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Berlin is uber-hip. This much became clear to me as I struggled to find the hidden light switch in my hotel room at the Radisson SAS Hotel Berlin. Luckily, I was able to find and slip my card key into a small rectangle of brushed aluminum on the wall before I tripped over my luggage in the dark.

That new, ultra-stylish property, where I stayed last year while visiting the city, is in the heart of what they're calling the "new" Berlin (across from Museum Island, near where West Berlin used to meet East Berlin before the wall came down in 1989). The hotel, which opened in March 2004, has a modern, clean design, with an open lobby eight stories high and glass elevators that whisk sharp-dressed guests to their rooms. The world's largest indoor aquarium, an 82-foot tall cylindrical fish tank that holds 250,000 gallons of climate-controlled salt water and about 2,500 exotic fish, resides in the lobby; for a small fee, the curious can take a special elevator up through the center of its massive tube, which gleams in the cold light of the Radisson's lobby like some kind of science-fiction fantasy brought to life. (The hotel employs two full-time scuba divers who are responsible for cleaning the tank and feeding the fish.) The Radisson SAS' five conference rooms also look like they belong on the Starship Enterprise, and its 427 guest rooms, with their hidden light switches, are shrines to cleverness.

That night, I went dancing with my friend Brooke, who lives in Berlin. Brooke works in Berlin's trendy nightclubs as a DJ (when she's not traveling the world with rock bands); she told me that a lot of American pop musicians have moved there in recent months, lured by the cheap rents, central location for touring Europe, and lively nightlife and arts scene.

The first place we went to was an indie rock club called Wild at Heart, in an old garage under the U-Bahn train tracks, just down the street from the Radisson. With peeling paint, concrete floors, and some American punk bands playing that night, it was good noisy fun and a nice post- apocalyptic setting for my first experience with absinthe (which, unfortunately, I can't remember much about). From there it was on to the underground dance club, Brot und Butter (Bread and Butter), this time in a decrepit but grand old building that had once been a government office in East Berlin. The techno music was loud and the club was packed with a young international crowd of enthusiastic dancers.

Besides night clubs, Berlin has a really happening dining scene. From traditional eateries like Silberterasse, located on the top floor of a huge upscale mall called the KaDeWe; to trendy fusion joints like HEat (within the Radisson) that mix and match world cuisines; to far more cutting edge stuff, the place is a foodie's paradise. One famously edgy place is Nocti Vagus, where patrons eat in total darkness to better appreciate their food. This is probably the only restaurant in the world that advertises the fact that its waiters are blind—no joke. Another odd eatery is Sehnsucht, where the chef and owner prepare meals specifically designed for anorexics. The 50-seat cantina is the brainchild of a former anorexic, employs a bulimic waitress and has an anorexic chef presiding over a nutritionist-designed menu that deliberately distances dishes from the ingredients they contain. Could you get Americans to play with their food so creatively? I doubt it.