It was a beautiful Friday evening, and we had our heart set on visiting Neukolln, a buzzy borough in southern Berlin.

But we found ourselves with a dilemma – do we go out with our phone not fully charged or do we sit in our hotel room until our battery was fully powered?

We decided to venture out and sightsee as planned -- but not before asking the front desk if they had a portable charger we could borrow.

The front desk clerk rifled through a bin of wires and plugs and handed us a rather large square international adapter that would make our front pocket bulge in shame and sorrow.  

We quickly declined his offer (we had our fashion dignity after all) and ordered an Uber.

So, on a beautiful Friday evening, with the sun setting, we were riding to Neukolln with our pockets flat, our dignity intact and a dying phone.   

As our mobile battery drained, we motored past grand Mitte, drove through carefree Kreuzberg, and entered Neukolln via Sonnenallee, an exciting and bustling avenue filled with Islamic shops and restaurants.

We made a note to visit Sonnenallee on our next trip – and soon found ourselves dropped off at charming main square called Richardplatz in the village of Rixdorf.

But as we began our stroll, our dying phone and its dwindling battery life was becoming more and more distracting.

All of this leads us to our very Carrie Bradshaw-like question: what do you do when you’re a first-timer all alone in Berlin and you need to charge your phone?

Our Samantha-like answer: If you’re like us, you head to the nearest bar.

And that’s we did – but what we entered wasn’t your upscale Cosmo-serving cocktail palace.

We stepped into a bar called Cafe Linus, an anti-fascist, punk-loving dive where they occasionally hold poetry slams, quiz nights and live music.

Cafe Linus was quiet that evening.  

But it was here that a male bartender who wore blue nail polish offered us his phone charger and served double vodkas on the rocks to us on Stoppt Nazis (Stop Nazis!) drink coasters.

With the smell of must and cigarette smoke in the air, the bartender told us about his life in Berlin, tipped off us to some interesting spots (including two leftist dance clubs, About Blank and Mensch Meier) and played over an hour of his favorite German punk tunes.

One minute you’re sight-seeing and your phone is dying, the next you’re learning about the leftist scene and listening to Alte Sau, a band that reminds us of a punked-up version of the B-52s.

Back at the hotel the next day, we spoke with the same front desk clerk and described our experience at Cafe Linus.

“Sounds like Neukolln,” he nodded.

CONTACT

https://www.cafelinus.de

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