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It all began on a bit of a whim. A last-minute suggestion from a friend to celebrate their birthday in surroundings slightly more exotic than a South London pub. “Berlin?”, they suggested. Hmm. Not quite as exotic as I had imagined. But sure, why not? And little did I know, that the trip would kick start one of the most passionate love affairs of my life. An affair that shows no sign of abating some six years later; one that has put down deep roots in my heart. But this affair isn’t with a single person. I became enamoured with a whole city. Captivated by an entire country, its diverse culture and rich history. And, in particular, I fell in love with a language that is fascinating and infuriating in equal measures. Germany. In all her Teutonic glory. I can pinpoint the exact moment that my mild interest in the place boiled over into full-blown fixation. One that would take up a good portion of my time, money and headspace for the ensuing half a decade. It was April 2014, and we were sat in the glorious late afternoon Berlin sun, in a bar along the monumental Communist boulevard (the aptly titled Karl-Marx-Allee), with the Fernsehturm—the brutal yet strangely alluring Space Age TV tower, a remnant of the former German Democratic Republic—looming over us, and I was nursing an ice cold Berliner Pilsner I had just ordered using my hitherto forgotten linguistic skills: “Zwei Bier und zwei Weißwein, bitte”. And the drinks followed as ordered. There are few thrills quite like successfully communicating in another language, especially one you last used in a classroom over half your lifetime ago. That sense of both relief and satisfaction that washes over you when the other person at least *sort of* understands what you’re trying to say gives me the same kind of rush that other people would pay good money for. It may have only been the most basic of basic German, but that moment has proved to be genuinely life-changing. It was as though someone had flicked a switch in my brain and secured it in place, never to be turned off again. I didn’t expect to find, simply by ordering a beer in Berlin, my new life’s obsession. And that was just the beginning. Like all great cities, Berlin feels very much like a living, open air museum. And as someone with a penchant for mid 20th century architecture and Cold War aesthetics, roaming the concrete-clad streets of East Berlin was like a dream come true. The imposing socialist mural that dominates Alexanderplatz? Wunderschön, comrade. Funkhaus Berlin? An architectural masterpiece. Seeing a Trabi car, a relic of the GDR, driving along the street? Be still my beating heart. Sitting in a replica East German apartment pretending to be a Stasi member and spying on your friends? Gott im Himmel. I was researching jobs and rental prices in Berlin before the first day was out, before we’d really dug into the vast array of museums and galleries, before we’d experienced the (in)famous Berlin techno scene, before I’d even sampled the culinary delight that is the Currywurst. Now, I may not have moved there (just yet), but Berlin, Germany and the wider German world have all absolutely taken up residence in my soul. It’s difficult to overstate how much of a profound effect this one April weekend had on me. German lessons every Thursday evening for over two years. Sports allegiances totally switched. A new-found appreciation for German hip-hop and Austrian wine. I even made my stand-up comedy debut with a routine entirely dedicated to the majesty of the German language. *That* is how much. I’ve been back to Berlin several times since, and have also begun to explore the rest of the country and the German-speaking world. Vienna and Hamburg have now also claimed a piece of my heart for themselves, while the Swiss Alps in the summertime are one of the most beautiful parts of the world I’ve ever seen. But Berlin was, and always will be, my first love. And to think, we were *this* close to just going for a quiet pint in the local pub instead.