Berlin curfew: how the first night passed

Weserstrasse, Berlin-Neukölln. Shortly before midnight on Friday night, 28-year-old Murat cleans the floor at his “Späti International”. A woman in a long coat, dark makeup eyes, and huge high boots approaches: “Can you still come in here or is it already closed?” – “Yes, but fast, fast,” says Murat and still looks around the street. It’s drizzling lightly, the lights from his store are reflected on the asphalt.

More and more people suddenly stop in front of the “Späti International”. They are dressed in a showy way, they have bottles of champagne and open beer in hand, some smoke marijuana, as you can smell it. Murat now hurries, quickly fills a cooler with beer. “Last round of this year,” yells one. “Beer panic” is what they call it, says another.

The reason for the outbreak of the beer panic is the curfew in Berlin. For the first time since 1949, the shops of Berlin, one of the largest party metropolises in the world, are supposed to be off at night. From 11 pm to 6 am, it must remain closed in the future; Nor is the sale of alcohol allowed at service stations. Anyone who leaves their store open faces a fine of 5,000 euros or more.

Because the rule applies from Saturday, this time it had to close at midnight. In restaurants, pubs, clubs and also in Spätis like Murat’s. You think it’s a disaster. Starting at 11pm on the weekend, it really starts late. On Thursday, Berlin exceeded the magic limit of 50 new infections per 100,000 inhabitants in the last seven days. The city is therefore a risk zone, one of the focal points: Kreuzberg and Neukölln, where Berlin’s nightlife is furious. The 7-day incidence in Neukölln is currently 143.1.

0:15 am

At the end of the block from “Späti International”, the tables in a corner pub are packed. You don’t want to know anything about “midnight” in the shop, you haven’t been informed, says a waitress in English. In fact, there was confusion over the past week as to whether the curfew is from midnight on Saturday morning or not until 11pm. The mayor had clarified this again via Twitter and issued a press release, and yet several bars and restaurants have remained open on the grounds that the curfew will not apply until Saturday night. The place will stay open late today.

Jeannette and Rita leave the pub, both in their 30s. Jeannette doesn’t think much about curfew. “Young people will join in anyway,” he says, if necessary, at someone’s home. Also, politicians should have prepared better because everyone knew that the fall would be critical. Rita contradicts: It is correct that the rules are given from above. In the UK, the elderly are sent home so that the young can have fun. “Here the value system applies that we give up our fun. At night no longer in Berghain in the dark rooms to fuck, so that Grandma can still go to the supermarket.” She believes that it is correct, the boys should do without. The conversation is interrupted by a coca merchant who, confused, asks him if he has ordered.

0:30 am

Kreuzberg, Oranienstrasse. In front of stores like SO36 or opposite Franconia, groups of around 20 people have formed. The blinds are coming down, small groups are outside smoking. A Späti still sells beer indoors, under his hand, a line has formed in front of him. Again and again a patrol passes that does not intervene.

Charlotte runs in a group of five. He is 22 years old, studies cinema in Berlin, pushes his bicycle through the small crowd. “I’m going home now sadly,” he says, “I’ll be back tomorrow, maybe you just have to start earlier from now.” Charlotte says she understands the restrictions, but will be seeing more friends at her apartment again in the near future. Many of the people you meet that night retire to their private apartments to party.

0:45 am

Sonnenallee, Neukölln. A spit of juicy rotisserie chicken spins in a restaurant window. The tables are full despite the curfew. A police car stops, the men are in full swing. They both enter the store, some guests turn around. You are at the bar. Are action being taken here now? “Menu 2”, says the officer to the seller. “Twice? You wanted too, right?” He looks at his colleague, who nods. Then they both leave the store relaxed with their bags of fried chicken. Shouldn’t they have to check it out because the store shouldn’t be open at all? Not responsible, they say.

In fact, the public order office is formally responsible for the curfew, as the Neukölln district office reports. But he is no longer on duty after midnight, so the police take over. However, by the Saturday night curfew in Berlin, additional police forces could not be called in in the districts because they were busy cleaning “Liebig 34”.

1:20 am

Back on Weserstrasse. Brazilian music, Forró, is booming in front of a corner spa. There is dancing. Kim, 27, and Atilio, 47, walk on the asphalt with their arms outstretched. “Necessary, but shit,” Atilio calls at curfew. Now they only danced, and only with the people they know. Kim says she had a brief quarantine and that her dance partner in her dance class was infected. Should they stop dancing now? “For me, dancing is meditation,” he says. “I didn’t have the balance, so I went back to the dance group.” It’s a moral issue, in the end, dancing was too important for her.

1:40 am

In front of the “Späti International” there is still a group of people drinking beer in front of the closed shop. Murat, the owner, closed on time and is now there. A friend of hers, Selma, 33, is also there. She is the biggest defender of the curfew. He contracted the virus at a party a few weeks ago. “It wasn’t the flu, it was worse,” he says. He still lacks smell and taste and his head hurts. They both stay a bit longer, but from tomorrow they also want to stay home for the night.

2:30 am

Kreuzberg, Oranienstrasse. Sinan Kocak, 43, sits at the counter of his “Kek-Bar”, which is still full, and drinks an energetic vodka. “That doesn’t work,” he says of the curfew. It would be better to shut down completely for two or three weeks, but what? People will be sitting at the bar at 11pm asking about the next round. “People are worried,” he says. Meet couples who have separated, stocks that have been destroyed. “Corona ends after a few days. Depression can cost you two or three years of your life.”

His cell phone blinks. An unknown number wrote to him on WhatsApp: “Hello. They are starting to clear Oranienstrasse,” the person writes. “Immediately with a fine. I wanted to warn you.” Kocak has to laugh, there’s a dog in the stranger’s profile picture. “Should I believe the dog or what?”