Berlin is the fastest moving city in Europe! I heard this sentence for the first time five years ago, and it immediately tickled my curiosity in the most seductive way. Not the most beautiful, or spectacular or historical or sunny city in Europe (which I had already heard about Rome, Barcelona and Paris) but the fastest moving city.
What does that mean, I wondered, having always been a sucker for spending time in the fast lane? Back then, I was very heartbroken and this surprising assessment of the city’s speed made me pack my sorry self and my toddler Lola and jump on a train to the German Capital, having never before set foot in Berlin.
Met and sheltered by the buzzing, friendly atmosphere, the high ceilings, public tolerance, and the alternative, über cool way of living, I fixed my broken heart in a jiffy and fell head over heels in love with the city, which is of course much more complex than just fast.
It’s silly, but somehow Berlin reminds me of my all-time favourite cartoon-mates Lucky Luke and Rantanplan: on one hand faster that its own shadow, and on the other slow and kind-hearted. Lola, who is now 6 years old, and I have lived in this metropolitan contradiction three years now, und wir gehen nie mehr nach Hause.
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