From the dance floor of Berghain to Berlin's creative heart, Deirdre Mullins explores the city's art, music and nightlife.
As I danced to the relentless pulse of techno, my mind slipped into a meditative state. Around me, a thousand others moved as one; bodies synchronised to the beat, lost in the same hypnotic rhythm. The collective energy was electric. I was in the Temple of Techno, and Sunday service was in full swing.
The building that houses Berlin's legendary club Berghain feels almost sacred. Cathedral-like, vast, its fifteen-metre ceilings and thick concrete walls rise in brutalist perfection. You could nearly believe it was built for this music, not as the power plant it once was. In the 1950s, it helped fuel the rebuilding of East Berlin; today, it powers something entirely different, the heartbeat of the city's club culture.
There's nothing new about this; humans have been dancing to the beat of drums since the dawn of time. Here, it just happens to be wrapped in concrete, lasers, and a Funktion-One sound system.
Each year, an estimated 200,000 people make it past the club's infamous door. Many queue for hours and still fail to get in, turned away by the club's notoriously strict and highly selective door policy. Reportedly refused entry are Britney Spears, Liam Gallagher, and even Elon Musk, proof that fame and fortune count for little if you don't fit the vibe. Inside are Berliners and clubbers from around the world.
For many visitors, including myself, it's the reason to come to Berlin in the first place: a pilgrimage to Berghain. After the Berlin Wall fell in 1989, the city's abandoned factories and warehouses became playgrounds for artists and DJs.
Berlin's open-ended nightlife laws (clubs can stay open for days) and its cultural support for the arts have made it a global capital of creativity, and nowhere is that more visible than in the electronic music scene. But Berlin's reputation for cool has never been about looking good; it's about freedom.
The city has always drawn musicians, artists, and dreamers, people pulled by its creative pulse and the permission to be unapologetically themselves. It's this edginess that draws me back again and again. Berlin is the kind of place I wish I'd spent a few years living in, but for now, short breaks will have to do.
This weekend I rented an apartment in one of Berlin's coolest neighbourhoods, Kreuzberg. Once known for its squatters and artists, it's now a blend of old-school grit and new creative energy: street art, vintage stores, Turkish markets, and smoky bars. I landed on an early morning flight and spent the day wandering around Kreuzberg, pretending I lived there. Even the traffic lights here have personality; a little green man in a hat, marching you cheerfully across the road.
By lunchtime, I'd found myself in Markthalle Neun, a 19th-century market hall that had been brought back to life as a food lover's paradise. The air smelled of grilled meat and freshly brewed coffee. I sat at one of the long, communal tables, enjoying a mixed barbecue plate and the buzz of conversation, as well as the pleasure of people-watching.
I exited through the back of Markthalle Neun and stumbled upon a cosy neighbourhood bar called Lerchen & Eulen. I hadn't planned on stopping for a drink, but the place seemed to call me in. The café-bar has the feel of someone's living room, with mismatched 70s furniture, exposed brick walls, and soft, amber light. A black cat was curled up on the chair opposite me, and beside me, a man sat alone, smoking, drinking coffee, and writing in a manuscript. It felt unmistakably Berlin.
Afterwards, I continued wandering through Kreuzberg to VOO Store, a minimalist concept shop filled with beautiful things I couldn't afford, such as a Simone Rocha faux fur jacket for €2,155. Still, no harm in looking. Then I lost track of time in the nearby Humana Vintage store. Berlin's vintage shops are some of the best I've seen; endless racks of clothes from every decade, and at prices that make rummaging irresistible.
From there, I followed the tree-lined canal, kicking through the leaves that carpeted the path. Autumn is an excellent time to visit Berlin; with so many trees, the whole city seems to glow gold. I ended up at Ankerklause, a lively pub perched right on the canal, buzzing with early-evening chatter.
Just across from it, I finished the day with dinner at Spindler, a chic canal-side restaurant with great food and genuinely friendly service. The next morning, I set off for another day of exploring, taking the S-Bahn into Mitte. Berlin's public transport is fast, reliable, and easy to navigate once you get used to it.
Mitte, meaning "middle", is the city's historic and commercial heart, home to landmarks like the Brandenburg Gate, Museum Island, and Unter den Linden, which I'd visited on previous trips. This time, I opted for a slower pace, wandering through the Saturday market at Hackescher Markt. The square was filled with stalls selling local produce, crafts, jewellery, and street food.
The air smelled of grilled sausages and coffee as I flipped through old records and bought a handmade bum bag; perfect for holding the essentials at Berghain. Just behind the square lie the Hackesche Höfe, a series of beautifully restored Art Nouveau courtyards from the early 1900s, now home to independent boutiques, small galleries, and cafés.
Besides these elegant courtyards, I wandered into Haus Schwarzenberg, a narrow alleyway bursting with graffiti and colour. The walls were a living canvas; layers of street art, posters, and political stickers covering every inch. Inside were artist studios and a tucked-away bar. I ended up spending some time in ECHO Haus, a small gallery where the walls glowed with projections and mixed-media pieces.
Continuing the art theme, I travelled east to Dark Matter, an immersive light and sound exhibition set in a converted warehouse in Lichtenberg. The space is completely blacked out, and the installations shift, pulse, and shimmer in perfect synchrony with deep, bass-heavy music. There are seven rooms in total, each one like stepping into another dimension.
My favourites were Inverse, where 169 suspended black spheres moved hypnotically like a murmuration of starlings, and Grid, where you could sink into beanbags and watch a carpet of lights ripple overhead in sync with electronic music. After a few hours there, I was tempted to stop by Sisyphos, one of Berlin's most iconic clubs, located next door to Dark Matter. It runs through the weekend, and seeing people drift in and out made it hard to resist. But I wrestled with the temptation and called it an early night; I wanted to be fresh for Berghain the following morning.
In March 2024, Berlin's techno culture was added to Germany's National Inventory of Intangible Cultural Heritage, an official recognition of its cultural importance. Yet in recent years, the city's club scene has been fighting to hold onto its soul. The Berlin that once thrived on freedom, cheap rent, and abandoned spaces is changing fast.
As new apartments, hotels, and offices rise, clubs are disappearing. The city has become a victim of its own success, and the Germans even have a word for it: Clubsterben, "the dying of clubs". After 22 years, Watergate has closed its doors, and both ://about blank and Wilde Renate are under threat; the former from a new hotel development, the latter due to a lease that won't be renewed. Berghain, however, is less vulnerable than most.
Its owners own the building, and its location shields it from noise complaints and real-estate pressure. It's more than a club now, it's a Berlin institution. And as I stood in line on Sunday morning, there was no doubt that Berghain remains the true cathedral of techno.
I'd been a few times before, and while each visit is different, Berghain never fails to cast its spell. It's full of open people, free to express themselves.
There's a strict no-photo policy, and at the door, staff place a sticker over your phone's camera lens, a small gesture that changes everything. Without phones, there's no performance, no pressure to record, just the music, the moment, and the freedom to be whoever you want to be. The atmosphere is electric and uninhibited.
Some come for the music, others for the sexual openness. It's a world of dimly lit corners, fetish-clad dancers, and a sense that almost anything is permitted. Berghain throws open its doors on Saturday and keeps going until Monday morning.
For many, it's the clubbing equivalent of an ultra-distance run rather than a single night out. I danced, I laughed, and met people from all over the world, each of us lost in the same rhythm.
As the bass reverberated through the concrete and sunlight cast beautiful shafts of light across the dance floor of Berghain's Panorama Bar, I was reminded of what keeps me coming back to Berlin: that rare sense of freedom, connection, and possibility.
The city may constantly evolve, but its pulse never fades.
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