Berlin expert

I’m no expert.

Not a connoisseur. Not an expert, insider, or insider tipster.

In fact, many tourists know Berlin better than I do.

I noticed that even back when I was still living in the Netherlands and my coworkers first heard where I was from. “WOW! Why did you leave THERE??? Cool city!!” Yeah, Berlin is undoubtedly a cool city, but from the time I was five until I was 19, I was mostly focused on school.

A sweet, well-behaved elementary school girl—with glasses—who’d been shaped by socialism and moved with her parents into a brand-new “Platte.” With hot water, central heating, and my own room; not realizing that this was actually a luxury and that my dad no longer had to haul coal up from the basement every morning.

A teenage girl who mostly hung out with her friends in high school, secretly folding notes during class, filling each other’s diaries with messages, or giggling as we walked into the gym.

In the mornings, I took the S-Bahn there. I’d pop in my earbuds with music playing (a Walkman, for those who still remember what that is), and trudge from the station to school (preferably with a book in my hands too—it made the walk feel shorter). After class, I’d trudge back from school to the station. Again with music in my ears. Or with friends who’d ride part of the way with me.

Even earlier, back in elementary school, I’d unlock the door with my own key, toss my backpack in the corner, and immediately head back outside to play. With at least five other kids, we’d run wild in the neighborhood. (Well, not really—we were always very well-behaved and back home by dinnertime, just as our parents were finally getting home from work. We had the time of our lives!).

When I was 13, I’d head straight to the TV and turn on *The Love Boat*. I’d pour milk into a small pot and stir in some pudding mix. A great lunch, I thought. Sometimes I’d make a pancake for myself—also delicious. I’d eat it sitting on the couch, staring at Captain Stubing and his annoying niece Vicky. Those were wonderful years. Because that’s what I did a lot—just watch TV after school. On the weekends, when I was 14, I’d sometimes go to a good old-fashioned disco. It started at 9 p.m., and my dad would pick me up at 12:30 a.m. Those were actually my wildest years.

When rave music emerged in the ’90s, and the dark basements were filled with young people craving freedom, alcohol, and parties, I was still a bit too young for that. Besides, I preferred reading books. And I didn’t have any friends who went raving, either. So I just didn’t go there. I went to the library more often than I went to a Berlin café. Back then.

Boring, isn’t it?

Pretty boring, actually.

Or maybe not. Because that’s my Berlin. Not the one for tourists, train travelers, or EasyJet passengers. But my youth.

Which was beautifully brought back to life last weekend when we booked a perfectly ordinary tourist bike tour with friends. Six hours through the eastern part of the city. With Hans and Knut, two real East Berliners. Who shared stories from their own lives about the historic sites. Who—just like me—still remember who Ernst Thälmann was, and explained that to our little group.

They’d sometimes ask me a question to test my knowledge of him, with a smile, a look of recognition. Two generations, and yet so much shared knowledge about a country that’s been gone for more than 20 years.

Yet they, too, knew that country better than I did. Because, as adults, they had pushed back against the regime’s boundaries. Because they climbed over the Wall when that wasn’t yet commonplace. Or because they had even been imprisoned in a Stasi prison. (To find out exactly how that went down, we’ll have to book the next tour with Knut; then he’ll tell us more.)

I saw places I didn’t know, heard new stories, and yet cycled around in surroundings that were very familiar to me.

If I go on a few more of these tours, I might finally get to know the city well after all.

And then I’ll give you a proper tour. Like a real expert.