Unscene Berlin

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...