Berlin's Derelict Beauty

Berlin’s club culture is a sneaky bugger, as are most of the places worth finding in Berlin. This isn’t London, with garish signs made of obnoxious neon lights. No, here you have to be in tune with your instincts and think like the strong silent type. Keep your ear to the ground, listen for the buffalo. Which way’s the wind blowing? Aha! There, that back alley that’s the place, I guarantee you. How? Trust me. This isn’t Christianity, sometimes having faith does pay, and in this case it certainly did. The first rule of Panorama Bar is; you do not talk about Panorama Bar. The second rule of Panorama Bar is; you do not talk about Panorama Bar. Im not at liberty to say where exactly this rainbow lit warehouse of twisted dreams is, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. This is not the sort of club you get directions to. Oh no. This is the type of Club that finds you, if you’re worthy. So, were we?

East Berlin. Ostbahnhof station. We stumble upon a working-class darts bar. A men’s club for hard grafters. We obviously don’t belong here and after a night of asking apathetic Germans, “where’s Panorama bar?” we’re sure to get no welcoming vibe in this incestuous pit. How wrong we were. The third rule of Panorama Bar is; don’t judge foreigners by English standards. We’re not in Panorama Bar yet but the host of this little establishment is more than inviting; it always pays to have a blonde with you. His German still sounds abusive, but there’s no doubt of his willingness as he encourages his mate who was happily propping up the bar before our entry, to fetch us some beers. But these aren’t just beers; these are pint and half glasses full to the brim of cool crisp Berliner Weisse wonder, all for just 2 Euros. Good stuff. After broken dialect on both sides we’re wooed further with some sort of regional liquor, a peppermint spirit that slips down the oesophagus like liquid toothpaste.

We leave. Our focus is impaired. That’s fine. It probably helps us as we fall upon our holy grail. The fourth rule of Panorama Bar is; digital cameras are confiscated at the iron door entrance. No Google images here. Word of mouth is the best form of advertising. Steel steps and corridors of peeling wallpaper are packed with paying nations spouting all sorts of gibberish. What was this building before its makeover? No, that’s misleading, more like a takeover. A forced intervention by some psychosomatic European raver’s on a poor unsuspecting abandoned building. That’s the beauty of Berlin. The intuition of artists and musicians to set up shop in such derelict structures as this and use the space however they see creatively fit. And more importantly the freedom they have to do so. No health and safety regulations here. No hard hats provided. Keep your wits about you and trust your instincts. When you walk around this city, day or night, in just a few steps, you can go from a vibrant, graffiti filled street packed with colour and visual noise, to a deserted, melancholy council blocks full of bombed hopes and dreams, empty except for the malaise.

We enter what must be the main room. The fifth rule of Panorama Bar is; you know it’s going to be an interesting night when you see transsexual strippers sitting inside speakers, pulling pills out of their panties. Quite a sight. The steady thump of European Techno pumps away from stacks twice the size of your average man. But there are no average men or women here, no ladies or gentlemen, just the weird elite of Berlin’s club subculture. And you can sense these party fiends are just hotting up. Wetting their appetite. The place stinks of smoke, brilliant. What a welcome smell filling us with nostalgia of old civil rights and public freedom. After the ban in England most clubs now reek of sweat, vomit and stale beer. I know what I prefer. Indeed we have arrived. We get our groove on and there’s a subtle undertone of unity and mutual understanding between everyone in the high ceiling space. We’re all here for a good time, and unlike in London we’re all going to help each other have it. After the first hour and a disco biscuit later we sit down for a quick rest and casually observe the human sized picture of a pussy on the far wall. Garish for the sake of garish. How Postmodern.

We survey the scene. The sixth rule of Panorama Bar is; the club dancefloor reflects the city streets – you’ve got room to breathe. You can move through the crowds without getting elbowed in the ribs by angry shape-cutters or egotistical businessmen. In the unisex toilets girls and boys alike have time for conversation rather than rushing for the tube and only concentrating on their individual destinations. The seventh rule of Panorama Bar is; don’t judge Germans by English standards. This war torn city has learnt its lessons from pissing off the rest of the world, twice. Perhaps if the Middle East conflict ever resolves itself or if Bush makes as big a balls up as Hitler did, which arguably he has but its less easy to recognize because of all the paid for bullshit these days. Or if English politicians such as Blair and Brown grow a pair between them, then maybe just maybe we in the UK can be as free and forgiving as those in Germany.

No time to get sentimental though. Orchestral horns chorus a pounding bassline. The eighth rule of Panorama Bar is; Gregorian chant and minimal Techno is a lethal concoction only for the most refined musical palette. And we’ve definitely got that. The tempo slowly but surely increases as we become loose of mind and tongue. Beer, wine, drop. Beer, wine, drop. Drop beats, not bombs. Drop acid, not bombs. Drop judgements, not bombs. Join in, let go. Limbs to and fro. The throng of people flow in the unspoken communication of body language.

The ninth rule of Panorama Bar is; it stays open until the last person leaves. The windows are blacked out so you forget about night and day. Time has no relevance here, only the subtle certainty of seamless mixing. One track merges into the other without as much as a hint. You’re in for the long haul my friend so stop clock watching and just dance. We break down the language barrier as the doors of perception open. Have time for humans and hallucinations alike. Don’t dismiss people and accordion playing panda bears just because you’re not familiar with the dialogue. Stop, collaborate and listen.

The tenth rule of Panorama Bar is; when a whole nation has been persuaded into persecuting an entire race they hold very little against unfamiliar foreigners, quite the contrary. Maybe all countries need to admit to falling into the darkest depths of discrimination, in order to climb out of the rabbit hole and learn to be open minded and less easily led. And it’s not that Germany’s still paying for its mistakes, not at all, rather it’s realised. It’s realised she has been stripped bare, economically, politically and socially raped – to be made a global example of. Therefore it’s evident that from nothingness comes everything. Rebuilt trust between the people of the homeland with honest communities who openly invite the eclectic myriads it attracts every year. This is why it has grown to be a beacon of diversity for artists and musicians, intellectuals and homeless, students and professionals, all like moths to the flame of its naked capital.

Costa Del Crimen

There's no moment in a mans life when he's more vulnerable than when he's got his dick out and is about to have a piss. Therefore this is the worst possible time to get your head slammed against the urinal by a coked up English thug in Costa Del Sol. Its my fault really, i mean who in their right mind drinks in an Irish pub called Shenanigans? Be you English, Irish or Spanish. But what does one do against a steroid fuelled fool out to prove a point. Knife? No, too Crocadile Dundee. Gun? No, too gangster. Mace? Yes, it's quick, quiet and i'd happily mace any poor bastard that tried to take advantage in the private sanctuary of the gentlemen's toilet.

So what is it about the South coast of Spain that attracts the rich and ravenous? Well, there's Puerto Banus in Marbella, the extravagent port, whose beauty is only exceeded by its extortion. And of course we have Morocco about 40 miles towards the horizon which allows anyone with a life sentence death wish to smuggle high-grade Cannabis and Columbia's finest cocaine over to these shores. Why come for the weather, which to be fair, is noticably declining thanks to the gaping hole in our o-zone layer. Or you could come for a hike through areas of rich, vibrant landscape with crystal clear water-falls surrounded by every lushous shade of green imaginable. Or the rustic, rural towns in the hills of Granada where the Spanish actually, God forbid, speak Spanish! Yay!

But no. It would appear that people come here to promote good old fashioned English patriotism, with football chants and talking to under-age girls with their crotches. Long live London pride. Sigh.

WORLD AGAINST WAR

Well, not a world, but 10000 people or so gathered in Trafalgar Square at 12pm on Saturday the 15th to talk and listen and repeat themselves. There's no doubt that the western intervention in the Middle East is a very bad thing but a cynic would say that having a minor protest through the streets of London won't change a thing. And they'd probably be right. But a wiser man than i once said that although at the end of the journey the pessimist will be proven right, the optimist will have a better trip.

No, Brown and Bush will not just pull the troops out of Iraq and Afghanistan because a few MP's and Victims of War ask them to, and the conflict in the Middle East will go on regardless but that is no reason for people to stop trying. When good people like you and I, who have no real knowledge of poverty, suffering or pain, sit back and relax into idle lethargy then the battle is already lost. It is easy to understand why those who have been directly affected by the violence in question will gather and march against it, but the cause requires everyone especially those who aren't affected by it, to stand up and say no to occupation. Say no to the probable attack on Iran. Say no to the siege on Gaza. And say no to constantly looking the other way and doing nothing. One of the signs at the protest summed up the situation. "An eye for an eye only leaves the world blind." 

With this in mind i think the war mongers like Condoleezza Rice need to remove their blood gluttonous beer goggles and remove the high-and-mighty military machine of the United States from the Middle East. We've all had those one night stands that when the beer goggles have worn off we immediately regret it and wake up with that dirty sick feeling in the pit of our stomachs. But this misdirected imposing of twisted "values"  has gone on for 6 years now and the headlines still read the same. When will they change?

They won't. But as Tony Benn said, the 2 flames of anger and hope will continue to burn as long as the rape, plunder and pillaging  of the Middle East does. And so we must all inspire each other to not be complacent and use our collective voices to be heard. If we don't the US will persist in enforcing their hypocritical democracy on the rest of the world.