Three years ago, in Zurich for the first time, I crossed a bridge over the Limmat River and saw people floating down it in rubber rings on their way home from work, some casually holding beers. The Limmat is so clear that it almost begs you not only to jump in, but to drink it.
Paris’s Canal Saint-Martin has never produced either desire in me – but sweltering in last week’s 38C heat, I wanted to close my eyes, pretend it was the Limmat, and leap. Others weren’t so hesitant; there was a line of people going up one of the footbridges over the canal waiting for their turn to jump, dive, backflip or just belly-flop into the water.
