Paris for The Thrill Seekers: a Friday-to-Monday weekend

284 steps up the spiral to the roof, the twelve avenues spinning out below; the only place to see the city's geometry with your pulse up.

A pool on a barge in the Seine, open into the evening; twenty-five metres of lengths with the river sliding past the glass.

The 1896 workers' canteen, waiters in waistcoats writing the bill on the tablecloth; steak frites in ten minutes, no booking, fuel for tomorrow.

A dawn loop of the two lakes on the sandy path, rowing boats still tied up, the Longchamp cyclists just starting their circuits.

674 steps through the ironwork to the second floor, no lift queue and the rivets at arm's length; the top is a separate ticket.

Standing room only, menus hanging from the ceiling, small plates of pig and a glass of Loire red passed over heads; eat until the legs stop shaking.

Forty minutes by train to Fontainebleau-Avon, then the birthplace of bouldering: numbered circuits on sandstone from yellow to black, a crash pad hired in town.

The 25 Humps trail, sixteen kilometres over every sandstone ridge in the Trois Pignons; five hours, your own water, and knees that will remember it.

Open until midnight at the foot of Montmartre, œuf mayo and a blanquette for the price of a sandwich elsewhere; the queue moves fast.

222 steps beside the funicular to the Sacré-Cœur parvis at sunrise, the city pink below and nobody on them but the joggers.

Another 300 steps inside the dome to the highest open viewpoint in Paris, reached from the basilica's left side; cash for the turnstile.

Onion soup gratinée at the counter of the all-night brasserie of the old Halles; the kitchen has not closed since 1947 and will not for you.