The Berghain Experience: How I Got In My First Time to Berlin

A look inside Berlin’s most exclusive club.

Berghain | Panorama Bar. Photo by Chamomile.

Berghain has recently come under scrutiny for various incidents at the time of writing. All opinions expressed are my own, and this article will focus on the experience of dancing at Berghain, without attachment to political news. I visited Berlin from Toronto October 8-16, 2023. Names of people have been changed for privacy.

Berghain, more accurately “Berghain | Panorama Bar,” is Berlin’s most mysterious, exclusive nightclub. All kinds of legends surround it, and the whisper-tone secrecy of how to get in has crowned it dominantly as The Place to Be.

It’s actually two clubs. From what I remember of it, the place has 4 levels. Berghain takes up the second floor; the third is for Panorama Bar. The place itself is located in a huge, defunct power plant, and its location is a bit out-of-the-way if you don’t drive (not that I saw any place for parking). The closest U-Bahn or S-Bahn stations are both about a 15-minute walk away. The building’s situated on a corner lot that conveniently gives it the privacy it needs for its mysterious undertakings.

Note: no cameras are allowed in Berlin clubs.

Entrance Fee: €26 (Sunday)

Suggested Amount to Take: €70

The Buildup (aka. How Do I Get In?!)

It was complete luck that I even thought to mention Berghain at the dinner table. My friends and I were having a get-together, perhaps talking about clubs, when I said I’d given up even trying to get into Berghain. I meant it as a joke; Berghain was never on my must-do list in Berlin, and I’d already had a taste of club life in this city.

Chamomile looked at me and said, “I can get you in.”

“What?” I said, eyes wide. “You never told me that!”

“All you have to do is ask,” he smiled cheekily.

It turned out Chamomile used to be a regular at Berghain (and Panorama Bar, specifically), owing to the fact his ex was a DJ there. He got to the point the bouncers recognized him and just let him in. Nowadays he doesn’t go as much, but Chamomile is also an amazing drag queen, so I was confident in our chances of entry.

As soon as I saw the bait, I was hooked. There was no way I was leaving Berlin without giving Berghain a go, and I pestered Chamomile frequently to make sure he wouldn’t forget. If we went, it would be Sunday night, and my flight was early Monday morning.

(I say pester, but Chamomile is of the rare soul to take you by the hand and lead you in whatever you want to explore in his field. He told me enthusiastically that if I was curious, he would absolutely support me in discovering the club and myself.)

I’d be the first to say I had some really overpowered advantages. If you’ve never been to Berlin and don’t have someone to “teach” you, it’s still possible to get into Berghain, but it might be harder.

I resolved to myself I wouldn’t drink, smoke, or run off with anybody. I would go purely for the dancing.

Dressing the Part

Sunday night, Chamomile called me over to doll me up properly. I didn’t pack much black clothing, so I borrowed a long-sleeve black bodycon dress and black tights. Chamomile slicked back my hair with body butter and set it with hairspray, then I applied a burgundy lipstick to boot. Chamomile dressed in drag. (From here on, I refer to Chamomile as “she/her,” since she’s in her drag identity.)

“I should’ve brought my green contact lenses!” I said, and Chamomile shouted back, “Yes!!! That’s the vibe!” (Or something like that. Honestly, the line between what is and isn’t “Berghain” is very blurry. Chamomile has another drag queen friend who once showed up to the club in a full-length wedding gown and veil. She cut straight to the front of the line, rasped, “Let me in,” and the bouncers made way. More so than your outfit, place your bets on confidence.)

We were in a rush, since Chamomile’s friend Matcha was also meeting us there, and he’d been waiting for quite a while. I didn’t have any black shoes, so Chamomile told me to wear her size 10 sneakers. I felt a bit silly wearing oversized shoes, but she reassured me it’s just for appearances. I could bring a change of clothes for when we got inside. She threw me her large leather coat as well, and off we went.

We took a taxi and found Matcha smoking a cigarette on location, a couple yards away from the main entrance. Matcha was an easygoing, personable guy, and I got the feeling strangers met up a lot for this kind of thing. It probably wasn’t his first time showing a newbie around.

He warned us he’d been watching for a long time, and the bouncers tonight had been rejecting 90% of people. We might not get in.

(Aside: I will always marvel at the Berliners’ dedication to sticking it out for a club. An hour’s long wait with no guarantee of entry? I get it; after all, I’m here for the fun myself, but an anxious part of me will still say go home and sleep — guaranteed!)

However, I had a gut feeling we would get in. I had a drag queen and a seasoned clubber on my side; how could we not? Interestingly, I was less nervous there than during all the prep beforehand. I knew these two would protect me, and I’m glad I was right.

We made our way toward the door.

The Lineup

There was no lineup. Can you believe it?!

Chamomile said Sunday night is when the locals arrive. Everyone else who’d wanted to get in had already tried. She reminded me it’s all about putting on a show; you have to act like you do this all the time, and that it’s nothing big. Once you’re inside, it doesn’t matter what you do or wear.

I walked silently in front of them along the stanchions while Matcha helped Chamomile in her heels. The bouncer stared at us steadily. I was still surprisingly calm and at ease, but I did look back several times to indicate I was with them.

The bouncer asked us how many. We let Chamomile do the talking. I felt even more petite next to my two tall friends and the equally tall bouncer. He asked something else I don’t remember. There was a pause as he gave us each the once-over again. The air stood still.

Then he turned to his colleague, gave a little shrug, and unhooked the stanchion rope.

We were in!!!

Security

Berghain really is on another level. Once we made it past the door, we were met by airport security.

Just kidding. Berghain security. (But it felt exactly like airport security.)

There was a room to the left where a girl asked to check all our belongings. She was thorough, too, not leaving any pocket or sleeve unturned. Another guy patted us down next to her. I’ve learned you aren’t supposed to bring drugs or illegal items into the club, but drug use in Berlin is secret to nobody, and there are ways of sneaking it inside even with the bag check. I’d argue some might even turn a blind eye to it.

I rushed to catch up with my friends at the box office. The entrance fee was a whopping €26. I gave €30, and the guy huffily tossed back €4 in coins. When I say “tossed,” I mean tossed. The coins rolled fervently across the desk on their sides, and I scooped them up before it turned into an embarrassing pick-up-from-the-floor situation. Look cool, I thought. You’re almost there.

I was aware of my pink My Melody wallet, but I doubted they’d double back on me at this point.

Finally, I joined Chamomile and Matcha through the final door and found myself in a whole new world.

Coat Check

The place was dark and bustling and reminded me of a cave. Pounding music poured through the walls, muffled by the temporary separation.

Along the back wall were cement or concrete blocks and benches that acted as a changing area. People either stripped or layered on, and I definitely saw more colour now than outside. I hurriedly peeled off my tights — Chamomile said they’d be too hot — and put on my own sneakers.

Coat check in the corner was large and deep. You would think you’re attending a concert, which I guess you are. We paid, and I gave my jacket and bags to the attendant and, on second thought, my wallet. I was worried about it, but I’d brought a secret stash of cash in the underwear pocket my mom had sewn for me (thank you, Mom!), and I’d left my bank cards at the hostel, so I figured checking it in would be safer than keeping it on me while dancing. Plus, I had no pockets on my outfit. I don’t remember what I did with my phone; I might’ve slipped it into the same underwear pocket as my cash.

Next to coat check were the first-floor toilets, and I recommend using these ones for least disturbance. The other toilets in Berghain are crowded with people doing who knows what, and you’ll be waiting for at least half an hour to get an actual pee in.

Chamomile and Matcha told me repeatedly to stay with them; they would look after me. I felt safe and ready to discover this secret playground.

Inside the Club — The Berghain Bar

The layout is built in such a way that it would take a frequent visitor to figure out all the nooks and crannies. Chamomile led me by the hand expertly, Matcha heading up the rear, up the stairs and to the main Berghain dancefloor.

What. A. Sight.

I can’t describe it in all its glory because that’s what it was: glorious. In a sea of flashing red and blue LED lights, people danced. Half-naked, in black or colour or latex … whatever floated their boats. It was still very, very dark, much more than the coat check area.

But the sounds!

The beat drummed through you to the core. My inner party animal went wild.

They took me to the bar first, where Chamomile ordered us both a drink. I opted for something non-alcoholic, a fizzy, lemony tea mix. The bartender recognized Chamomile, and they kissed each other on the cheeks.

“Look, art,” Matcha said, referring to the bartender. The bartender was naked. As in, fully butt naked. I had no idea what I’d be in for at Berghain, but I wasn’t so much surprised as amused. If you’re not open to anything and everything happening at a Berlin club (as long as you keep yourself safe), then you might want to look elsewhere for entertainment. Right now, I was loving it. Chamomile introduced me, and we shook friendly hands and shared a kiss on the cheek too.

We sat down to wait for our drinks, and Matcha cheekily nudged me to look at the countertop. “Art,” he said again. The glass countertop was hollow beneath, and I glanced down to see an orgy of naked bodies suspended in climax. Have you ever seen pocket watch engravings or miniature ship models at a museum? That’s what it looked like, except blown up to doll size and featuring sex. The case was lit up to make sure every last detail was illuminated.

Once we got our drinks, Chamomile took us to her favourite place, Panorama Bar.

Inside the Club — Panorama Bar

Panorama Bar is on another floor up. The space is smaller, and the music was distinctly different from Berghain, but it was equally crowded. I learned from Chamomile the music here tends to be more “feminine.” Consequently, it attracts more gay partyers. That doesn’t mean the dancing or the beat were any less intense. We centered ourselves near the front and dived into the music. Drinks lined the edge of the DJ’s porch. Chamomile told me to never lose sight of her and Matcha.

Eventually, we made friends with the group of people around us. As one of them said, “We’ve been dancing next to each other all night; I should know your name.” And with another friendly handshake and smile, connection had been made.

What Chamomile said she loves about clubbing are the people and the connections. She is a dancer in love with the body, and I can tell just from watching her that this is her life passion: grooving to the beat, meeting others, sharing a space with so many “beautiful, sexy people.”

And they were, indeed, beautiful and sexy people. I saw it; everyone saw it. There’s something about being able to let go and revel in who you are without fear of judgment that brings out the sexiest side of you. Amidst the sweaty bodies and heavy panting, I was surrounded by “sexy” without the sex. It was eye-opening. This was a whole new level of expression. I could see right there and then where Chamomile gets her inspiration for her own artistic practice.

This isn’t to say there was no sex happening. Of course there was. There was lots of flirting too, which Chamomile pointed out laughingly. The point is, sexy can exist without sex, and if you want sex, there are dedicated spaces for that in the building. Matcha and Chamomile took me on a brief interlude through these spaces, which I’ll go into later.

On a personal level, I think I was astounded most by how magnetic Chamomile was. Wherever she was, people went to her. People saw her. Chamomile is already a tall person, and with her heels she stood at least a foot taller than everyone else. Her thick ponytail swayed in figure-eights to the music. Her dancing was powerful, attractive. It’s only natural that everyone gravitated to her. She was fielding compliments left and right. That is the mark of someone who knows their power and runs with it. At one point, she also started a cheer for the DJ.

She showed me her favourite spot within Panorama Bar, which is on the windowsill. She liked having everyone see her, to see who she is. I clambered up as well and went to town on that windowsill, sharing the narrow ledge with various people who took inspiration. It was so fun! Having a top view of the crowd, exchanging smiles with your partner of the moment, being as juicy as you wanted.

These windows are actually the ones you see from the front of the building. If you look at my cover photo for this article, the ones with the bright red lights are Panorama Bar. We were there!

With my new view of the space, I saw an island bar further back (hence the name). The room ran deeper than I initially thought in sort of an L-shape. There was a semi-private rest area you accessed through a wraparound corridor, and when we checked it out, it turned out to be literal cubic holes in the wall. Couples sat inside chilling or talking.

I stayed on that ledge for the rest of my time in Panorama Bar. I’m not one to put myself in the limelight at first try, so I took this opportunity as a means of experimenting with my boundaries. Chamomile gave me encouragement, saying it’s so beautiful seeing me discover new things. She gave me further tips on her personal dance moves and grooves.

When I see Panorama Bar in my mind’s eye, it’s veiled in a blue-purple aura. Whether from time or actual effects, everything seemed a bit hazy, as was the case in most clubs I’d visited.

We were in Panorama Bar for a long time, and finally I hopped down and said I wanted to try Berghain. From my first clubbing adventure in Berlin, I’d already realized my preferences, and I was eager to engage in the heavy down beats of Berghain more than the melodic tunes of Panorama Bar.

Inside the Club — Berghain

As soon as I started dancing in Berghain, I knew this was my place.

At the top of the staircase leading down from Panorama Bar was a private balcony for Berghain’s lighting technician. My stagehand brain immediately kicked in, and from what I know of lights, I figured his board was probably a grandMA2 or MA3. The grandMA series hosts the standard boards in the industry for concerts and particularly music events.

Matcha stayed in Panorama Bar, so Chamomile snaked me through to the front of the Berghain crowd, on another ledge next to the DJ. The ledge was crowded, but we managed to squeeze in. From here, we danced once again, and I looked over the bopping crowd. Flashes of red, blue, and violet erupted overhead. Latex straps on bodies everywhere. Sexy, sexy, sexy.

There’s an energy in Berghain and Panorama Bar that’s different from the usual club vibe, even in Berlin. They go more than all out; it’s like they’ve released their soul and fully entrusted it to the music gods and heaven above. Intoxicating.

I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol by this time at all, and I’d barely touched my drink. I was surviving solely on sweat and the love of dance. I wanted to remain clearheaded, partly because I had a flight the next morning and also to remember the little things afterward. Personally, I’ve found I actually remember more details when I’m drunk than when I’m not (from a sheer determination to remain coherent), but that wasn’t a risk I was willing to take.

Music, lights, exhilaration.

Berghain is darker than Panorama Bar. Everything in the building seemed to be painted black.

I got more and more hyped up the longer I stayed. When we first passed by, I’d been intrigued by a huge block at the back where people danced on. I wanted to dance there too, so I told Chamomile. She happily led the way, and I stepped onto the platform.

I liked this vantage point much better. Maybe I’m still a bit shy in front of people, or maybe I wanted to feel being a part of something, but the sense of unity I felt with the crowd here was different from standing at the front of Berghain or in Panorama Bar. I officially had a favourite spot.

Chamomile wanted to find Matcha for goodbyes, since it was getting late, and I nodded my consent at being left alone for a bit. This entire time, nobody had touched me inappropriately, and nobody purposely invaded my space. This ideal of Berlin club culture I will always be a fan of.

I turned my proud nerd brain on again and analyzed the light show while dancing. I had a great view of the effects from here, and I realized the club had moving lights installed. Moving lights in theatre are just that — moving lights. They’re fluid and can do about anything you want them to. What impressed the most was how the lighting was so specific to the beat of the music. German culture is very specific in general, but even in other Berlin clubs, I hadn’t seen such intentional lighting. For a similar event back home, it’s common for the technician to put on a random effect sequence already programmed in the board. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. My budding technician heart sent thanks into the air for letting me see this show.

Chamomile took a long time to return. I didn’t mind, though my calves were aching now. It takes muscles to dance and different muscles to keep in your own space to dance. When she did, she said she couldn’t find Matcha, but that he’d probably be alright if we left. I wanted to say goodbye to him and make sure he was alright, but it’s true I had a flight to catch, and I knew Chamomile had his contact. Matcha was also no stranger to club culture. (In hindsight, I still wish I’d gotten to thank him in person. If you go clubbing with someone, please don’t leave them; or, if you have to, make absolutely sure they can take care of themself.) My concerns were assuaged when Chamomile said she’d give me Matcha’s contact to thank him later. It’s an interesting place, these clubs. Connections are made and are just as soon lost.

I took a last look at Berghain around me and followed Chamomile out. Before we finish this article off, let’s take a look at the other playful nooks of Berghain.

The Ice Cream & Smoothie Bar

Did you expect this? I was certainly surprised when Chamomile told me there’s an ice cream bar in the club. It serves as a rest area to replenish those calories, especially for people who party the whole weekend through. Remember, you leave the club, you’re done. There’s no re-entry.

Chamomile and Matcha took me on a tour of the rest of building in the middle of all this. I felt like I was being let in on the juiciest secrets of the world with the best guides.

The ice cream bar is located on a little landing on the fourth floor. Couches line the walls, and the music is muffled here. Definitely the most peaceful place in all of Berghain.

We bumped into one of our new friends from Panorama Bar again here, the one who’d been dancing beside me most of the time. He came up and slung his arm across my shoulder, and I instinctively jumped a bit. The poor man looked horrified and immediately apologized for “touching me without consent” — his words. Despite the touch, I was impressed with his sincerity. Plus, I knew he didn’t have any intentions toward me because he was clearly more interested in Chamomile ;)

I didn’t get anything from the bar, though I kind of wish I had now.

Looking around, I recognized many people I’d seen in the past couple hours. If I go back, I’ll make it a mission to strike up a conversation with someone.

The Dark Rooms

Perhaps the most mysterious of all things Berghain.

The Dark Rooms are exactly their name. They are dark rooms located inconspicuously off the main floor for people to go at it in.

Matcha took my hand and led me nonchalantly through one of them. Chamomile followed behind. There were more individual cubic pods in the wall like behind Panorama Bar, and in the center was something that resembled a cement bed, with a light hanging over it. The more I think about it, the more I realize the building is structured like an ant nest. We saw a gay couple at the bed, one giving the other a handjob.

“Hmm,” Matcha mused. “It’s brighter than it usually is.”

We heard other couples in the darker corners and skirted along the edge of the room to exit the other way. Forgive me! This is a field trip, I silently prayed, hoping I hadn’t disturbed them.

What catches you off guard is not the sex but the smell. Whooey! That’s a pungent odour. It’s the smell of sex if you’ve never washed up after yourselves, and I feel sure there isn’t too much cleaning going on in those rooms.

Someone joked that you’d need antibiotics after a Berghain trip. Honestly, I can believe that…

Another Rest Corridor

After The Dark Rooms, my friends brought me along another dingy corridor with benches and platforms for resting. The atmosphere was intimate, with people speaking softly amongst themselves. Matcha and Chamomile gave me more intel into the Berghain nightlife, such as if I want to strike up a conversation with someone, complimenting their outfit is always a good way to start.

“Don’t be afraid to talk to people,” Chamomile preached.

They’d told me these people come from all walks of life. “Some of them work for the government,” added Chamomile. You can meet anyone and everyone at Berghain.

Toilet Culture

Waiting for the toilet was horrendous. The floors were gross, and Chamomile told me that proper raver shoes have high platforms in part to prevent the ickiness of these floors.

Berlin toilet culture is a different beast. People do drugs here, smoke here, have sex here; they do it all. There was some sort of makeshift lineup, but it didn’t help because people would stay in their spot to chat, and then others behind would move ahead to lean against the vacant railings, etc. Matcha actually had a tiny altercation with some guys around us when we couldn’t figure out who was here first. We also met a hairdresser my friends knew in line.

We were in there for at least half an hour, I dare say, waiting for somebody to come out. The Berghain toilets are all unisex, as far as I saw. Matcha thumped on the door of a stall several times and leaned his head over to see what was happening. I think there was a couple having sex. He gave us a look of exasperation. Eventually he made me knock and yell, “I need to use the toilet!”

Finally they came out, and I grinned and bore it as I gingerly used the equally dirty toilet stall.

This specific toilet area was very bright, bizarrely so compared to the rest of Berghain. It was painted a yellowing shade of green. I could actually see what everyone looked like without the influence of LEDs.

Moral of the story: if you need to go, go first, at coat check. If you can hold it, wait until you’re home. If you need the toilet for something other, well, that’s up to you. A tube of hand sanitizer would’ve been great right then.

A Little Flirtatious Thing That Happened

Throughout the night, we kept bumping into people Chamomile knew. There was one guy who, upon learning it was my first time, blurted good-naturedly, “Ahhh!!! You’re a Berghain virgin!”

I’d heard that phrase several times now: “Berghain virgin.” I guess for many, it is a rite of passage. I beamed at the label, feeling a bit like a little baby girl and considering myself lucky that my official hazing had gone so smoothly with Chamomile and Matcha by my side.

It was while we were talking to one of these people in the middle of the corridor that I felt a hand press gently against the small of my back, and a group of men passed around us. I knew it was meant as a get-out-of-the-way-I-don’t-want-to-bump-into-you gesture … or at least I thought so.

The guy who’d brushed past me was quite attractive from the split second I got a look at him. He wore a turquoise bucket hat, some shorts or underwear, and not much else. His mates had gotten the same memo. I glanced up at him over our friend’s shoulder, our eyes met, and we exchanged a brief flirtatious smile.

Then he rounded the corner and was gone.

Chamomile was right. There’s so much flirting that goes on with the eyes, the body, everything. If I’d been a seasoned clubber and had the confidence to match, I might’ve followed him right there. Who knows?

(But never forget consent!)

Other Secret Places?!

This is as far as my knowledge goes. I’ve seen online that apparently there’s a ball pit, water slide, and other fun stuff. No wonder people keep going back; it’s an endless maze in there.

Heading Out

Thankfully my wallet was still with the rest of my belongings at coat check. It was that time; more people were leaving. A happy man next to us struck up conversation. It turned out it was also his first time. “I came all the way from India just for Berghain!” He proclaimed with a wide smile.

I marveled at his tenacity. Just for Berghain? What if he didn’t get in? What would he have done?? I chuckled to myself at the bizarreness of everything I’d been through that night.

After changing into my bright street clothes, we stumbled into the quiet night. I wondered if bouncers found it weird that people came out looking nothing like when they’d come in. They’re probably used to it.

Still coming down from my adrenaline high, I asked Chamomile to take a photo of me outside Berghain. If I couldn’t take photos inside, I’d at least get this one proof I was here.

I thanked Chamomile profusely once again for her generosity and got Matcha’s contact to thank him later as well. There were a line of taxis waiting idly by the road, and Chamomile put me in one.

The timing was perfect. It was about 3:30 AM. I had just enough time to return to my hostel, shower, pack, and take the train to the airport for my 8 AM flight.

Yup, you heard it. Berghain, shower, flight. As they do, right?

It was a wild, wild time and definitely the highlight of my Berlin trip. Quite a difference from my low point just a couple days ago.

My friends have confirmed, and I will say, that Berghain is still very white. Don’t let that deter you if you really want to go; it’s just something you might want to be aware of.

Again, the club has recently been called out for a number of incidents politically, and I encourage all readers to do their own research to decide if they should go.

From my own singular experience without the influence of alcohol, cigarettes, or drugs, Berghain was still an amazing experience for dancing and excitement. My biggest gratitude goes out to Chamomile and Matcha for taking me under their wings and being so protective of me. They (almost) never let me out of their sight, and they always held my hand or kept me close whenever we moved locations.

I’ve been at clubs before where “friends” I’d known for years didn’t treat me with the same respect and care as these two did. The importance of having someone you trust at a messy place like a nightclub cannot be understated. It can make or break the experience.

One thing’s for sure: there’s nothing quite like Berghain.

Recap

In short, my cheat sheet for getting into Berghain is:

Have a trusted friend/local take you, preferably a regular of Berghain (if they’re a drag queen, even better!).
“Put on a show.” Dress in all black, Berghain-style. Think: fur, gold necklaces, cheetah prints (in black). Don’t forget the little things! Take a black bag for a change of clothes, maybe even switch your wallet to a nice black leather one if you want to be extra detailed. Oh, and shades. Not necessary; it adds to the look, but it’s mostly for protecting your eyes from the flashing lights.
Go on a Sunday night. It’s when the locals go to avoid the tourist crowds, and there’ll be less of a line, since most clubs close by Monday morning.
Behave yourself in line. Remember, you do this all the time.
Save the giddiness for after you pass security (yes, there’s another round!).

*Note: if somehow you can get on the VIP list, then you don’t need this cheat sheet. You are the cheat sheet.

Some additional tips & tricks for all clubs:

Only bring enough cash you’d be willing to lose (drink money aside, you never know if you’ll encounter petty theft).
Pockets, pockets, pockets!!! You can get creative with this. Hidden underwear or bra pouches or those cool Prada boots with the strap-on coin wallets all work.
Forget the full-face makeup. If you’re dancing in Berlin, you’ll be sweating it off in no time. A bit of eyeshadow and/or lipstick will do just fine.
Same with high heels. Leave them at home if you’re planning on dancing for a while.

Extra: My Berghain entrance wristlet!

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