daily musings

There is a version of Berlin that most people never see. It exists only in the early hours of a weekend morning, before the city wakes up, before the cars fill the streets, before the noise of the day drowns everything out. This is the Berlin I love most.

On mornings like this, I take my bike out and just ride. The streets are nearly empty — cobblestones, cycle lanes, wide avenues, all mine. Occasionally you pass someone heading home from the night before, still in their Friday clothes. But mostly it is just you, the light, and the city.

Berlin in springtime at dawn is something else. The Spree sits glassy and still, reflecting willows and the Fernsehturm. The old buildings glow in the low sun. The Fahrradstraßen — the bicycle streets — feel built just for this moment. No one is in your way. You can roam freely, take any turn, stop anywhere. The city opens up like it belongs to you.

It is also, if I am honest, a little bittersweet. Berlin is a beautiful city — genuinely, strikingly beautiful — but it does not always take care of itself. Rubbish on the streets, neglected corners, the wear of a city that sometimes seems too busy or too distracted to notice what it has. Early morning hides all of that. Everything looks cleaner, quieter, more itself.

Maybe that is part of why I keep going back to it. Those hours feel like a reminder of what this city is, underneath everything. Worth getting up early for.