I sadly did start to miss the weekly Thursday gathering of the masses outside of half of Dryden Road so I decided to find a Mecca of my own for the drip-sweating, red-faced, wide-eyed twenty-somethings here in Paris. After a simple process of elimination (too expensive, too many girls, too old, too unfriendly, too far, etc.), I finally stumbled upon Le Violin Dingue, located at the top of a hill in between the Pantheon and the Seine in the fifth Arrondissment.

Even before I arrived in Europe, I knew to be prepared for its notorious party scene.  I had heard plenty of comments like “Europeans go so hard!” to mentally prepare myself for the four months that lay ahead. And it’s true, the nightlife here is like, sooo wild and people RAGE all hours of the night.  But there’s one type of celebration unique to Europe: the Sunday party.

As a woman enamored with Radiohead, Gorillaz, The Rolling Stones, James Blake and, lest we forget, The Beatles, clearly my decision to study abroad in London had dreams of musical euphoria in mind.