Rain crashed on the tin roof of a small caravan dispensing draught beer. Claire and I huddled beneath it, sipping Becks from refundable plastic cups. Dance music thumped from neat piles of speakers lining both sides of Strasse des 17 Juni, played by DJs now frantically trying to cover their equipment. A ray of sunshine escaped from a crack in the black clouds, reflecting gold streaks off the tarmac. The trickle of people gyrating between the intermingling sounds pulled out umbrellas and danced through the downpour. (Read on …)