On Thursday, November 5, 1992, I arrive in Berlin for the first time since the fall of the wall. It's cold, it's winter in Germany, not surprising. From Tegel airport, the road is not long until the small gay friendly hotel in Kreuzberg.
Heinz's funeral a few weeks earlier in Traben Trarbach, and the one of Christian gone missing the year before in Berlin, was the grim reason for my solo trip.
Just upon arriving in the lobby of my hotel, I was immediately challenged by a new music video on MTV. In Paris, cable was a privilege and MTV was my favorite channel on the big TV which took up all the space in my room. I had to fill out paperwork, sign things… but I was going to miss the extraordinary name of the group welcoming me in Berlin. No, it was written there, all I needed was remembering it; that would be the piece of music associated with my arrival in Berlin: Stereo Mc's - Connected. It was a new sound, a new city and a new me. “Give me a piece of paper and a pencil if you please, I must note the name of this group, maybe I can find the CD”
The memory of the O-Bar in Oranienstraße, five years earlier, was so nice that my first concern, straight after dropping off my luggage in the room, was to return there. A wall that had disfigured the city for so many years had fallen, but all seemed like five years ago. The same kebab shops, the same stores selling leather trousers and the same alternative cafés. It was 4p.m and the bar was not open? They may have even gone bankrupt, but actually not, in the little guide, they said it would open only at 6p.m. What a strange idea! The only bar open in the afternoon that seemed interesting was not very far, but was called "Café Anal". It sounded more like the name of a night bar!
Night was already falling at four o'clock in the afternoon in Berlin but it was even darker inside the café. Cemetery candles were almost the unique light while old dismembered dolls installed across the room were the finishing touch of a cheap gothic decoration.
I was all alone in the cafe with the bartender.
I was in an infernal cave all alone with a little blond angel behind the bar.
Ah, there was no Coca-Cola, and yes I was French and I had just arrived in Berlin and I was surprised that the O-Bar was not open and of course, we could speak French. My German friends back in Paris spoke French with such a slight accent that it was difficult to recognize their origins. My little bartender had a fairly pronounced accent, but spoke very good French and was fascinated by my presence. He had nothing to do but to tell me all the great things I could do in his city. A list of cafes, clubs and activities, not to miss during a stay in the new Berlin, each accompanied by a small map or outline, began quickly to fill several pages. It was already 7p.m and there was still no customers, but my cute blond intended to accompany me to the O-Bar because he had nearly finished his shift. The boy was too small to excite my senses but such an unexpected and pleasant company could not be refused.
It was at that time that I learnt how lucky I was to have arrived on Thursday, the day of the coolest night of the hippest club in Berlin:"The 90 degrees"
Of course, it was forbidden to arrive early, an itinerary composed of several bars on the way was the preliminary of the core business: managing to be able to enter the “90 degrees”. I was delighted to hear that it would have not been a problem for me to get in, but still intrigued by this aspect that reminded me of Paris, in a city that, five years ago, seemed so small to me. Clubs had always fascinated me for how they allowed the materialization of various cultural identity movements; this one materialized a new energy. The music was different; people were never tired and were interested in me. My little guide had gone out of sight for a long time and at 8a.m Friday, November 6, 1992, that’s when I became the new IT BOY Berlin. I realized that only fifteen years later, but I had to move to Berlin straight away.
Today, June 20, 2011, all that is left of the “90 degrees” is the gate.
Right there where you now see a gaping hole, I
was bartending, cloakroom attendant, dealer and DJ but most of it, a
whore, a whore who wanted to finally carefreely enjoy, even the minute
after the last minute, of his unexpected "rebirth". There is no
nostalgia in the contemplation of the ruin of a place so important and
whose entrance I’ve even owned the key for a while; there is only
gratitude for the extraordinary and privileged time I’ve had the chance
to share!
