The table to the left of the door is vacant, mask off, a young man brings the menu.

Then half an hour goes by as if there was no pandemic.

An Italian café in Berlin-Friedrichshain: above the bar on the wall a tableau made of plastic green plants, above the tables umbrella-less lightbulbs on long cables.

The couple at the next table get drinks.

A woman across the room pays.

Julia Schaaf

Editor in the "Life" section of the Frankfurter Allgemeine Sonntagszeitung.

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The young man takes the order.

Make a hot orange juice.

Bring the juice.

Answers questions about Italian pastries in the display case.

Bring the pastries.

Pistachio filling.

The Japanese and Thai restaurants to the right clearly indicate the 2-G rule with slips of paper at the entrance.

In the cocktail bar on the left, the vaccination certificate is checked for validity immediately after entering.

Please pay, mask on, just one more question: Don't you check your guests at all?

"Yes." The young man sounds a little meek.

"You are the first one I forgot about."

The new gold standard on this side of the lack of contact: 2-G-plus

Maybe it's because November finally feels like winter, maybe it's because of the new corona rules in the capital. In any case, there are no more queues in front of the restored Neue Nationalgalerie, currently the most radiant jewel in Berlin's art treasure. If you want to get in, you have to show a digital vaccination or convalescence certificate as well as your identity card in addition to your time slot ticket; the former two are scanned at the entrance. The man with the scanner estimates that one in perhaps 100 visitors gets upset about it. A woman walking towards the entrance with a swaying woolen coat says: “I think that's a good thing because it creates security.” Her lipstick shimmers lobster red. Your companion, who has already put on his mask, calls the new rules a "very good compromise",to keep cultural institutions open without further fueling the infection rate. The woman says that she got quick tests for a meal with friends that evening: 2-G-plus, the new gold standard on this side of the non-contact.

The Prime Minister's Conference on Thursday linked access restrictions to the hospitalization rate in order to contain the virus and put pressure on unvaccinated people. How well the implementation works can already be seen this week in Berlin.

They have just called the police in the multiplex cinema in Potsdam because a man refused to pull the mask over his big nose. “It's such a masculinity problem,” says the service employee who checks the documents at the entrance. She almost had to send a family away because her mother's identity card had expired, luckily the driver's license was still in her wallet. 2 G feels a relief: Finally, the end of those yellow vaccination booklets and slip-test certificates, which she often enough thought were forgeries.

A café in Mitte, despite the November cold, three outside tables are occupied: A student left her cell phone in the library.

A vaccinated Australian wants to smoke one with his afternoon beer.

Lucie, 20, is waiting for a friend.

She thinks 2 G is correct: “It cannot be that everyone who refuses to vaccinate has exactly the same life in terms of culture and leisure,” she says.

"The location is awesome, the guests get scared"

Inside there are sandwiches and a “Magic Roast Beef Bagel” for nine euros, “Small latte oats”, the barista calls across the room. A sign on the counter in German and English asks you to show your vaccination certificate without being asked. Managing director Nino Beyer explains that you have to move the certificate briefly on the display to make sure that it is not a screenshot; the Luca app is used for documentation of attendance. Now and then you have to turn someone away. Otherwise, he praises: “It's great how people join in.” No complaints, a lot of to-go activity and an obvious insight into the seriousness of the situation: “It's really crazy now. Guests and employees just get scared. ”Many bars, pubs and restaurants in the city seem much emptier than usual.

In the district of Friedrichshain there is mulled wine to go and cocktails from 3.80 euros, the café with the pistachio biscuits is closing soon. In front of “Paule's Metal Eck” a man in a blue uniform and a woolen hat with the words “Ordnungsamt” chats with a regular customer. The harmless balance of the evening: 18 checks, only four violations. The man from the public order office raves that they get a lot of encouragement: "It's great that you check!". The regular customer is amazed at the nice inspectors: "I'm really a bit flabbergasted."

The queue in front of the pop-up vaccination station in the shopping center on Alex is growing, and many first-time vaccinations are said to be given.

A tea to go in front of an organic supermarket, after all, the therapist is no longer allowed to go to the café.

No longer in the Philharmonic.

No more yoga.

No more to the choir.

Not to her daughter's circus performances, which hurts her the most.

Sometimes, says the 46-year-old, it feels like it used to be in physical education when nobody wanted you on the team.

As if you were anti-social.

But vaccinate?

“Nah,” she says.

"It's more like it keeps me away from it even more."