Berliner Luft is a popular peppermint-flavoured shot downed in the city’s bars. It also means Berlin Air and is a colloquialism for the city’s spirit of unfettered freedom and rebellious abandon. Given what this city went through, reduced to rubble by the furious Russians at the end of world war two, and then rent in two for more than 40 years during the Cold War, it’s not surprising that after the Berlin Wall came down in 1989, the populace needed to let off steam.
The city became Germany’s pressure release valve, famed for its annual techno Love Parade, weekend-long raves – starting at 7 a.m. on a Sunday morning is a particularly popular slot, apparently – relaxed alcohol laws and open drinking on the streets, kinky parties, and more. A unified Berlin in party mode became the template.
During my most recent visit, though, I’ve been struck by how the city remains divided. Not between West and East, clearly, but between gentrified global Berlin and traditional Germanic Berlin. I got a taste of this as soon as I got off my flight with RyanAir (one of the unsung heroes of getting us free of lockdown culture). Gone are the three cosy old airports – where you could get a nice pilsner beer and currywurst mit pommes straight outside the terminal door – replaced by a huge soulless monstrosity of an airport. You feel like you could be anywhere in the world (and hence nowhere).
Deep in the city, you encounter a similar thing. Innumerable burger joints, Asian restaurants, card-only-payment Portuguese cafés, wine bars – then more wine bars. You can have to work hard to find a bar selling German beer and traditional fare.
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