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Kim, 27, and Atilio, 47, still want to dance
Photo: Gordon Welters / DER SPIEGEL
Weserstrasse, Berlin Neukölln.
Shortly before midnight on Friday evening, Murat, 28, wipes the floor in his "Späti International".
A woman in a long coat, darkly made-up eyes and huge, high boots approaches: "Can you still get in here, or are you already closed?"
- "Yes, but quickly, quickly," says Murat and still looks around the street.
It's drizzling lightly, the lights of his shop are reflected on the asphalt.
More and more people are suddenly standing in front of the "Späti International".
They are colorfully dressed, have open beer and champagne bottles in their hands, some smoke marijuana, as you can smell it.
Murat is now hasty, he quickly refills a refrigerator with beer.
"Last round this year," shouts 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 in Berlin, one of the largest party metropolises in the world, are supposed to be turned off at night.
From 11 p.m. to 6 a.m., it must remain closed in future;
Alcohol is also no longer allowed to be sold at petrol stations.
Anyone who leaves their shop open faces a fine of 5000 euros or more.
Because the rule applies from Saturday, this time it had to be closed at midnight.
In restaurants, pubs, clubs - and also in Spätis like Murat's.
He thinks it's a disaster.
From 11 a.m. on the weekend, it really starts, late.
On Thursday, Berlin exceeded the magical limit of 50 new infections per 100,000 inhabitants in the last seven days.
The city is therefore a risk area, one of the focal points: Kreuzberg and Neukölln, where Berlin's nightlife is raging.
The 7-day incidence in Neukölln is currently 143.1.
0:15 am
Down the block from "Späti International" the tables in a corner bar are full.
In the shop you don't want to know anything about "midnight" because you haven't been informed, says a waitress in English.
In fact, there had been confusion in the past week as to whether the curfew would now apply from midnight on Saturday morning or from 11 p.m.
The mayor had clarified this again via Twitter and issued a press release, and yet a number of bars and restaurants have continued to open on the grounds that the curfew will not apply until Saturday evening.
The store will stay open for a long time today.
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Jeannette and Rita, both 30
Photo: Gordon Welters / DER SPIEGEL
Jeannette and Rita come out of the pub, both 30. Jeannette doesn't think much of curfew.
"The young people will band together anyway," she says, if necessary at someone's home.
In addition, politicians should have prepared better because everyone knew that the fall would be critical.
Rita contradicts: It is right that the rules are given from above.
In Great Britain, the old people are sent home so the young can party.
"Here the value system applies that we forego our fun. In the evening no longer in Berghain in the darkrooms to fuck, so that grandma can still go to the supermarket."
She thinks that's right, the boys should do without.
The conversation is interrupted by a coke dealer who, confused, asks whether you have ordered.
0:30 am
Kreuzberg, Oranienstrasse.
In front of shops like SO36 or the opposite Franconia, clusters of around 20 people have formed.
The shutters are falling, small groups are standing outside smoking.
A Späti is still selling beer inside - under the hand - a line has formed in front of it.
Again and again a patrol passes by that does not intervene.
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Oranienstrasse, Berlin
Photo: Gordon Welters / DER SPIEGEL
Charlotte runs in a group of five.
She is 22 years old, studies film in Berlin, she pushes her bike through the small crowd.
"I'm going home now, unfortunately," she says, "I'll be back tomorrow, maybe you just have to start earlier from now on."
Charlotte says she understands the restrictions, but she'll be seeing more friends in her apartment again in the near future.
Many of those you meet that night retreat to their private apartments for parties.
0:45 am
Sonnenallee, Neukölln.
A spit of juicy roast chicken is spinning in the shop window of a restaurant.
The tables are full despite curfew.
A police car stops, the men are in full gear.
Both enter the shop, some guests turn around.
You're at the bar.
Is action being taken here now?
"Menu 2," says the clerk to the seller.
"Two times? You wanted to too, right?"
He looks over at his colleague, who nods.
Then both of them leave the shop relaxed with their bags of fried chicken.
Shouldn't they actually have to check because the shop shouldn't be open at all?
Not responsible, they say.
In fact, the public order office is formally responsible for the curfew, as reported by the Neukölln district office.
But it is no longer on duty after midnight, which is why the police take over.
For the curfew on Saturday night in Berlin, however, no additional police officers could be called in in the districts because they were busy clearing the "Liebig 34".
1:20 a.m.
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Kim, 27, and Atilio, 47
Photo: Gordon Welters / DER SPIEGEL
Back on Weserstrasse.
Brazilian music, Forró, is booming in front of a corner spa.
There is dancing.
Kim, 27, and Atilio, 47, stride along the asphalt with outstretched arms.
"Necessary, but shit," Atilio calls the curfew.
Now they only danced - and only with the people they know.
Kim says that she just had a short quarantine and that her dance partner in her dance class was infected.
Should they stop dancing now?
"To me, dancing is meditation," she says.
"I didn't have the balance, that's why I went back to the dance group."
It was a moral question, in the end, dancing was too important to her.
1:40 a.m.
On the night 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 himself.
A friend of his, Selma, 33, is also there.
She is the biggest supporter of the curfew.
She contracted the virus at a party a few weeks ago.
"It wasn't flu, it was worse," she says.
She still lacks a sense of smell and taste, and she has a headache.
Both stay a little longer, but from tomorrow they really want to stay home at night as well.
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Murat, 27, and Selma, 33
Photo: Gordon Welters / DER SPIEGEL
2:30 am
Kreuzberg, Oranienstrasse.
Sinan Kocak, 43, is sitting at the counter of his "Kek-Bar", which is still full, sipping some vodka energy.
"That doesn't work," he says of the curfew.
It would be better to close completely for two or three weeks, but so?
People will be sitting in the bar at 11pm asking about the next round.
"People are worried," he says.
He knows couples who have separated, existences that have been destroyed.
"Corona is over after a few days. Depression can cost you two or three years of your life."
His cell phone flashes.
An unknown number wrote to him on WhatsApp: "Hi. They are starting to clear Oranienstrasse," writes the person.
"Immediately with a fine. I wanted to warn you."
Kocak has to laugh, the profile photo of the stranger shows a dog.
"Should I believe the dog or what?"
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Police control the "Kek-Bar"
Photo: Gordon Welters / DER SPIEGEL
It takes a good quarter of an hour for a group of police officers to pass by.
Yes, the curfew will apply from midnight today, the officials explain.
Kocak holds up both hands.
"So, everyone out," he tells the visitors.
He does not receive a fine.
The cops are relaxed.
A little later the shop is closed.
Icon: The mirror