In my 20s and early 30s, I moved around a lot—Washington DC, Beijing, Oakland, London—but I always knew the best dumpling spot, how to get $15 tickets to see a world-class orchestra, and which hikes were worth the drive. I played social chair for my friend groups, organizing nights out, and prided myself on knowing local gems.
However, two years after moving to Berlin, I wasn’t that person anymore. When family came to visit and asked, “What should we do?” I froze. I hadn’t been to a single museum. I didn’t know where to see stand-up comedy. I couldn’t even recommend a good restaurant. Embarrassed, I started flipping through my “Lonely Planet” guidebook behind their backs, hoping to fake it.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to explore. However, between work, parenting my three young children, and the endless logistics of family life, I couldn’t figure out how. I missed feeling connected to my city, having a go-to Thai place, and listening to live music.
Weekly date nights changed everything
That changed when my husband and I committed to a weekly night out, no excuses. It had been an idea for a long time, but like many families with young children, date nights sounded too expensive. And could we even find a babysitter who could handle our three kids: a clingy 1-year-old, an outgoing 2-year-old, and a 6-year-old who wanted to be read to for an hour every night?
When the babysitter rang the doorbell that first night, for example, my 1-year-old daughter hugged my leg like her life depended on it. I muttered to my husband, “Do you think we’ll even make it out the door?”
That night, we walked to a nearby Vietnamese restaurant we’d passed a dozen times but never entered. It smelled like lemongrass and was practically empty — we’d booked a table for an unfashionable 6 p.m. After we’d ordered, my husband looked across the table at me and grinned. “Wait, we’re actually out?” he said, raising his glass. It felt like I’d gotten back a piece of my 20-year-old self.
Weekly dinners were a good starting point, but they quickly got repetitive. I wanted to go beyond the plate and explore what this city had to offer.
I wanted more than dinner
I began to treat date night like a mini research project. Each week, I’d spend fifteen minutes max searching for art exhibits, plays, comedy shows, and free events on Thursday evenings, our set date night. I bookmarked websites for cheap cultural listings, followed local foodies on TikTok, and the city’s tourism bureau on Instagram.
Anytime I walked by a restaurant or an event space that looked interesting, I added it to my “Date Night” list in Google Maps. To keep the planning simple — and to make sure I wasn’t dragging my husband to something too weird — I’d send him two options most weeks like: a quick falafel and a trip to the spy museum or the city’s best hand-pulled noodles and a walk by the Spree River.
With fixed parameters and plenty of inspiration, the research stayed manageable, and soon I had a shortlist of things I couldn’t wait to try out.
This habit transformed how I experience Berlin. I often post date night adventures to my Instagram stories, and friends sometimes message me afterward, wanting to know if it was worth the subway ride.
Not every date night has been a hit
I once booked tickets at the planetarium to what I thought was a documentary about space — a topic my husband loves — but it turned out to be a painfully slow experimental film where half the audience snuck out.
Another time, we were stuck mid-row for an 1800s German play that was supposed to have English subtitles. It didn’t. We exchanged furtive glances — do you have any idea what’s going on? To this day, we don’t know what that play was about.
Or there was the classical concert at the Philharmonie. I thought we’d be listening to Bach, but instead, the music was by a French composer I didn’t know. During one of the songs, my husband pointed out that the concert program said it was meant to evoke the terror of the Holocaust, something I hadn’t mentally prepared for.
Still, these flops gave me better research instincts and great stories.
How I made Berlin mine
As we kept going out, I realized how much the city offered, even on a tight budget. From free light shows by the German Parliament to special exhibitions in museums that normally charge upward of 20 euros, I began filling up my Google Maps with spots I now recommend without hesitation.
While I hit the jackpot with a husband who’s game for just about anything, you don’t need a partner to do this. Recently, I’ve started taking myself on cultural lunchtime excursions. In May, I went on a walking tour, learning the history of Berlin’s most famous hospital (immortalized in the Netflix series Charité).
When my brother and sister-in-law visited a few months back and asked, “What should we do?” I didn’t need to consult a guidebook. I rattled off some favorites: a Michelin-starred restaurant that offers a $15 lunch special, a Balinese-inspired sauna, and a half-day excursion to a local palace.
I spent two years sitting in my apartment, not going out, feeling like home was somewhere else. Now, with 78 spots and counting on my Date Night list, Berlin finally feels like mine.
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