An Autumn in Germany: Concrete, Green, and Human Condition
Germany, as the song goes, follows its own path. Rules aren’t arbitrary here; they’re the backbone of life. Waiting in line isn’t the end of the world—it’s the guarantee of order.
Every time I visit Germany, I think of the Turkish waitress I met in a small town along Bavaria’s flamboyant Romantic Road. She was surprised we were tourists; to her, Germany wasn’t a place to visit but a place to work, save money, and return to her village in Sivas. Her dream was to escape to her village during her annual leave and forget Germany entirely after retirement. For me, though, Germany is a wonderland with its dark historical shadows, cities drenched in green, and human stories. This autumn, with leaves turning yellow and greens standing out vividly, I was in Germany again. I owe a debt of gratitude to the Germans for their understanding and cooperation in navigating the visa process for traveling to Europe—Turkey’s “lost donkey” in this regard.
Berlin: The Curse of Concrete, the Hypocrisy of the Wall, the Two-Wheeled King of the Roads
This time in Berlin, I stayed in a house instead of a hotel, far from tourist clichés, in the shadow of Tempelhof Airport. This place is steeped in the legends of the 1948-49 Berlin Airlift, but what caught my attention was a massive concrete cylinder that most travelers overlook. Coming from Turkey, where our love-hate relationship with concrete never ends, the forgotten state of this structure felt ironic. It turns out, it was a test piece for Hitler’s delusional Germania project: a 100-meter-wide, mind-boggling avenue stretching from the Brandenburg Gate to the Bundestag, surrounded by colossal buildings. Thankfully, this megalomaniacal nonsense never came to fruition. But that concrete stands as a reminder of how deranged the human mind can become—not a work of art, but a relic of fascist dictatorial fantasies.
Another stop in Berlin was Yadigar Asisi’s wall panorama. As the orphaned son of a dissident father from the Shah’s era, Asisi came to Germany and depicted the two faces of the Berlin Wall: one side a cold, gray border; the other a carnival of freedom. Those who draw borders end up as clowns on the stage of history, and this panorama slaps that truth in our faces.At the SPD headquarters, there’s a photo of Willy Brandt in wrinkled trousers and an exhibition of award-winning photographs from a global competition. Nice, but not enough. The AfD has moved beyond the alienated masses of the East; it’s now winning votes from the upper classes and even Turkish immigrants who don’t want new migrants. Germany’s tolerance fairytale is cracking under this right-wing populist wave.
The Taste of GreenGermany isn’t bigger than Turkey, and its population is roughly the same. But with its mountains, forests, and cities drenched in green, it feels like another planet. While our cities in Turkey turn into concrete jungles, every corner in Germany has a park, every neighborhood a hobby garden. Apartment dwellers spend weekends buried in soil, shedding negative energy. It’s not for show—they take it seriously; neglect your garden, and you’re out. So how do they maintain this abundance of green without building taller structures? Urban planning, discipline, reason. While our best planners are in prison, you realize in Germany that this isn’t a coincidence. The roads are another striking story. Germany has more vehicles than we do, but cars aren’t the kings of the road. The rules are clear: roads are either for vehicles or parking, not both. Bike lanes are sacred; cars can’t enter, but cyclists can use vehicle roads when needed. Parking? It’s both hellishly difficult and expensive. Public transport isn’t limited to cities; with nationwide subsidies, they’ve built a system where a single card gets you anywhere except planes and high-speed trains.
Leipzig and Dresden: Peace and ResurrectionIn Leipzig and Dresden, two stops on this trip, I found moments that are hard to compare to anything else.In Leipzig, spending a night in a hotel overlooking St. Thomas Church, where Bach’s spirit lingers and his body rests, was one of the deepest memories of my life. A world without Bach, to me, is an unfortunate one. His music, in that church, shakes the soul.Dresden is another story. In 1945, it lost 25,000 lives and its historic fabric to bombs in a single night. Today, it’s so beautiful it renews your faith in life. Don’t die without seeing Dresden; once you do, you won’t want to die without seeing it again.Şahcan: The Heart of HopeThe star of the trip was Şahcan, an Afghan migrant I met at a restaurant in Leipzig. The Sivas waitress’s “Let’s go back to Sivas” dream pales like a burnt-out bulb next to Şahcan’s reality. He walked across Van, struggled for months in Turkey, and reached Greece on a rubber dinghy. With his fluent German, broken Turkish, and brilliant English, he recommended German wines to us, his voice brimming with resolve. Şahcan proves that humanity is an unstoppable hope machine. Success requires effort, effort requires motivation, and motivation requires the courage to start from zero.Germany’s LessonGermany, as the song goes, follows its own path. Rules aren’t arbitrary; they’re the backbone of life. Waiting in line isn’t the end of the world—it’s the guarantee of order. From the narrow dreams of the Sivas waitress to Şahcan’s boundless determination, from Tempelhof’s discarded concrete to Dresden’s miracle, Germany showed me the face of humanity turning from darkness to light this autumn, amid yellow leaves, with faith in green and in people.Note: I couldn’t fit the entire Germany trip into this piece, of course. Some photos from the trip are available at this link: Those curious can reach out for details.
Every time I visit Germany, I think of the Turkish waitress I met in a small town along Bavaria’s flamboyant Romantic Road. She was surprised we were tourists; to her, Germany wasn’t a place to visit but a place to work, save money, and return to her village in Sivas. Her dream was to escape to her village during her annual leave and forget Germany entirely after retirement. For me, though, Germany is a wonderland with its dark historical shadows, cities drenched in green, and human stories. This autumn, with leaves turning yellow and greens standing out vividly, I was in Germany again. I owe a debt of gratitude to the Germans for their understanding and cooperation in navigating the visa process for traveling to Europe—Turkey’s “lost donkey” in this regard.
Berlin: The Curse of Concrete, the Hypocrisy of the Wall, the Two-Wheeled King of the Roads
This time in Berlin, I stayed in a house instead of a hotel, far from tourist clichés, in the shadow of Tempelhof Airport. This place is steeped in the legends of the 1948-49 Berlin Airlift, but what caught my attention was a massive concrete cylinder that most travelers overlook. Coming from Turkey, where our love-hate relationship with concrete never ends, the forgotten state of this structure felt ironic. It turns out, it was a test piece for Hitler’s delusional Germania project: a 100-meter-wide, mind-boggling avenue stretching from the Brandenburg Gate to the Bundestag, surrounded by colossal buildings. Thankfully, this megalomaniacal nonsense never came to fruition. But that concrete stands as a reminder of how deranged the human mind can become—not a work of art, but a relic of fascist dictatorial fantasies.
Another stop in Berlin was Yadigar Asisi’s wall panorama. As the orphaned son of a dissident father from the Shah’s era, Asisi came to Germany and depicted the two faces of the Berlin Wall: one side a cold, gray border; the other a carnival of freedom. Those who draw borders end up as clowns on the stage of history, and this panorama slaps that truth in our faces.At the SPD headquarters, there’s a photo of Willy Brandt in wrinkled trousers and an exhibition of award-winning photographs from a global competition. Nice, but not enough. The AfD has moved beyond the alienated masses of the East; it’s now winning votes from the upper classes and even Turkish immigrants who don’t want new migrants. Germany’s tolerance fairytale is cracking under this right-wing populist wave.
The Taste of GreenGermany isn’t bigger than Turkey, and its population is roughly the same. But with its mountains, forests, and cities drenched in green, it feels like another planet. While our cities in Turkey turn into concrete jungles, every corner in Germany has a park, every neighborhood a hobby garden. Apartment dwellers spend weekends buried in soil, shedding negative energy. It’s not for show—they take it seriously; neglect your garden, and you’re out. So how do they maintain this abundance of green without building taller structures? Urban planning, discipline, reason. While our best planners are in prison, you realize in Germany that this isn’t a coincidence. The roads are another striking story. Germany has more vehicles than we do, but cars aren’t the kings of the road. The rules are clear: roads are either for vehicles or parking, not both. Bike lanes are sacred; cars can’t enter, but cyclists can use vehicle roads when needed. Parking? It’s both hellishly difficult and expensive. Public transport isn’t limited to cities; with nationwide subsidies, they’ve built a system where a single card gets you anywhere except planes and high-speed trains.
Leipzig and Dresden: Peace and ResurrectionIn Leipzig and Dresden, two stops on this trip, I found moments that are hard to compare to anything else.In Leipzig, spending a night in a hotel overlooking St. Thomas Church, where Bach’s spirit lingers and his body rests, was one of the deepest memories of my life. A world without Bach, to me, is an unfortunate one. His music, in that church, shakes the soul.Dresden is another story. In 1945, it lost 25,000 lives and its historic fabric to bombs in a single night. Today, it’s so beautiful it renews your faith in life. Don’t die without seeing Dresden; once you do, you won’t want to die without seeing it again.Şahcan: The Heart of HopeThe star of the trip was Şahcan, an Afghan migrant I met at a restaurant in Leipzig. The Sivas waitress’s “Let’s go back to Sivas” dream pales like a burnt-out bulb next to Şahcan’s reality. He walked across Van, struggled for months in Turkey, and reached Greece on a rubber dinghy. With his fluent German, broken Turkish, and brilliant English, he recommended German wines to us, his voice brimming with resolve. Şahcan proves that humanity is an unstoppable hope machine. Success requires effort, effort requires motivation, and motivation requires the courage to start from zero.Germany’s LessonGermany, as the song goes, follows its own path. Rules aren’t arbitrary; they’re the backbone of life. Waiting in line isn’t the end of the world—it’s the guarantee of order. From the narrow dreams of the Sivas waitress to Şahcan’s boundless determination, from Tempelhof’s discarded concrete to Dresden’s miracle, Germany showed me the face of humanity turning from darkness to light this autumn, amid yellow leaves, with faith in green and in people.Note: I couldn’t fit the entire Germany trip into this piece, of course. Some photos from the trip are available at this link: Those curious can reach out for details.
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