"Stuck Inside a Malfunctioning Robot" or, "At a Club in Berlin"

Dear Germany,

When dancing, it is best if one moves and preferably with the music.

Sincerely,

Phoebe

Dear Anyone reading this,

Last night was one of my last Saturday nights in Berlin, so after some coercion I found myself paying 10 Euros to get into a place called "Marias". Loud, techno music blasting and lights flashing so quickly they make you queezy. The DJ was stationed up on stage with his own special light, as if he was the main actor in this terrible play. I suppose we're all actors, though. But this DJ thought his techno music was sacred. Without him the show couldn't go on. The important thing to note here is that maybe the show shouldn't have gone on.

I understand why people go to clubs with a little drinky drink or two already in them. The answer is because no sane, sober person would go to this black box of club and stand inches away from unattractive, swaying bald men Saturday night after Saturday night. Once is enough. The whole night I felt like I was stuck inside a malfunctioning robot: we were all dysfunctional parts of a strange robot making sounds as if it were about to explode or crash or just stop roboting.

I can affirm what I've known for awhile: clubs aren't my scene. Clubs in Germany, though good for a social experiment and a good laugh, are also not my scene. And never will be.

I'm looking forward to a week in Prague, wandering in and out of cathedrals, sipping coffee and eating Czech honey cake. Here's to a week off!