It’s Sunday afternoon and the party’s still going at Berlin’s world-famous techno club, Berghain. Beats emanate from heavily guarded doors as a few black-clad clubbers sit around smoking on the concrete outside.
I should say at this point, I’m not one of them, but it’s because of places like this that Berlin is a clubber’s paradise. Though I know it’s a cardinal sin, I snap a picture as I walk by, causing a huge, punk-dressed bouncer to bark at me to put my phone away.
