Month: November 2025

Before the wall came down, in the eastern part of Germany, property didn’t play a significant role. Under communism, large properties were usually in the hands of the government, and private individuals didn’t own much. And even if someone did own, for example, a house, it could be more of a burden than a privilege, since building materials were often hard to come by—an issue caused by the planned economy, which frequently resulted in chronic shortages. As a result, people who owned real estate often couldn’t maintain it and sometimes even sold it to the government for a symbolic amount. Who would risk trouble because of falling bricks when maintenance was impossible?

So, did the government care about the houses it was responsible for? It didn’t. I remember growing up in an urban landscape that looked as if the war had just ended: bare brick walls without plaster, rainwater dripping from burst pipes, broken and rotten windows and doors. No, the government didn’t take care of the old buildings—resources were missing. Instead, it turned out to be cheaper to build new high-rises out of prefabricated concrete slabs than to maintain the old structures. Often, even tearing them down was too much. Whole neighborhoods in East Berlin, Leipzig, and Dresden were abandoned and turned into ghost towns.

This is why, in 1990, after the wall had come down, many of the tenement houses in East Berlin were abandoned government property. And once the Iron Curtain had been breached, after East and West Berlin could finally meet, something unexpected happened with these buildings. During those months between revolution and reunification, 1989 to 1990, many of the old and empty houses in East Berlin became free spaces—free of anyone checking who moved in, free of rent, free to live the life one wanted, independent of financial constraints. Young people from the East had already discovered these government-free spaces, and now squatters from West Berlin seized the opportunity as well. At last, there was a place free of both political and financial restrictions: East Berlin became the Eldorado of squatting.

That is more than 25 years ago. Since then, things have changed. The real estate market has become big business, and properties have been assigned to new owners. The “housing initiatives” were pushed out, often after years-long legal battles, and not seldom with massive police operations. Today, only one place remains: “Köpi” (see picture above), named after its address on Köpenicker Straße. Just last year, the latest attempt by the real estate company currently owning the land to evict them failed in court.

These initiatives have often been fertile ground for creativity: exceptional art projects, theaters, music, and unforgettable parties. At the same time, it is clear that Berlin benefits from international investment, as seen in the example of “Mediaspree” (see picture below), a property development project along the riverbanks of the Spree, the river flowing through Berlin. These projects create numerous jobs and generate tax revenue. In other words, it is naive to “fight capitalism” when it is difficult to name a workable alternative. And yet—the creativity that has flourished in free spaces like Köpi has been one of the major reasons for Berlin’s reputation as a center of freedom and artistic experimentation in Europe.

So the question remains: How can a city protect the freedom that fuels its creativity while still relying on an economic system that threatens to erode exactly that freedom?

In Austria, people speak German — but it comes with its own unmistakable flavor, especially in Vienna. The city of nearly two million residents is absolutely worth a trip. It’s not only the world-class art museums, the hearty cuisine, and the flawlessly functioning infrastructure — so unlike Germany — that make Vienna such a rewarding destination. It’s also the warm, easy-going locals whose relaxed, slightly guttural Viennese dialect somehow slows down the pace of life the moment you hear it.

On a bigger scale: What makes an Austrian an Austrian? When you ask them about their identity, they often say-only half joking-it rests on three pillars: language, food, and skiing down the Alps. That last one may sound surprising, but it’s rooted in the obligatory school trips to the mountains that turn an entire nation into confident downhill racers.

On this visit, I paid a trip to the Wien Museum, which has been completely reimagined over the past few years. It now offers a comprehensive and accessible journey through the history of Vienna — and, along the way, the rather intricate story of Austria itself, with all its Josephs, Habsburgs, and Austro-Hungarian entanglements. What struck me most, however, was how the museum takes its time to highlight the everyday lives, emotions, habits, and values of Viennese people — for example, those living in the 19th century. It embodies the idea that history should be the story of ordinary people, not merely a chronicle of wealthy elderly men.

Vienna itself is wonderfully walkable and offers more culture than one could possibly absorb in a single visit. The world-renowned Opera and Philharmonic Orchestra are obvious highlights. And if you speak German, make sure to visit the Burgtheater, perhaps the most important German-language stage outside Berlin.

But even if your German isn’t quite there yet, don’t worry. Simply make sure to enjoy a generous portion of Kaiserschmarrn, a fluffy shredded pancake served with applesauce and raisins. It’s an unforgettable treat — and isn’t taste one of the few languages truly spoken everywhere in the world?

It’s no big deal to get from Berlin to Vienna—and no, you don’t need to take a plane. Several train connections run from the river Spree to the Danube. The night train even saves you one night of accommodation in Vienna, which can mean quite a bit of money, since the city is notoriously expensive when it comes to places to stay. Still, I strongly recommend reserving a seat; otherwise, you might end up wandering from seat to seat, always hoping the next one will stay free until Vienna…

Vienna feels enchanted, like traveling through time. The grandeur of the imperial era still lingers everywhere. Of course, Vienna has its issues, but there’s a reason it repeatedly wins the title of the most livable city in Europe.

One place I truly love is the Cemetery of the Nameless. Here, a vortex of the Danube used to wash ashore the bodies of people who had drowned—often unidentified. Starting around 1840, an improvised cemetery was created, and it grew over time. Because the river flooded the site regularly, a new cemetery was established at a safer distance in 1900. More than 100 people were buried here. Only half were victims of the river; the others were people who had died by suicide. Since the Catholic Church at the time condemned suicide as a sin, those individuals were buried here as well.

It was the locals who kept the cemetery alive. A carpenter always provided coffins, people brought flowers, and the community cared for the site. Eventually they even financed a small chapel. Today, all the graves have fresh flowers, donated by Vienna’s flower shops. They’re planted by florist apprentices who, throughout the year, also bring wreaths they’ve made as part of their training. Locals bring toys to the graves of the two children buried here.

When I visited today, I had the privilege of meeting a member of the family that has cared for the cemetery for decades. His grandfather, a professional undertaker, looked after the site even after it stopped being used in 1940—when the nearby harbor was expanded and the dangerous vortex disappeared. He did so without pay. The family has remained responsible for the cemetery ever since. One of them, whom I met today, was explaining the history to a group of locals. He showed a folder containing notes from the original files about those who were found. He shared many stories: how all the crosses come from abandoned graves across Vienna, how the necklaces and small objects adorning the graves are donations from locals who still care.

I couldn’t help but wonder why they care so much. Those buried here have been gone for a long time; it’s not grieving families tending to their own. Perhaps it’s a feeling all humans share: however successful, beautiful, wealthy, or celebrated we may be in life, in the end we are all the same. Caring for the nameless may, in a way, be caring for all of us.