Berlin the start to Chaos
If you are like I was living in Chicago, cold, tired of dealing with shitty customers, and needing an escape, then I suggest taking a trip. If you are one of those types that feels the need to get crazy in the late night hours, then I have the perfect trip for you. There is a train that goes from Berlin, to Prague, to Budapest and thank god for it. This is the trouble vain as I like to call it. Don’t get me wrong, there are a million places in Europe with world renown destinations for nightlife, but just trust me. This is the trip you wanna take.
When summertime hits and those coats and sweaters and gloves and long johns start to make their way to the big box in your closet thats marked “Winter Clothes” in black sharpie you will be happy that you spent that winter hunkered down saving your tips instead of blowing them at the local watering hole closest to your house, because you will have a hell of a time coming your way.
Oh boy oh boy oh boy
See first you land in Berlin. It can get a bit sticky in these parts. You won’t know what to expect. If you are smart you got yourself an Airbnb. Somewhere in the center, maybe like me, you land your ass at Alexanderplatz. You did it, you are here. Berlin, all around you is a cement complex clearly where A LOT of Russian soldiers were housed during the Cold War. Shake it off. Berlin has it all for you baby. You put on 6LACK and start to enjoy that German concrete under your feet.
Then you hit the clubs. Maybe its a Tuesday and you wanna hear that good shit. That live shit. That touch your soul and bring you alive shit. That Swag Jam. It’s 8 euro, but the drinks are crazy cheap and The Swag Band will, like I said, bring you to life. You won’t believe that you can find such true school hip hop halfway around the world, but that’s because your American, that’s okay, we just don’t know any better.
Maybe you end up hopping up and grabbing the mic. Maybe you hadn’t performed in years. But maybe baby it’s Berlin, they appreciate you. You smoke a spliff with a couple of French Dj’s, they don’t speak english but you speak hip hop so it’s all okay. A couple of Turkish wise guys sit in the corner with a handful of hipster kids. Germans don’t dance…they march…but at the Swag jam they dance.
Maybe it’s a weekend so you crush it in Kreuzberg with all the cool kids after spending an afternoon tripping and stripping all over Prenzlauer Berg and into Mitte. Their marching over near the river. You don’t know for what, but a dude has a sign with a big vagina painted surprisingly true to form.
You wanna club tonight, you want to go hard tonight. You keep hearing about what happens on the weekends in Berlin. They tell you to dress down. Nothing flashy. This isn’t Italy. Black t-shirt, black jeans or joggers, black sneakers, black hoodie, black hat. Easy enough.
You airbnb host takes you to a club…well a funhouse really. Renate. “It’s my favorite, it will be yours too,” he says. Quiet in the line. Don’t say a peep. You could be there for hours. They don’t care…shut up. This is Berlin.
You walk in. It’s a big courtyard decorated in post apocalyptic chic. You don’t hear anything. A couple lays in each others arms under a tree. You clean your glasses to make sure you are seeing clearly. There’s a sign that says “Eat More Pussy” a small beer stand sits under it, you get a drink. Then you start to feel the bass. You aren’t sure at first but you think the opening to your right is where you are heading.
Your 4 euro beer gives you hope
You enter and there you are. It isn’t a club, it’s a damn funhouse. A sick and twisted sexy dilapidated clubhouse, with god knows how many different rooms, with different Dj’s in each room. Berliner youths marching (because they aren’t much for dancing) to the beat. You start to kick it, you keep exploring. Are you tripping? Maybe. They hang from the chandeliers in this place. Grungy kids making out under a neon sign of the cross. Before you know it, nothing surprises you. A naked Chinaman runs by you down one of the elaborate hallways…sure, why not. You make out with a bridesmaid while waiting for a couple of jokers to get done doing blow in the bathroom. You dance like they do back home. Shit gets real. You almost had to clothesline some wiseacre who clearly had too much Molly, but you have no fear, because you’re an American and we shoot people back home so there is no worry.
The night moves on. You never had a night were 60 bucks covered your whole night out. You find yourself at around five in the mourning in deep conversation with this gorgeous Spanish women about love and partnership. The two of you have been hiding in a little nook for two that you have to climb up the wall to get to. You cheers shots…make sure to look them in the eye when you do, it’s a sign of disrespect to look away. You make out for a minute…the bucket list is getting some checks on this night.
Part two…in Prague tomorrow.