It’s 10 o’clock in the evening. A text message. 253 Yates. Seems cryptic, but at an American university you get used to messages like this pretty quickly: there’s a house party on 253 Yates Street.

Going out in the US is far more difficult than it is in the Netherlands. Since I’m 21 years old, I am allowed to enter bars and clubs, but a lot of students are underage. So that’s where the house parties come in: organized by fraternities or just random groups of students, with plenty of red cups filled with watery American beer and “jungle juice” (mixes of juice with random liquors in varying proportions).

Another text. 253 got shut down, come to 444 Hudson. The police obviously do not like it that underage people are drinking at these house parties, so every night they will come in and shut some of them down.

As an international student, it’s not easy to know where the parties are. You either need to find some Americans to lead you to them, or you can walk up and down the streets where most fraternities have their houses until you find a party. Some will ask you whether you’re rushing (they’ll only let you in if you are looking to join their fraternity), other houses have rules in order to get in. At some, girls are always welcome, but men need to bring a certain amount of girls before they are granted access – five, or even maybe even ten.

We walk up to the house. Someone is standing outside. The requirement for getting in is easy tonight: $5 for the guys and free entry for the girls. We’re in. The party is in the attic of the house, and the wooden floor bounces with every beat. Everyone is going crazy after two, maybe three beers. For some reason, some people brought their backpacks. As more and more people get in, the heat becomes unbearable. I look at my fellow international students and we seem to be thinking the same thing: it’s time to go and let the Americans do their thing.

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