Germany is a country that always impresses with its sense of order.
Not just the order on the streets – though that, too, stands out – but the order in people, in the system.
Here, everything has its time, its place, its sequence.
It’s also a country of workaholics – precise, punctual, consistent.
A place where even the language, long and layered, works like clockwork: everything fits together.
There are the big, proud cities: Hamburg, Cologne with its beautiful cathedral, Munich, Frankfurt, Stuttgart.
But it’s Berlin that draws the most attention.
Berlin – a city you might remember from a school trip or a family holiday.
With a fridge magnet of the Berlin Wall, memories of museum exhibits, the view from the TV Tower, Ampelmännchen on the traffic lights, and colorful bear statues scattered around the city.
Berlin holds a big piece of history. The Brandenburg Gate, the Holocaust Memorial, the severity of its façades, the weight of silence.
But Berlin also has a very different kind of energy – the kind Bukowski hinted at when he wrote about bars “where you could get lost and found at the same time.”
It’s the kind of city where, after a full day of shopping at KaDeWe, you might find yourself in line for Berghain – not sure if you’ll get in, but willing to try.
A place where jazz bars blend with techno clubs.
Where a random conversation on the street can last half the night.
Where you dine in an elegant restaurant, and later end up under the railway tracks, in a club that feels more like a horror film than a place you thought you’d ever find yourself in.
It’s a French 75 on the top floor of a department store.
A quiet moment in Ladurée over macarons, a pause between purchases.
Then a fresh, early Sunday walk through the park – the sun rising, the wind still cold.
A hidden bar disguised as an old hotel. And even more mysterious drinks.
Berlin always leaves you with an unfinished scene.
And beyond that – real life.
In the morning, the scent of warm rolls from the bakery where people queue in silence, each with their own ritual. Clean, simple, calm.
In museums and bookstores – silence that doesn’t intimidate but invites you to think.
In the theatres – words.
This is a country of ideas – Kant, Goethe, Bauhaus.A culture unafraid of asking, of experimenting, of confronting.
Germany doesn’t shout. But it has depth.
It offers endless chances to learn, to grow, to think.
It’s a country that remembers and rebuilds.
That shows how discipline can coexist with wildness, how precision doesn’t have to cancel out freedom. Sometimes, order doesn’t restrict you – it helps you live better.
But Berlin also has a very different kind of energy – the kind Bukowski hinted at when he wrote about bars “where you could get lost and found at the same time.”
