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This is the story of Ala, born in Moldova, exported to Berlin via the U.S., imported here by a company decision, and somehow thriving in a city she didn’t choose as much as she allowed to happen. It’s the kind of story only Berlin can host: part accident, part endurance test, part romance with a city you complain about while secretly adoring.
Before I get too deep, quick reminder this interview is brought to you by A4ord. But we’ll get to them once Ala starts assembling her Berlin chaos. Now back to her.
Ala moved to Berlin twelve years ago because her company told her it made “strategic sense.” In business English, that meant Berlin was cheaper, closer, and came with fewer internal approvals than London. In human English, it meant: pack your things, we’re relocating you.
She had two options: London or Berlin.
And in her own words:
“In London I’d be broke with style, in Berlin I could afford dinner and heating.”
Decision made.
What nobody tells you is what it feels like to land in Berlin without really wanting to. She describes her first months the way people describe bad dates: polite, cautious, and emotionally noncommittal.
Instead of renting a flat immediately, Ala slid into a hotel room for an entire year — a commitment-free arrangement that allowed her to observe Berlin from the safety of crisp sheets and optional breakfast buffets.
But Berlin does what Berlin does:
It creeps up on you.
Slowly.
Through routines, small comforts, and the subtle gravity of a place that doesn’t flirt — it just waits you out.
Ask Ala for her first Berlin moment, and she doesn’t even hesitate:
“Endless supply of interesting people — everywhere, all the time.”
You never know if you’re standing next to a neuroscientist, a DJ, a climate activist, a poet, or someone who moved here last Tuesday with zero plan but infinite energy.
Anyone who survived Kreuzberg nights knows exactly what she means (see our piece on Berlin Clubbing Culture, where half the nightlife is people-watching).
Ala’s first Berlin autumn delivered the classic initiation package:
October rain.
Endless grey.
Existential dampness.
For those familiar with our guide on how to survive your first Berlin winter, this phase is known as “The Sorting Period” — when newcomers decide whether they stay, adapt, or flee.
Housing was the worst part. Every viewing felt like an audition. Every “we’ll call you” felt like a lie. At one point, she wondered if permanent hotel life was simply her fate.
Then came the miracle.
During a random taxi ride, she noticed a tiny ad for a managed apartment building taped to the divider. She called on a whim, got an immediate viewing, signed the contract, and moved in the next day.
Her entire Berlin life — twelve years and counting — started because she got into the right taxi at the right time.
Then came German bureaucracy, Berlin’s unofficial hazing ritual.
The highlight? Returning from a business trip to find the electricity cut off.
Why? Because she hadn’t paid a bill she didn’t know existed — it arrived by post, the sacred bureaucratic medium Germany refuses to abandon.
Since then:
“Now I pay for everything that even thinks about entering my inbox.”
We salute the survival instinct.
Of course, not everything was dramatic. Some things shocked her with their simplicity — like buying Christmas trees, a process so organized and charming it has its own energy (see Christmas in Berlin 2025 for the full ritual).
But what she genuinely misses from Moldova is hospitality — that instinct to feed someone before the conversation even starts.
Ala never expected to fall for Berlin’s parks.
“They’re never fully clean,” she says — which is Berlin code for “authentically lived in.”
But she found her spots:
The benches where the light hits at the right angle, the patches of grass are always full of neighbors, dogs, flirts, and accidental conversations. The corners that are messy in the way life is messy — unpolished but genuine.
Nothing about Berlin parks is curated. That’s the charm.
For Ala, the magic of Berlin comes down to three things:
Her home.
Her friends.
Her future — assuming she doesn’t freeze in February.
She’s convinced expats are “Berlin’s secret sauce” — the ingredient that gives the city its texture, its multicultural chaos, its unexpected tenderness. If you stand in line at S-Bahn Hackescher Markt, you’ll hear five languages before stepping into the train.
Berlin still feels open to her. But it’s not unconditional openness.
As she puts it:
“It’s selective freedom.”
If you’re tolerant, curious, flexible — Berlin will work.
If you want order, silence, and predictable energy…
Try Munich.
Ala’s favorite Berlin season is spring, specifically the lilac explosion that transforms the city. It’s the one time Berlin gets sentimental and allows hope to bloom without irony.
We talk about this emotional switch in our Winter-to-Spring guide — that moment when everyone suddenly believes in life again.
She’s also become deeply committed to Advent.
Calendars. Candles. Rituals.
The structured countdown to joy.
A very German conversion.
Ala found A4ord through an Instagram ad that read her mind a little too well.
She booked cleaning first — the gateway service for most expats — and immediately felt like she’d been upgraded to business class without leaving her living room.
“They called, texted, and helped me book everything — real customer service!”
In Berlin? A rare luxury.
The communication was easy, English-friendly, and impressively fast — the exact niche A4ord fills in a city where half the stress comes from the phrase “please bring cash.”
Her one-word review: “Done well.”
Next on her list: Beauty services, because efficiency and glam should coexist.
Her Berlin today is a collage:
Warm days that smell like baked sidewalks.
Spontaneous visits from friends.
Mulled wine drifting from Christmas markets (see Christmas in Berlin).
Cafés that remember her order.
A city that demands patience but returns authenticity.
The German language, however, remains her eternal frenemy. Respect is given. Fluency is not.
She finds community everywhere — at work, in cafés, at events, through hobbies. She’s the kind of expat who suffers no loneliness because she radiates connection.
Living in Berlin shifted her understanding of home:
“A good life can happen anywhere, as long as your friends are nearby.”
Berlin became that “anywhere.”
Her metaphor is short, perfect, and deeply Berlin:
“A love-hate relationship — but definitely still home.”
Every Berliner nodded.
Her advice could single-handedly prevent expat meltdowns:
Buy insurance. For everything.Don’t delay — just do it.
It’s the foundation of functioning here. (See What Not to Do in Berlin for more survival intel.)
Favorite U-Bahn line: U6 — no explanation necessary
Best night out: Ku’damm — classy chaos
Most overrated: Visiting the Wall
Most underrated: Hackescher Markt — still magic
Favorite German word: Überraschung
Currywurst: Absolutely not
Secret Berlin habit she loves: A beer + a book by the water
Berlin habit she rejects: Returning bottles (we admire the honesty)
Ala didn’t choose Berlin — Berlin absorbed her slowly. She stayed for the friends, the lilacs, the messy parks, the accidental comfort, and the truth that home is often the place you stop trying to leave.
Check Expats Magazine for more stories about the people who make Berlin, Berlin.
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