I spent my last evening in Berlin singing bad karaoke with “the number one boss man” of StudiVZ.net — the German version of Facebook. We were invited to the unofficial office party, thrown by the boss man himself, by my friend’s German friend, who works in customer service. The beer was good; the people were friendly; the party, much like the city itself, was crazy cool.

It was the perfect end to a perfect weekend in a perfect city. Although Berlin is at least 700 years old, everything about it — the architecture, the food, the people, the nightlife — feels edgy, modern and young. Unlike Paris — which, in its quest to retain tradition and culture, is like a museum replica of a city stuck in the 18th century — Berlin is alive and constantly evolving.

Of course, a part of that modernity, no doubt, is simply out of necessity. With large parts of the city demolished during the Second World War only to be followed by Soviet occupation, the city had no choice but to rebuild and to redefine its identity. But instead of trying to copy the old or completely erasing the remains of the past, Berliners created an unexpected harmony of past and present.

The city is riddled with half-ruined pre-war buildings that have been perfectly integrated into their very post-modern surroundings. A perfect example is the Kurfurstendamm, a chic, commercial boulevard in West Berlin that looks like a weird mix between the Champs-Elysees and Times Square. In a square in the middle of the boulevard stand the remains of the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church. The neo-Romanesque church, which was built in the late 1890s, was destroyed by air raids during WWII, with only a section of the belfry tower remaining. The belfry now stands in ruins, with a gaping hole in the back, the tip of the tower broken off and visible fire damage throughout. An absolutely, unquestionably modern grey tower with a shining gold cross flanks the remains, serving as the replacement for the destroyed sections of the church. This initially jarring medley of old and new, ruined and whole, pervades the entire city, helping it to retain its culture while still acknowledging that, yes, this is the 21st century. Something Paris has yet to do.

But apart from just looking really damn cool, the city’s day-to-day life itself reflects this hip, edgy culture. From something as simple as having a tram that runs all night (a luxury when you’re coming from Paris) or being able to buy a delicious Doner kebab at 3 a.m. for less than two euros to unbelievably edgy and artsy nightlife, the city’s focus is on the young. At the risk of sounding cliche, it changes with the times, instead of trying to impose a stifling facade of tradition.

Even the most youthful bars in Paris, unless I’ve just been going to the wrong places, have an oddly orderly feeling about them. They’re hip, but in that sense of hip where bouncers do a “wardrobe check” before letting you in and the cocktails are absurdly overpriced. The ones that are even the least bit “grungy” are inevitably Irish pubs. In Berlin, all rules go out the window. There’s a bar, for instance, called “The Hole.” It’s hidden in a basement and the only way in is to literally climb through a hole in the ground.

And then there’s Tacheles, an indescribably crazy art project/bar and club complex in East Berlin. Originally built to house small businesses and boutiques, the five-story building was taken over by the Nazis in the ‘30s and became the central office of the SS. After being heavily damaged during WWII, the building fell into the hands of the Free German Trade Union Federation and was left to deteriorate. It was scheduled for demolition to make way for new construction, but was saved by an artists’ group. Now it’s an indie artist’s haven.

The courtyard contains several makeshift bars, including one that’s inside the frame of an old Volkswagen van. In the center are large steel letters used as seats, and the backs of several abandoned cars stick out of the sand in a corner. In the building itself, the first floor is a nightclub, while the third and fifth floors have bars. The other floors and staircases, which are used as artists’ studios, are completely empty, save the occasional piece of a rusty bike and endless graffiti. The bar on the top floor — the only one of the two I entered — is small, with flashing blue lights and worn-in couches. The wall overlooking the street is missing (probably a result of the bombings), giving you a clear view of the courtyard and a blank white wall, where both indie and mainstream movies are projected. It is, perhaps, the coolest bar I have ever visited.

And as much as I love Paris, Berlin is perhaps the coolest city I have ever visited. Paris is more beautiful and stately, of course, but it feels like its fate has already been decided. It was once home to the artists and to innovation, but now all we can do is admire what’s already there. In Berlin, on the other hand, even for the short weekend I was there, I felt like I was taking part in the city’s history.

Leaving nearly broke my heart. But fortunately, at the end of the StudiVZ office party, Felix, one of the guests, invited us to come back to Germany this summer. We start in Berlin, he said, then I take you to Munich, Hamburg, and the greatest city in Germany: my hometown, Frankfurt. From there, we go to Gambia.

To join Vicky, Felix et al. on the grand tour of Germany and Gambia, email vickyd@stanford.edu.