The Berghain Doesn’t Have a Morning—Just More Night

Six in the morning on a Monday is, by general consensus among Berlin transplants, curious tourists, and the handful of locals who occasionally venture out from Hohenschönhausen in the city’s distant northeast, the optimal hour to experience the Berghain in its natural state. Germany’s most notorious club—a former East German power plant surrendered entirely to darkness, bass, and whatever else goes on in its darker corners—takes on a particular quality at that hour. Not winding down. Not ending. Just revealed.

Someone went and documented it. The result is exactly as blood-curdling and magnificent as you’d hope: concrete walls, scattered survivors, the specific quality of light that makes everyone look like they’ve been through something. Which they have. The only appropriate response from anyone who’s a regular is a slow blink and a single thought: What, it’s Monday already?