I had the best night of my life in Berlin.

I bring this up every so often, most specifically when I am drinking gin with cucumber slices slushing around the ice. Or when someone specifically asks me about the best night of my life. Happens more often than you think.

It had nothing to do with romance. I mean, there was a boy. His name was Kevin and he was a swing-dancing mathematician from the United States, there on a conference. He wore a t-shirt and a backpack and I was convinced he was in his 20s. I think it was the baseball cap and that he was a pub crawl. He was closer to 40. In fact, had we met in different circumstances, I would have set him up with my mom. He invited me home, but prefaced it by saying he had an early flight. By the time I got into a cab, with my friend pressed up against the window as she watched us, it was close to 4 a.m. No thank you.

It had nothing to do with bar we were at. In fact, I barely remember it. We got separated from the pub crawl early so we only hit that one spot. I believe it’s name was Lucky. The bathrooms were disgusting and I made friends with the bartender. It was a stone’s way from a river, a park bench located in the front yard. It’s where my friend threw up and we made the decision to send her home with my other friend’s boyfriend.

There was nothing special about my outfit that night. I believe I was wearing a jean mini-skirt, a white t-shirt and flip flops, a look I wouldn’t necessarily repeat, knowing Berlin’s fashion sense.

The music was alright, I heard a lot of techno in Berlin and this song in particular:

Sorry, not sorry for making you listen to it. Oh, and this song:

It was stumbling past a hotel, looking for our pub crawl. An older gentleman waved us over and offered to buy us a drink. The three of us (my friend, me and the mathematician) settled down with the man, expecting to stay for only a little bit.

But we didn’t. The four of us chatted long into the night. It is one of the evenings where judgement is withheld, stories are shared and drinks are poured. The gentleman regaled us with tales of his life, his work and his travels. We in turn told him our story. Two girls who had gone on exchange in Italy and met in the Registration Office. Our first night of drinking resulted in both of us being sick and we had been solid friends ever since.

The man told us the secret to life. Which, in case you were wondering, is this:

Don’t get married. Travel often.

Here’s hoping for a second best night of my life in 2017. Happy New Year’s!