This series will look into the dark depths of notorious Berlin club, Berghain with a collection of stories from Australian visitors following the revelations of head bouncer, Sven Marquardt in his personal memoirs.

I finally submitted to the rite of passage that is the ‘Euro Trip’ this year. Besides frantically saving by working what could be described as working full time hours at a call centre or selling your soul to Do Not Call Registrar hell, I was obviously really excited about the new scary world of foreign clubbing.

On the list of places of any house and techno enthusiast’s bucket list is visiting Berlin and of course, getting into Berghain. I made sure to whet my appetite by heading down to Watergate, ://aboutblank and Melt Festival.

The Saturday night before heading to Berghain, we spent reading every guide on how to get in we could find, from Bloomberg’s unhelpful drivel to Resident Advisor forums, we had the Internet’s advice covered. All-black outfits were ready to go and we set our alarms for 6:30am and got a good night’s rest. The best time to get in is about 7-9am on a Sunday. While I don’t doubt how completely fabulous I am or the fact that I have never been rejected from a club, I wasn’t about to take any chances, especially after that Richie Hawtin mess.

On the empty train to Ostbahnhof my boyfriend coached me on how to say “I don’t speak German’ in German just in case that would save face in front of a bouncer, following that up with a nutritious breakfast of Valium and Red Bull.

It was pretty fucking hot when we got off the train and all around us I could see babes leaving the club and many, including ourselves, just making their way there. I was glad I had packed my Chanel compact to keep me looking fresh. After bumping into a few sad faces from Melbourne painted with bitter Berghain rejection, I was glad I had taken some Valium to keep any anxiety at bay.

Unsurprisingly, a lot of other people had turned to Google to make sure they got in and there was already sea of black leading from the entrance back to a dusty path. We waited for an hour and a half. We didn’t speak to eachother, check our phones or smoke any ciggarettes, they don’t like that. They like people who are serious, cool and then asserting their authority over you. Girls in floral dresses, guys in fedoras and lots of people wearing colours and stone-washed jeans got turned down. It was swift and painless, they merely walked up, got a firm “No” and walked home.

Having to catch a flight the next day, I was both happy with getting rejected and mortified at the possibiity. Sure, I’d get to sleep in and not be a sweaty, coming down mess on a plane but what kind of visit to Berlin would it be if I didn’t see Berghain.

The valium, the all-black outfit, the runners, the grey hair and the pretending I was really cool all worked in my favour and I got in with zero trouble from Sven (even though he is just as terrifying in person as he is on Google Images). After being patted down (not even in the dark room yet) we walked in and kind of giggled and squealed while Marcell Dettman drowned us out. It was time to find drugs.

I saw no security guards but the only rule seemed to be ‘No iPhones on our dance floors’. People were drinking Club-Mate, smoking inside and it was so hot that everyone had dumped half the clothing they walked in with. The smokers rooms were empty and a good place to get your head together, and if you find yourself committing to a 12 hour stint, you’ll be taken care of with the in-house cafe serving essentials like sandwiches and ice cream around the clock.

We had heard it was pretty easy to find drugs, so we walked in the bathroom and just asked. A self professed regular, tall, buff and shirtless bloke pointed us into the direction of the Panorama Bar toilets. It wasn’t hard, we just looked for a guy with a bucket hat, and just like that we had in our possession some really strong German pills.

My memory gets a little hazy after half an hour… What I do remember is spending hours in the empty smokers room trying to get a grasp on my heartbeat and chain smoking. After making munted conversation with a Bavarian guy, Michael who thought it was pretty impressive we were from Australia, it was time to actually spend some time inside.

DVS1 saw the blinds open in Panorama Bar for a few horrific moments of sunshine induced self loathing. That was easily taken care of by heading downstairs, back into the darkness of Berghain where Steffi was now playing. 40 year old shirtless men covered in tattoos, petite girls matching the 130bpm techno with their dancing and generally cool German looking people filled the room.

They say you’re supposed to push past that drop in energy that happens to you after being at Berghain for 8 hours, but when the Panorama bathrooms closed and our energy supplies ran dry  we decided it was time to get the fuck out of there and probably pack for our flight.

I must admit, I was unsure whether or not to be impressed that I was successful with my first attempt at getting in to Berghain, it’s been done before and it will be done again. Then I met my taxi driver home. “You got in on your first time?! Oh my god that’s so cool, you can tell everyone when you get back home!” And if I impressed a local German, I deem it impressive.

My last bits of advice are, sunglasses – bring them, keep a tenner aside for the cab home and definitely be lame and get a photo out the front, even just to make your Facebook frenemies jealous.

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