When I was a child, my mother asked me what person I want to become. I always answered this question honestly - I don’t know what one exactly, but someone who travels. And so it happened. This was my first road trip. I dashed with friends along a beautiful highway (especially compared to Ukrainian ones) towards Paris. Was Paris my Number One dream? No, it wasn’t, but visiting the most romantic city in the world and staring at That Very Tower would be unbelievable, I thought while contemplating the flooded French meadows. Traveling by car with your favorite music is just something, especially if your parents didn’t have a car, and you only discover this wonderful world of expectations and intimate talks which exists inside the cabin. In a world, perfect. On our way, we discuss the mentality of the French - is it true that they are terrible poseurs. All this we’ll have to find out. Finally, we enter the city - and the magic begins. It is not always light one. We check into the cheapest hostel in whole Paris, cheaper only on the street, although, when keeping in mind possible fines, this is not for sure. There are not enough towels for all guests, so we beg for 3 extra sheets - one as a towel and two for blankets. The adventure has begun, the conditions do not frighten, but rather add a twist. We leave for That Very Tower. On a February gray day it looks not so impressive, and the top floor is closed for repairs. But the view from the top is amazing, although it merges into one solid gray pattern. Everything changes dramatically at night, when the lights are on. The tower looks gorgeous, like a young aristocratic lady at a ball. The gray disappears, displaced by the myriad of lights of the night. I just want to stand and enjoy. At least for half an hour. Forget about the crowds of tourists and the camera, just dive into the moment. And so I do. A friend of mine taught this skill when we climbed the Great Wall of China. Let the hustle go, listen to yourself and feel the "now." I am very grateful to him, now the moment with the tower is safely stored in my casket of impressions. But visiting the tower is just the beginning. At the hostel we meet an Argentinean guy who is Korean in origin. His name is Christian. "How do you like Paris, Christian?" - we are interested. "Great, there are just too many Koreans." We squint incredulously. “I mean, geographic Koreans,” he explains and laughs. “I’m Argentinean according to the passport.” Well, yes, and he misses Korean food and always finds Asian cuisine while travelling around Europe. We also smile back. He’s funny, so now he is invited to travel together. The next day, we immerse ourselves in the local flavor - we buy a baguette (for the very French photos), drink coffee with croissants and take a swing installed on the main street. Just laugh and swing. Passers-by look at us and always smile, sometimes they say something. We do not understand what exactly, but the intonation is friendly, so we respond with some kind of compliment. Later, we are skipping along the streets with a baguette and singing our favorite songs. And we fit perfectly into the overall composition. Our next stop is to appreciate the beauty of Versailles and understand why people living in slums have risen to revolution. For photos at Versailles, we brought fans with us, in order to pretend we are the heirs of the former monarchs. Tourists again take pictures of us instead of the halls decorated with gold, and this is all we need. Only the Louvre remains from our must-see list. We left it for the last day in Paris, the day when we got lost three times (my personal record). Photos with a baguette and a glass pyramid and even the ones with a French policeman (the last one for our special collection) are taken, the main masterpieces are seen, and we are pleased with the trip and enjoy the softest croissants in the world. Apparently, the girl from the bakery really likes us because she treats us some local sweets for free and invites us to visit her place on our next visit. It was decided that not all French are hopeless poseurs. People on the street literally make fall in love with themselves, especially stylish, but cute old people. There was a couple smaller adventures when I got lost in the Arab quarter in the bazaar, and my friends began to think that they had stolen me; or when we persistently asked supermarket shop-assistants where was Macron. The fact is that the name of the French president is very similar to the name of local sweets - macarons, and we definitely created an awkward situation with such questions. In the end, we understood each other. Paris gave a lot of impressions, but the most important thing that we got was the smiles of local passers-by, photographs with bakery and police personnel and immersions of the incredible atmosphere of a fairy tale.