See, there are always so many people in this city, which makes me feel relaxed. It may be because I get lost in between the crowds, or because there are so many people of all colors, shapes, and moods.
Berlin never disappointed me, and I can even imagine living there for a while. Or at least for a couple of days first, to get the other picture. This intimate relationship with the city, the feeling of being at home among the crowds, is what keeps drawing me back.
Whenever I come, I always try to get a place at a different location. This way, I was able to experience many sides of the city, and I always find more to see. Kreuzberg is one of my all-time favorites, with its delicious kebab and mix of weird and lovely smells.
The Belle Alliance sculpture sits in Mehringplatz, a stark reminder of the square’s layers of history. What I find fascinating is how this monument to an 1815 Prussian-French battle survived the destruction of the square during World War II, only to watch postwar planners rebuild everything around it in a completely different style.
Now it stands there, surrounded by 1960s social housing, like a confused grandfather who woke up in the wrong century. It’s a testament to Berlin’s resilience and its ability to transform, which never fails to inspire me.
Walking through Kreuzberg’s streets, you can’t help but notice the pre-war buildings that survived, carrying these beautiful stucco facades, often crumbling just enough to show their age without losing their dignity.
The altitude variation is striking – many buildings have these half-sunken courtyards you can peek into from street level, creating these accidental stages where daily life plays out below you.
It’s architecture that wasn’t planned to be observed this way, but somehow rewards the curious eye.
The Berliner Dom’s cupola is a strange piece of history – the original was taller and more ornate before World War II severely damaged it. When they rebuilt it in the 1970s and 80s, they made it simpler, lower.
I like this about Berlin: even its grandest building admits it can’t quite reclaim what was lost, so it settles for something honest instead. Standing underneath and looking up, the interior dome paintings still feel overwhelming, even in this reduced version.
I love the Berlin TV tower and can’t miss a good trip up there. Standing at 368 meters tall, it is the tallest structure in Germany and one of the highest in Europe. Built between 1965 and 1969 by the German Democratic Republic (East Germany), the tower was constructed near Alexanderplatz in what was then East Berlin to demonstrate the technological prowess of the socialist state.
The brutalist design of the TV tower has an interesting tension built into it – the concrete shaft is pure socialist modernism, all function and strength, but then it blooms into a sphere and spire that feels almost whimsical, like someone convinced the committee to let them have a little fun at the top.
The sphere houses a rotating restaurant that still works, turning visitors slowly around the city. There’s something quietly absurd about East Germany building this magnificent viewing platform so people could look at... well, mostly East Berlin.
The Berlin TV Tower has two lifts, each carrying up to 10 people; since its 1996 upgrade, the ascent to the sphere takes only 40 seconds (there is also a stairway with 986 steps). However, the tower is not accessible to wheelchair users due to fire regulations.
The lift shaft itself is worth mentioning – it’s slightly tilted to follow the tower’s widening base, which means the cabin has to adjust its angle as it climbs.
The original 1960s lifts were so slow that people complained of ear pressure. The current system can handle around 3,000 visitors per day, though on busy summer weekends, you’ll still wait in line for an hour or more.
A fascinating phenomenon occurs when sunlight reflects off the tower’s stainless steel dome, creating a cross-shaped pattern that West Berliners nicknamed the ‘Pope’s Revenge.’ This nickname was a playful jab at the officially atheist East German government, as the cross-shaped reflection was seen as a symbol of resistance to the government’s anti-religious stance.
This Pope’s Revenge has become one of my long-time photography hunts, and honestly, one of the main reasons I keep coming back to the city. Each visit, I hope this will be the time I capture it perfectly – the right light, the right angle, maybe with clouds positioned just so. I’ve gotten close a few times, but there’s always something slightly off. I think that’s fitting, actually. Berlin doesn’t give up its best shots easily.
It was blazingly hot those days in Berlin (up to 34 degrees) – the Memorial's shadows offered a nice cooldown, but, maybe because of the heat wave, the place felt more powerful than usual.
Despite the seriousness of the Memorial, not everyone felt the same: kids were playing on the blocks, and countless tourists were taking selfies. I felt this lady somehow precisely matched the mood in the scorching summer air.
Amidst this, I noticed a lady who seemed to embody the mood of the scorching summer air, adding a layer of complexity to the experience.
The Memorial’s architect, Peter Eisenman, actually said he didn’t mind people sitting or walking on the blocks – he wanted it to be part of the city’s fabric, not something you only approach reverently. I think about this every time I see kids playing there.
The Memorial works because it doesn’t demand a specific response; it just exists, unavoidable, in the middle of everything. Some people find this troubling, but I think it reflects something true about memory – it’s not separate from life, it sits right in the middle of it, whether we’re ready for that or not.
Inside the Jewish Museum, Daniel Libeskind’s architecture creates these narrow, tall voids that cut through the building. You’re walking through exhibitions in relatively normal gallery spaces. Then suddenly there’s this vertical shaft, dark except for a slash of sky far above. These voids are empty – deliberately so – and they’re positioned so you keep encountering them unexpectedly.
The building won’t let you forget what’s missing. I found myself returning to these openings, trying to photograph the light as it came down. However, cameras can’t quite capture how small and quiet they make you feel.
Just very recently, on a walk around the Alexanderplatz, we (my son and I) found open doors in one of the “ugliest” panel blocks I’ve ever seen. As we never change, we had a small urbex, climbing up to the last floor because the lift wasn’t working anymore.
This is my childhood in the Prague suburbs – gray, brown panel blocks and a depressive mood, like from the Aphex Twin clip. We loved it.
These panel buildings around Alexanderplatz – the Plattenbau blocks – were East Germany’s solution to the massive housing shortage after the war. They built tens of thousands of identical units using prefabricated concrete panels, which is why they all look the same.
What’s interesting is that many are now being renovated with colorful facades and insulation, but some remain in their original state, slowly crumbling. The ones we explored still had that GDR-era feeling – dim stairwells with that specific institutional green paint and windows that don’t quite seal anymore.
These buildings were meant to be temporary solutions. Some have stood for sixty years.
Friedrichshain’s graffiti culture is relentless – you’ll see pieces that look a week old already getting tagged over, layers upon layers of paint building up on walls until they’re practically textured. What I love is how the neighborhood treats it: these aren’t vandals and victims, it’s more like an ongoing conversation where everyone’s shouting at once.
Some buildings have elaborate murals that the community protects; others are just free-for-all canvases that change weekly. The East Side Gallery might be the famous example, but the real spirit is in these side streets where nobody’s preserving anything, and somehow that makes it more alive.
Berlin keeps reinventing itself, and maybe that’s what draws me back. It’s a city that refuses to be one thing – the grand imperial architecture sits next to brutal concrete blocks, which neighbor carefully restored Altbau apartments, which look across at brand-new glass towers. Nothing quite matches, nothing’s trying to.
You get the sense that Berlin looked at its fractured history and decided the only honest response was to stay fractured, to let all those contradictions coexist. For a photographer, this is perfect. There’s always another angle, another layer, another story hiding in plain sight.
We’ll be back soon, probably sooner than planned. I’m thinking about that Pope’s Revenge shot, wondering if autumn light might work better.
Berlin does this – it gets under your skin, makes you feel like you’re just starting to understand it, and then reveals something new that changes everything again. See you soon, Berlin.