Berlin: Cold, Wet, and Rejected

The rain poured down as we decided what to do next. It was 3 in the morning and we had just been turned away from the biggest club in Berlin. A tragic, if not totally unexpected, ending.

Earlier in the evening, Ana and I had braved the July showers to go out to dinner at a well known Vietnamese restaurant, Monsieur Vuong. As we waited for our table, we struck up a conversation with six Americans--three guys, three gals--who were also on a trans Europe tour. They invited us to eat with them as we swapped travel stories and I explained how I had come to meet Ana.

We were both staying with a mutual German friend, Elina, who I had met two years prior in Israel.  Ana, who's from Costa Rica, and Elina were exchange students in the States together about ten years ago. Ironically, our plans to visit Elina in Berlin coincided with a trip that she had to take to Krakow, Poland. (Elina manages a band called Yemen Blues that was headlining at the Jewish Culture Festival, which my parents were attending. Small world, huh?) So, unintentional travel buddies Ana and I had become.

After dinner, I suggested that we head to this club in Friedrichshain East Berlin called Berghain/Panorama Bar. I had heard that if you wanted to see the best DJs in Berlin, this was the place to go. The crew was on board, but the girls said that they needed to go to the hotel to change. I think what you're wearing is fine for this club, I said. But they thoroughly disagreed.

So Ana and I headed to Panorama Bar to stand in line while our new friends freshened up. We took the U Bahn farther East than I had been, entering an area that didn't feel entirely safe. The graffiti, which is present on almost every Berlin building, intensified and covered all visible wall space. The club was a dark warehouse about five stories high in an industrial area with no houses or shops in sight. We stood in line in the cold taking a few steps forward through the rain soaked mud every few minutes. Occasionally, people would walk past us away from the club looking dejected. None of them were speaking German.

Behind us stood a young, eager Swiss boy who was probably about 19 or 20 years old. He told us that he had already gotten to the front of the line but had been turned away. This was his second attempt and he hoped that the bouncer wouldn't recognize him. Should I offer the bouncer a bribe? I asked. It's not that kind of club, said the Swiss boy.

As we got closer, I saw them. I'll admit, I've always been afraid of bouncers. But these guys terrified me. They looked exactly how I would imagine KGB agents to look. It probably had been years since they last smiled. I imagined how desperately they wanted someone to argue with their arbitrary rulings of who could stay and who could not. I will crush you, I could hear in my mind's ear.

With about four people ahead of us, the three girls from dinner came prancing to the front of the line in low cut cocktail dresses and 4 inch stilettos that keep getting stuck in the mud. They leaned over the railing toward the bouncers, showing off their goods, and asked innocently, Do we need tickets? The KGB agents didn't respond, but I did see the hint of a smirk cross one of their faces. Ah, now I understood their mirth: It was their job to say no to people who don't hear the word often enough. A few extra cover charges aren't necessary to keep this place in business, and high profit margins weren't the ultimate goal. No wonder these bouncers had so much power.

Clearly not getting the response they wanted, the girls (and guys who were standing a few feet behind them) spotted us practically at the front of the line and jumped in to join us. Great. When it was our turn for judgement day, the KGB agent didn't take more than two seconds to decide. Without a word, he motioned for us to step aside. We had been waiting in line for almost an hour and a half. Ana and I crossed our fingers, hoping that the young Swiss boy would have more luck. But as he was walked away, rejected a second time, I could see tears welling up in his eyes. For the KGB agents, it was a very successful night.