Could I ever see myself stranded helplessly in Berlin drunk off a cold beer on Day 1? No, because I don’t drink, but also no, because everyone here is capable of speaking some English. Not just basic English either. They’ll start with a humble disclaimer: “My English isn’t really good…”and then proceed to give you a five-paragraph MLA-cited explanation on how to transfer from the U-Bahn to the tram, complete with platform numbers, alternative routes ,and restaurant recommendations. It really makes my jaw drop. Meanwhile, I still feel guilty trying to figure out how to pronounce “Reichsbahnausbesserungswerk”.
The moment I landed, two things hit me: the smell of Marlboros and the realization that beer here is treated like a civic treasure. Everyone and their schnauzer was double-fisting a cold one before I even cleared customs. Beer gardens are like their playgrounds. And it’s completely normal to just walk around with a beer. Grocery store? Beer. Subway platform? Beer. Bookstore? Beer. It’s open carry, but for hops and barley.
But while they may treat beer like its liquid gold, they treat trash like sacred relics. Recycling here isn’t just a habit, it’s a lifestyle, like a social contract. People will stop mid-conversation to sort their bottles. They’ll pocket a used can and carry it across town to a proper bin. Plastic straws? Non-existent. Composting? The standard. And let’s not forget the religious devotion to organizing every scrap into its sacred container. It makes Alabama’s “burn pile” method seem prehistoric.
As for the grocery stores, I walked into what I thought was a corner market and came out questioning capitalism. Everything is so ridiculously fresh, beautifully arranged, and half the price of anything in the States. Y’all ever seen heirloom tomatoes cheaper than gas station candy? Even their simplest jam section somehow deserves its own museum wing, like there’s an entire floor dedicated to jams in one store. The variety of anything expands further than museum lighting. For some reason Europeans have earned the title “minimalists” while they casually house two competing H&Ms directly facing each other like they’re still in the Cold War, and they have the audacity to label us materialistic and consumeristic.
What blows my mind even more is that this city never ends. It just keeps going. Storefronts wrap around every corner like some urban hydra, and no matter what time it is, you’ll find someone walking their dog (groomed nicer than people) past a flower shop, bakery, or café. It’s all so fresh, so clean—even their subway stations smell nicer than a Southern Baptist fellowship hall on potluck Sunday. And cleanliness aside, the entire public transportation system feels like it was built by NASA. Buses, trains, subways, trams, it’s always on time and has Wi-Fi. I’ve been coasting for two weeks with no SIM card, no mobile plan, just mindless daydreaming.
And about those buses—double-decker like in London, but with no rowdy tourists. What they do have is an honor system. You could technically ride for free, but you don’t. Because here, people follow the rules. Probably because if you don’t, someone will absolutely tell you. And unapologetically blunt too. We were warned that Germans don’t sugarcoat things. They’ll let you know if you crossed the street wrong, stood in the bike lane, walked into the wrong entrance, probably even if you blinked too loudly. And honestly? I respect that. It’s direct, honest, and efficient—three things I usually reserve for throwing fish guts in a bucket or butchering chickens back home.
At work, punctuality might as well be a spiritual practice. The schedule isn’t just a suggestion—it’s doctrine. A meeting does not overstay itself by another minute. It’s not stressful, just sharp. Everything’s compact, minimal, and engineered to work. Even their pens are made out of paper. Like, you could probably write a love letter and then compost it the next day. That’s the kind of sustainable energy they strive for.
And the people? I did not expect half the population to be walking around as if holding mirrors pointed at me. Partly because I have horrible facial recognition, but mostly because I was surprised by how many people looked like me. Not just those veiled but those whose faces resembled mine too; two different types of people. Every now and then, I’d catch myself tweaking out thinking I could understand German, only to realize it’s just the northern Vietnamese dialect that make my ears bleed more crimson than the Red Scare. You’ll see them running sushi spots, Vietnamese restaurants, nail salons. Then we have the hijabis, a reminder than my salaam alakum brothers and sisters are everywhere, running the döner stands, kebap shops, and halal cafés like clockwork. They’re out here, not just blending in, but holding it down. And when I’ve needed help, directions, or just a warm smile, they’ve been the first to offer guidance. It’s like being thousands of miles from home, and still somehow finding my neighborhood. Vietnamese cafés sit next to halal shops, next to currywurst stands, next to döner spots—all blended together in one urban stretch. .
The city feels safe in a way that’s hard to describe. Kids no older than five regularly walking around alone, heads full of confidence, and zero iPads in sight. I’ve seen more toddlers reading books here in a week than I have in American airports in a decade.
It’s so safe, that last week, I even stood just ten feet away from both Friedrich Merz and Olaf Scholz (chancellors) , separated only by a window—and somehow, no swarm of secret service, just calm, watchful eyes and an oddly comfortable crowd. It felt like stumbling into a state dinner in the middle of a farmer’s market.
Outside of soaking in all the city life, I’m here for work where I’ll be interning in Berlin at Vencon Research International, a firm that specializes in compensation benchmarking for the consulting industry (discussed more in my previous blog post). With my background in psychology, it has given me a unique perspective and set of strengths. Skills central to the discipline—such as pattern recognition, critical analysis of behavior, and interpreting nuanced information—translate directly into understanding compensation trends, career trajectories, and organizational decision-making. In particular, I would need the ability to think systematically about motivation, equity, and workplace behavior, which are all deeply relevant to how compensation systems are structured and perceived. Working in Germany specifically brings an additional set of professional expectations. The business culture here emphasizes precision, punctuality, and procedural rigor. Projects are expected to follow clearly defined schedules, and communication—both written and verbal—must be direct, well-organized, and compliant with legal and regulatory standards
All in all, Berlin might be colder than the weather app says, but it’s warmer in its way of life. It’s a place where honesty cuts through small talk, where efficiency runs the streets, and where the simplicity of a jam jar or a perfect loaf of bread reminds you that maybe we should start adopting things back home.
