Unscene Berlin

Time now for my long overdue roundup of Silvester parties! Silvester is the German name for New Year's Eve. The name comes from Saint Sylvester, who passed away on 31 December 335. Since his death has become synonymous with one of the biggest celebrations on the German calendar, I assume that old Sylvester must have been a bit badass. I'm picturing a 4th century dilettante, stumbling around a monastery strewn with empty barrels of sekt , his followers draped over their pews with robes askew, groaning in hungover agony. But, historical speculation aside, here is my preview...

Red lights, red wine and a singer in a bowler had and a green sequined scarf. The scarf shimmered like dragon-skin as the singer draped over her face and belted out another middle-eastern gypsy tune. Her voice was a deep, rich vibrato that tied the tinkling, timorous backing instruments together like a snake-charmer's rope. This was Mr. Mostash’s last gig and I was lucky to see it. I was here courtesy of a bemused and slightly winded Hungarian tourist - I'll call him 'Pete'. Pete had sat next to me earlier that night at Cassiopeia, during a screening of Berlin Calling. Once the end credits rolled we shared a bottle of red and asked the usual questions: why are you in Berlin? how long are you staying? what do you like about the city? I liked his answer to this last question the best. “I feel like I renew faster in this city,” he said. Just like that, he managed to capture in words the feeling that I had been struggling to describe for the past two weeks. It's no...