Ideally, to write a decent review of anything, you need to experience it enough times to give it a fair chance. Neat but humdrum three-story apartment blocks and hedges line the south side of the cobble stone street. From the north, linden trees separate the quiet area from what I recall being a railway line. The ambiance is that of an extended suburban yawn. While not as central as some of the other erotic amusements in Berlin, it is still reasonably accessible.
The garish, and unexpected sign outside the venue will needlessly tittle-tattle about your business. Consider this your first warning. While browsing their website, it should become fairly obvious that you will not be visiting a classy establishment.
But not the good kind. Initially, this felt like a nice touch, but in hindsight, it only achieved a feeling of estrangement. It underlined to the other guests that we were newcomers and even though this hardly was our first visit to a sex club, it made us feel like it. After all, how hard is it to decode what the different rooms are used for in a sex club? The night we visited was slow.
Ridiculously slow, to the point where we resigned any idea of sex and only just observed the people that were there. It was like looking at the cast of a rightfully forgotten David Lynch movie. What people were there all looked like regulars. From our position on the faux leather sofa at the bar, we surveyed the scene — and it sure as hell surveyed us right back.
While it is inherently unfair to criticize patrons of sex clubs unless they are misbehaving — and certainly from the insubstantial vantage point of only one visit, some individuals just stand out in a way that makes them all but impossible not to note.
