Tuesday June 28th 2:45 am, Paris

The first few days have been lovely. The green feels more lush and the old more sapient than I have ever before seen. The youth have a pride different than the one carried by American youth. It is a pride saturated with the blood of those who fought with their lives to preserve this city. They throb with eagerness to do the same in their own right, and so in that pledge they do.

Kindness is not the first virtue known by the French, at least in the city. But they are not mean or hostile. They are immersed in the self in the best way, the way everyone should be, as if they've promised to always offer a lesson to their neighbor, and only the lucky and like-minded ones pick it up.

Upon the night of my arrival (3 days ago), a large group of students living in Les Estudines, our residence hall, baptized themselves with a night out in 11'eme on rue Oberkampf, the street on which we reside, which floods with a sea of confirmed angry and momentarily blissful (or the reverse) young Parisians looking to get drunk.

We entered a number of bars, the first protected by a bouncer, which made me fall into my underage American panic. Once the crowd in front of mine had slowly diffused into the bar, I could see that the bouncer was only checking bags.

"I guess they're still on high alert," said a girl near me. I felt foolish for worrying about an age restriction when this establishment had much more pressing issues to concern itself with.

This was the first bouncer that ever smiled at me. Upon entering I was greeted by two friendly tattooed patrons who insistently handed me a "welcome shot." I marveled over the idea of a culture which says "yes" to its youth and not "no," which aims to preserve and even encourage the blissful integrity of a 20 year old searching for rapture.