Munich – I Loved It and I Hated It

I lived in Munich for 22 years.

That is a long time. Long enough to know a city beyond the postcard version. Long enough to have memories, routines, favourite corners, good years and bad years. Long enough to understand why people love Munich.

And I did love parts of it.

Munich is beautiful to me, even with everything else I associate with it. The old city, the beer gardens, the Isar, the nearby lakes, and the Alps almost in front of the door — it is hard not to be impressed. From Munich, you can be at the Starnberger See or Tegernsee quickly, in the mountains for a weekend, in Austria without much effort, and even Italy feels close enough to dream about.

And still, for me, Munich was always complicated. I loved it. And I hated it too.

Arriving in Munich at a Historic Moment

My mother and I arrived in Frankfurt am Main two days before the Berlin Wall fell. Germany was still divided when we arrived, but history was already moving fast.

Only a few days later, when the Wall had already been down for two days, we arrived in the Munich area and first came to Possenhofen on the Starnberger See.

That was my first contact with Bavaria after leaving the East. Lake air, quiet surroundings, and this strange feeling that a completely new life was beginning. After all the tension and uncertainty, Possenhofen felt almost unreal.

A few weeks later, we found an apartment in Munich. And that was the beginning of my 22 years there.

Same Language, But Not the Same World

After the Wall fell, many people from East Germany moved west. We sought freedom, work, opportunities, and a future that felt more open. My experience of arriving in West Germany was not simply one of being welcomed with open arms.

I found Munich difficult. Finding a home and work took effort, and I did not always feel welcome as someone from East Germany. It was not always something people said directly; it was the impression I carried through those years.

I came from Arnstadt in Thuringia, and my accent gave me away. People from Thuringia and Saxony have distinctive accents, and in Munich, it was often enough to open my mouth for people to know where I came from.

I tried to hide it. I really did. I tried to speak more neutral German, even their accent, in a bumbling way. I listened carefully, adjusted words, softened my pronunciation, and hoped that one day people would stop hearing the East in my voice.

But an accent is not just a sound. It is childhood, family, streets, school, memories. It is part of you. You can try to cover it, but you never fully erase it.

When you looked for an apartment, you had to prove you were reliable. When you applied for a job, you had to prove you were good enough. And once you had a job, it sometimes felt like you had to prove even harder that you deserved it — harder than someone local, harder than someone who already belonged.

That becomes tiring after a while.

Munich Was Beautiful, But It Was Never Heimat

I had good times in Munich. It would be wrong to say otherwise.

And the location is one of Munich’s best features. The lakes are close. The Alps are close. Austria is close. Italy is reachable. A weekend in the mountains, a trip to Salzburg, a journey to South Tyrol — from Munich, all of that feels natural.

Maybe that is one reason I stayed so long. Whenever the city felt too heavy, I always had the option to escape somewhere beautiful.

But still, Munich never became Heimat.

Heimat is more than the place where you live. It is the place where you feel accepted without constantly having to explain yourself. It is where your way of speaking doesn’t immediately put you into a category. It is where you do not feel like a guest after many years.

Life Between Balance Sheets, Tax Declarations, and Pressure

Over time, my life in Munich became increasingly about work and pressure.

Balance sheets. Tax declarations. Deadlines. Office routines. Responsibilities. Numbers. Papers. Stress.

But inside, I felt trapped.

I was functioning, but I was not really living the life I wanted.

And then my health changed everything.

The Belly Problem That Changed My Life

In 1999, before my trip to Tahiti, I already had a serious belly problem. At the time, I probably didn’t yet understand how much this problem would influence my future.

Later, it became worse. Then came an operation in a hospital — and after that operation, things became even worse. So bad that another 9-hour operation at another hospital became necessary.

Suddenly, life became very small.

No more normal routine. No more work plans. No more thinking about the next trip or the next step. Everything was about pain, doctors, hospitals, and whether my body would recover.

And while I was still in intensive care, my employer fired me.

I was prepared for it. I had already told Lizz that if this happened, it would be our signal to leave Germany.

I knew that this incident would damage my vita, my CV, my professional future. After serious health problems, hospital stays, operations, and losing a job under those circumstances, I knew it would be very hard to find a good job again in Germany.

The Go Signal to Leave Germany

When that happened, it confirmed what I had already felt for a long time: this life was finished. Not only the job. Not only Munich. Germany.

The go signal.

And I was happy about it!

Sometimes life does not open a door gently. Sometimes it pushes you so hard that you finally move.

Looking Back at Munich

When I look back at Munich now, I don’t feel anger. I also don’t feel love. I feel neither.

It pushed me toward a different life, outside Germany, together with Lizz. And maybe that is why this city will always remain important to me — not because it was home, but because it was the place where I finally understood that I had to leave and start again somewhere else.

Munich was beautiful. Munich was difficult. I loved it. And I hated it too.

A city, and more than one chapter

For one of the journeys that made returning harder, there is Sydney in November 2004. For a later visit back to Germany, our January family visit belongs to another chapter. A place can remain part of your life even after the life you lived there has ended.