Remote Working in Berlin: Why a Change of Scenery Might Just Change Everything

I recently spent a month remote working from Berlin, and I can honestly say—something in me shifted. Not in a dramatic, eat-pray-love kind of way. More like a gentle recalibration, a soft return to presence.

The simple fact that everything was different brought me back to life a little. In Berlin, they drive on the other side of the road. German buzzes around you like a hum you’re not quite tuned into. The buildings are austere and poetic. It shook me out of the comfortable passivity of routine and into something much more alert. I couldn’t rely on muscle memory—I had to pay attention.

And that presence was nourishing. As Jenny Odell reflects in How to Do Nothing, attention is its own kind of rebellion. Being present to the world, especially a new one, is an act of coming alive. For me, it looked like noticing the graffiti that read “Drop Rents Not Bombs” scrawled across walls in Wedding, or realising there were no ticket gates at U-Bahn stations—just a transit system built (mostly) on good will and trust. It felt oddly hopeful. And yet, alongside that hope, the city also revealed harder truths—like the visible and growing levels of homelessness, especially around Alexanderplatz. I couldn’t look away. And maybe that’s a good thing.

Berlin has this delicious tension between chaos and calm. On hot days, I joined locals swimming in Flughafensee, the cool lake waters a welcome contrast to the summer heat. I’d grab a Currywurst after a long day, hands full and satisfied, soaking in the casual deliciousness that Berlin does so well. I found joy in following the rhythms of the city—not as a tourist ticking boxes, but as someone tuning in.

Pico Iyer, in The Art of Stillness, writes about how travel can offer a kind of mirror—not to escape your life, but to see it differently. That’s exactly what Berlin gave me. A month of work emails and video calls, yes, but also of perspective. Of aliveness.

Now that I’m back, I feel energised in a way that surprises me. The emails are still there. But I feel different. More awake.

I’m already dreaming about next year’s remote working escape. Not to run away—but to keep remembering how much more vivid life feels when we choose to truly see it.