the claustrophobic drone of insects, you’re constantly sticky and itchy. Even lying down to sleep, an unfulfilled promise of relief, the sweat runs, you’ll toss and turn and scratch for restless hours.