This bar is the platonic ideal of "dive bar." Not "dive bar" in the sense of hipster bar with IPA on tap, or sticky, faded bar with loud live music - I mean, a real dive. And a delightful one, for drunk locals of all (well, most) ages, that would be the Berlin equivalent of the pub that opens "An American Werewolf in London."
You enter to smoke, not as much as in, say, Cafe Cinema, but enough to know that your clothes will smell for days. On the right wall is an empty frame that looks like it used to hold long guns. Immediately to the left is a lone automatic gambling machine. On the back wall are kitschy cute sayings, in German. There's a pool table, of course, and at the bar, a spunky, incredibly cheerful middle-aged woman with a matching portly dog, who will sleep on the floor at your feet and ignore your calls, since you really have nothing to offer it.
You can order a bottled beer for 1.5 euros, or a local brandy for 2, or a longdrink for 3.5, or, if you're really flush with money, a Remy Martin for 4. By the time you do, you will already have caught the gaze of the locals, although "gaze" would more properly be called "stare," not in an unkind way, but in a way that wherever you walk, their necks will turn, for a long time.
And people will say hello. A younger man coming up to order something will ask you if the euro you left as a tip for the surprised bartender is your own change that you accidentally forgot to take. An older man named Herbie will come up, ask your names and shake your hand, and tell you a joke that makes absolutely no sense whatever your native tongue. And a portly unshaven 60-year-old in a cardigan will introduce himself to your partner, ask if you two are really in love, and then how long you've been dating, and then tell her that she is a pretty young maiden, before commencing to stare and point at the pool table, frozen in mid-gesture for an eternity, and proceed to miss an obvious shot. read more