Berlin greeted us like an old friend who insists on showing you absolutely everything at once. One minute we were wandering past chunky industrial pipes that looked like they’d been borrowed from a giant’s Lego set, the next we were staring up at a church squeezed between modern buildings as if it had politely refused to move with the times. And then, because this is Berlin, a fox casually trotted across the street like it had a dinner reservation. Not a metaphorical fox. An actual, fluffy, city-dwelling fox. It glanced at us with the calm superiority of someone who clearly pays no rent and still owns the neighborhood.

Around Alexanderplatz, the TV tower pierced the sky with its shiny disco-ball top, keeping watch over the city like a futuristic lighthouse. We drifted between street musicians, coffee stops, and wide plazas that felt both gritty and grand. Inside the Aquadom, fish swirled in a giant cylindrical aquarium so hypnotic we stood there far longer than planned, noses practically pressed to the glass. Berlin felt alive in the most comforting way — a mix of old stones, bold steel, unexpected wildlife, and quiet corners that made you slow down and smile for no particular reason.