Berlin, After 80 Years

I have always admired European cities that not only wear their history openly, but have also been able to bounce back from mass destruction. Berlin is one of those cities, and visiting it is always a fascinating experience.

The Berlin Cathedral stands next to the Spree River, with its weathered green dome rising like a crown above the skyline. Bombs scarred it during the war, and the marks still linger. Inside, light filters through stained glass, illuminating marble columns and pews. The Hohenzollern crypt below reminds visitors that this was once the resting place of kings and queens. Climbing to the top, all 270 narrow steps, reveals a sweeping view of the city, with Museum Island stretching below, like a map of culture surrounded by water.

Five museums stand shoulder to shoulder here, their facades rising from the river. The Pergamon draws crowds with its monumental reconstructions of ancient gates and temples. In the Neues Museum, the bust of Nefertiti gazes serenely through glass, timeless and untouchable. Each building feels like a world of its own, shaped by Berlin’s long cycle of destruction and renewal. Cranes and scaffolds are part of the view, proof that the city is always rebuilding, never quite finished.

To the west, the Reichstag rises. Built in the 1890s, it survived fire, war, and division, before being reborn as the seat of a unified Germany. Norman Foster’s glass dome spirals above the parliament chamber, a literal window into democracy. Visitors climb its mirrored ramp for a panorama of Berlin, where stone, steel, and sky merge. Outside, people picnic on the grass where soldiers once marched.

The first time I saw the Brandenburg Gate, I stood in awe, staring at its grandeur. Once a royal monument, later a backdrop to parades and propaganda, it became trapped between East and West during the Cold War. When the wall fell in 1989, Berliners climbed atop it, celebrating the first night of unity. Standing there today, surrounded by embassies and tourists, it’s impossible not to feel the echo of that moment. The gate has seen everything; triumphs, divisions, and reunions.

A short trip southwest lead me to Potsdam and Sanssouci Palace, Frederick the Great’s escape from court life. Its name means without a care, and seeing the sheer opulence explains the name. Terraced vineyards spill down toward sculpted gardens, where fountains sparkle beneath the trees. Inside, rococo rooms shimmer with gilded light and are actually quite intimate, rather than grand. It is a peaceful contrast to the historic heartland of the former Prussia.

Back in the city, contrasts collide. Graffiti covers old factories. Cafés fill courtyards once used for industry. Memorials rise where walls once stood. The Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe is a field of silent grey blocks with no signs or explanations. Even the sidewalks tell stories. Small brass plaques mark the names of those who vanished, their memory pressed into the city’s daily rhythm.

Life here moves steadily. Buses hum by, cyclists ring their bells, and people linger in open squares. Berlin feels both restless and grounded. If visiting, make sure you leave enough time to explore ‘Checkpoint Charlie’ and take in the history and tragedy of the Cold War. It is a replica of the original site, which was torn down in 1990, but the historic elements and museums have been maintained.

I had an opportunity, on one of my visits to Berlin, to take my father with me. Having spent two years in a German labour camp during the war, exploring the city with him was an emotional experience

Today’s Berlin is modern, prosperous and exciting, but everywhere you look, remnants of the turbulent past are still visible.