Living in Berlin for One Month: Local Life & Culture

As observed by a solo traveller, dancer, and short-term expat.

I stayed in Berlin from June 29 - July 29, 2024.

There’s a lot of ambiguity around what constitutes as having “lived” somewhere. Is it the length of time? Is it having a permanent address? I think the best answer I’ve ever seen is that you’ve “lived” somewhere if you had a regular schedule, did the mundane, and overall settled into your surroundings.

In that regard, I think I can say I lived in Berlin, if only for a month. While I don’t think I’d be able to add that country flag emoji to my bio (yet), living in Berlin brought out different sides of me that definitely wouldn’t have been expressed anywhere else. I was there for the annual b12 Festival for Contemporary Dance & Performance Art, a professional dance training festival held in the city each July.

After a lot of searching (and a lot of headaches), I circled back to the first lead I had for accommodation: a friend’s spare room in the localized district of Neukölln.

I originally wanted a place closer to the b12 studios but couldn’t afford the insane prices as a solo traveller. Plus, staying with my friend was a lot safer. I met Molee last summer on a retreat to Portugal — the most transformative dance experience of my life — and she ended up being my anchor as I experienced Berlin like a true local.

Last time I was in Berlin, I found myself overcome by tourist seductions and loneliness — but also in the thick of the coolest nightlife I’ve ever experienced! For all its highs, I was determined not to repeat my lows.

My friend’s apartment turned out to be the perfect lodge after all. She shared everything with me, and her place was within literal steps of multiple supermarkets, shopping streets, and transportation stops. Even coming home — yes, home! — to that apartment made me feel like it was mine as well.

I started with the food. I find that public transportation and food are the 2 most difficult factors of a trip. Figure out public transportation, and you’ll feel confident; figure out food… that’s when you really start to feel like you belong.

I did most of my shopping at grocery stores. ALDI, Lidl, REWE — I visited them all, including more niche ones like Hao Cai Lei Asian Supermarket and EL-FI.

What I love about travelling is that I learn the particular quirks and idiosyncrasies of each culture. German grocery stores are much more rooted in organic, healthier alternatives than North American ones. Even their Tabasco sauce is made from specifically organic peppers.

Exploring grocery stores is the easiest way to get a taste (haha) of local life because the people’s daily habits are all displayed on those rows upon rows of produce. In Berlin, I found so many relatively healthy prepackaged meals, naturally-sourced mineral lemonade, and even variations of popular brands (like the Vitamin C upgrade of the original Yakult drink, which, when I left, I’d never seen before).

Europe in general has stricter laws surrounding food additives and sourcing. It’s not perfect, but if my clearer face by the end of my travels proved anything, it’s that the gut really is the second brain.

And the packaged items like rice and oil? Tiny — but so cute! Normal for them, strange for those of us who live with Costco and mega-marts. But, if you consider that most people in Berlin live alone and don’t have cars (because their transportation is so good), it makes sense. I bought a pint size of rice and only finished 2/3 of it by month’s end.

Don’t get me started on those checkout lines, though. There were usually only 2 cashiers max, and for some reason people avoided the self-checkout machines like the plague. I peeked over one time to see the self-checkout stations completely empty, so I stole over, guessed the onscreen instructions based on what I knew of checkout machines back home, and made it out in 2 minutes flat. I find this one of the funniest quirks of Berlin.

The grocery stores also offered a lot more of their fruits and vegetables in bulk instead of prepackaged quantities. This has to do with German culture. The locals love to grab an assortment of food to picnic in a park somewhere. Walking and talking is a huge part of their lifestyle, and I personally witnessed duos, trios, groups of friends clustered randomly around a storefront, standing for hours talking.

If the locals love anything, it’s their patio season. If they could, I’m sure they’d sit outside everyday — such a stark contrast to the closed-in, hidden patios of my home city, Toronto (probably this is due to the weather; Canadian winters are not known for being kind). In Berlin, the cafe tables are always spread out, and it’s common to see someone idly sipping a coffee to pass the time.

Time. What a strange relativity.

The Berliners seem to have no concept of time, in a way. As an outside eye, I found myself wondering why no one was working, not in the way I’m used to seeing in the Western corporate realm.

(Example: Berlin has a lot of dance studios (with a huge recreational dance scene), and they offer drop-in classes all the way from 9 AM - 9 PM, to accommodate the vast amount of people who simply have the time to go to a dance class at 12 PM on a Wednesday.)

If they worked, it was remote. Or part-time. Or not held to impossible standards. While it’s not strange at all to see people out and about in the middle of the day in Toronto, these people are usually students or retail workers, and they’re usually always going somewhere. Torontonians are so conscious of time. It shows in the way we walk — brisk, unforgiving, get-out-of-my-way.

Berliners walk so slowly. They are often with a friend, heading to a park, flea market, beer garden, or nowhere in particular. Even the ones who work 9-5’s have an undertone of nonchalance to them. I walked into one of my favourite restaurants, The Flying Monkey, several times to find the waiter hunched over his phone at one of the guest tables. Heaven forbid a North American manager ever catch you with a phone in hand, even when there’s no one around.

And that’s the thing. There’s much less emphasis on “customer service” in Europe. If you want something, you say it, and you can sit yourself down. This can lead to some thorny altercations at times, but overall it’s quite liberating.

It took me a while to settle into the slower way of life, but once I did, it felt amazing. There’s nothing quite like sitting with a scrumptious salad on a sunny day outdoors, enjoying the peace and quiet with yourself. No need to be with someone if you don’t want to. Dining outside alone is a common practice in Berlin.

Though, let’s be honest. Most people sit outdoors because it’s much cooler than being indoors. The Germans just don’t use air conditioning. To be precise, they don’t use air conditioning unless they really have to. I realized this as I hopped onto the S-Bahn on a particularly blistering day, and the inside of the train was cool! Still not on full blast, but enough for me to realize that major establishments do have AC’s installed; they just won’t use them unless there’s danger of heat stroke. So, sitting outside is in part a necessity, plus who doesn’t like the ambient sound of wind and a slight breeze on their cheek?

No air conditioning had its ups and downs. Of course, it’s environmentally friendlier, but when you’re dancing 7 hours a day, you start questioning whether it’s time to draw the line. I sweat like a waterfall during my time at b12 in the dance studios, and some runaway flies that meandered their way inside buzzed incessantly around me, attracted to the pheromones. I felt simultaneously refreshed and gross.

I learned to pack a spare outfit to change into, and thankfully there were showers in the studios. There are showers in all dance studios in Berlin, actually, which impressed me very much. Also much thanks to Uniqlo Airism underwear.

I was able to bear the heat ok, since I lived through 45°C summers in Shanghai for 6 years, the chilling -27°C winter of the Finnish Arctic Circle, and the constant stream of cold AC literally everywhere in Toronto on a day-to-day basis. A little heat didn’t deter me.

On the flip side, sweating profusely helped unclog my pores and promoted smoother skin over time. Since sweating is one of the ways your body excretes toxins and regulates temperature, as long as you wipe it off in time to prevent re-absorption, sweating is very good for you. Along with the healthier food options, my acne-riddled face markedly improved over the course of that month.

Pretty soon, I assimilated to life in Berlin. Probably my first major accomplishment came when I was walking confidently toward the U-Bahn a week into my trip and met with an excited shout from my flatmate returning home. She told me she almost didn’t recognize me; “you look like a real Berliner!”

At some point I stopped needing Google Maps for my basic needs. I knew the route to the studio and where to stand on the platforms. I stopped making the wrong connections (imagine my wonder when I realized I only had to step to the opposite track instead of climbing endless stairs to another platform). I could name my favourite eateries and stores and the best station to get off at for them. I even started to understand some German.

I felt so relieved I didn’t have to spend my month doing the touristy things again and could just focus on living, since I’d been to Berlin and done all that already last year.

It’s the familiarization. As soon as you become familiar enough with a place, you can really settle in.

The biggest telltale sign? I played with my phone on public transport instead of gazing out in curiosity like I usually do in a new place.

I would even say I got a pretty good general understanding of all the districts Berlin encompasses. Take Neukölln, for example. Last year I was astounded by the huge size and layout of the city’s architecture, but I was really only going around the main tourist sites. In Neokoln, the streets are smaller, the crowds are bigger, and everything’s a bit dingier. In other words, it’s where the people live. This was true Berlin, at least one facet of it.

According to my flatmate, Neukölln is the home of old-time hipsters. If you’ve ever seen a group of fans cheering for their favourite sports team together outside a run-down convenience store, you know the vibe of the neighbourhood.

The other districts are all equally varied and carry their own tune. Rosenthaler Platz and Prenzlauer Berg, while not districts, are neighbourhoods that function as the high-end epitomization of the creative artist. Wedding is filled with döner kebab stores everywhere you look (though I’d argue this is pretty true across the whole city). Friedrichshain-Kreuzberg is where things get juicy with their clubs, bars, and secret nightlife. Mitte is pretty much the urban centre.

On a visit to RAW-Gelände Flea Market one Sunday, I found the perfect little postcard by House of Olga, a local artist. For 3 EUR, I took home the most hilarious cat representation of Berlin’s districts — even better, it was funny because I actually got the jokes!

Speaking of representation, my biggest takeaway was a certain freedom to just be. It’s no secret that Berlin is home to hundreds if not thousands of LGBTQ+-identifying people, drag queens, underground DJ’s, and alternative anythings. They exude a confidence walking the streets that scream, I belong here.

While some cultures may view their choices as weird, non-conformative, or even vulgar, in Berlin this is all pretty standard.

I, myself, experimented with my fashion choices. I was amazed at how at ease I felt walking the streets in broad daylight in a bright, strappy red bikini top for a shirt. It felt like, Sure, I go out in public in bikini tops all the time. There was nothing strange about it, and no one gave me trouble. Whereas back home, I would’ve been crawling with discomfort with random people’s eyes on me, in Berlin I felt fine if people stared. In fact, I almost welcomed it (and they weren’t really staring; they’ve seen crazier things).

It’s not like my own country doesn’t have freedom of expression. I think it’s just akin to when you’re too familiar with somebody, and you make a drastic change. Instead of supporting you, they doubt you. I was so accustomed to living in my home city a certain way, with a certain look, that ironically I didn’t feel comfortable expressing myself differently.

Berlin, though… I didn’t really know it yet, and it didn’t know me. I could be anything I wanted.

But for all the good Berlin presented, it also had its dark sides.

Eating alone? Berlin is a lonely city.

Love the nightlife? Some people get lost in it.

Like any place, every issue has its flip of the coin.

And as I opened my bedroom window each morning to welcome the new day, eventually I started to feel caged in again. All those same apartments, all those building rows. Where does the loneliness end?

I had black-and-blue bruises on every joint of my body from dance, but maybe they were really an expression of my heartbreak. Truthfully? I’d ended the most painful love of my life a few months before my departure. You can guess where they lived. I flew to Berlin knowing I might be broken. But I had to do it for myself, if only to prove that my choices are not contingent on any person but me.

Molee came home to me scrambling into her arms with tears down my face more than once. The bruises, the heartbreak, the disconnect — it all hurt so much. She had every right to ask for a breather, to say she was tired from work, but she never did. She held me until I was ready to let go as I blubbered into her shoulder. She said, “I love how you share [your thoughts].”

If my heart was dispensed of love, then my new friendships filled it again. This time around, I didn’t pressure myself to ask out every old contact I had in Berlin. Instead, I focused on the peers I was meeting every day in class. We went out for drinks and dinner, and I made some beautiful, endearing connections.

At home — my Berlin home — Molee and I would lay on the floor chatting or snuggle up in bed together for a cozy movie night.

“Is this what having a sister is like?” I asked sleepily from the yoga mat.

Besides, I was there to dance. Despite the physical rigour, it was such a blessing to dance all day, every day. I incorporated my feelings into the performance project I was in, another sorts of little deaths, and when it ended, I finally felt something settle in my heart that hadn’t for a long time.

Slowly, I healed. Not fully, but the healing was there. I took out the garbage (you should’ve seen me sorting the bins like a pro!), I did my laundry every day, I engrossed myself in the mundane. The beautiful, melancholy mundane. I didn’t even go clubbing (heck, I didn’t even pack for it); all I needed to be content was live, be, and do.

The most peaceful I felt was on a day trip to Strandbad-Wannsee with a friend, a beach-lake an hour from the city centre. We lay in the sun in cozy quietude, and all was well.

By month’s end, I still hadn’t figured out (nor did I have the time) how to buy meat from the local butcher’s. I still hadn’t tried Wen Cheng’s famous hand-pulled noodles. For all that you can do and see in a month, there’s always more under the surface.

Berlin is a vibrant, busy city that may surprise you, but more often than not, people surprise themselves here. I’m glad I gave it a second chance. I felt I was where I should’ve been at the time, and I left the city a little bit wiser, a little bit better for the road.

Bonus: More things that make Berlin, Berlin! (Or Germany, Germany.)

Funny displays: Llamas wearing Gucci, “made in vagina”…
The dryer issue: Germany, I’ve got a bone to pick with you. In addition to no AC, Germans also don’t use dryers (unless you’re a family of 4+, in which case buying a dryer is a smart investment). You’d think, That’s no problem; I’ll just hang them out to dry — but wait! You’re not supposed to dry them anywhere lingerie might be seen from outside. This from the country that promotes nude saunas. I’m lucky I was only living with 1 other person because I did my laundry a lot! Almost every day, in fact, since our clothes were used as set décor for rehearsal.
Strawberry stands: The cutest little shacks for fresh strawberries on random sides of the road, designed to look like strawberries!
Locals will just walk or run in a downpour. They also don’t wear hats or sunglasses a lot.

All photos by Lonely Girl, Lonely World unless otherwise stated.

Living in Berlin for One Month: Local Life & Culture

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