Some Places Just Have a Vibe

It happened in a little town just outside of Berlin—a place so obscure it doesn’t even show up on most travel guides, which isn’t surprising because it wasn’t the kind of town you'd visit voluntarily. To this day, I’m convinced it was put on maps solely so Google wouldn’t lose their legal right to call Europe "fully charted." The town? Wittensee. My reason for being there? A poorly explained invite from an old college friend who assured me it was “the most romantic, unfiltered experience of modern Germany.”

Romantic? Unfiltered? Sure. If by romantic you mean disconcertingly eerie, and by unfiltered, you mean zero cell service, which now that I think about it, might have been the point.

The story starts like all brilliant stories do: with a miscalculated level of enthusiasm. My friend Charlotte had gone to Berlin for her dissertation on post-Cold War art, met a local, and promptly swore off life in America. The invite to Wittensee sounded almost poetic in her email: “You need to see this place, Julian. It’s otherworldly—a forested microcosm of untapped emotion.” In retrospect, those were suspiciously generic words for what turned out to be a town straight out of an old Grimm Fairy Tale. And not the Disney-fied version.

The Arrival: Or, How Horror Movies Begin

On my way there, the Uber driver dropped me at the start of a winding trail and said—verbatim—“You must walk from here.” Sir, what? This was immediately not the countryside picnic I had envisioned. Charlotte had been vague about logistics, mentioning something about “letting the forest guide my instincts.” While I generally avoid accepting life advice from people who say things like “let the forest guide you,” I had agreed to this trip fully jetlagged, armed with misguided optimism and sneakers that were explicitly labeled “urban lifestyle only.”

The hike was an experience unto itself. For one, the trees were unnaturally tall, casting these absurdly dramatic shadows that made me feel like an extra in an M. Night Shyamalan reboot. But hey, I grew up in Brooklyn—my nerves are famously unshakable. That was until I stumbled across what can only be described as a field of abandoned mannequins. Limbs missing, torsos sun-bleached, eyes painted with a manic precision that suggested… someone was very lonely. Sudden pangs of regret for skipping that Berlin food tour washed over me.

Against all better judgment (and clearly lacking the right amount of horror movie knowledge), I ventured forward and eventually made it to the heart of Wittensee. By heart, I mean a cluster of maybe seven houses, one tavern, two goats, and what I’m fairly certain was a chicken farm doubling as a distillery. All of it surrounded by dense, ominous forest.

The "Most Romantic" Dinner in Literal Darkness

After settling into Charlotte’s quaint rental cottage, which had approximately 12 locks on the door (why??), she was practically vibrating with excitement about taking me to a “traditional German feast” in the village square. I was starving, so I was game for anything. What she failed to mention was that this wouldn’t be your run-of-the-mill schnitzel affair. Nope. Dinner in Wittensee is served entirely—in pitch-black darkness. Yes, folks, picture a room packed with strangers, lit only by the glow of whatever diesel generator powered the kitchen appliances. There wasn’t just an absence of lighting; they actively discouraged flashlights or phones, lest we interrupt the “immersive sensory experience.”

To make this real-world immersive horror even more cinematic, the seating arrangement was communal. Let me set the scene: I’m awkwardly squeezed between a man who I think—think—may have been wearing a full hunting outfit (complete with hip waders), and a local woman named Anke who smelled faintly of vodka and lavender. We exchanged pleasantries, which mainly consisted of Anke correcting my pronunciation of the word Weißbier.

When the food came? No one told me what it was. Charlotte whispered something about “meat stew,” which I’m sure was accurate, but I couldn’t help wondering if I was now a side character in some Bavarian culinary version of The Wicker Man. (Spoiler: delicious stew. Ten out of ten, would risk it again.)

Lessons in Romance, Wittensee-Style

Here’s the thing: Wittensee didn’t exactly scream romance upon first introduction. I mean, nothing says “date night energy” like ambiguous animal sounds coming from the shadows of the forest. But the fewer distractions I had—no Wi-Fi, no Instagram Stories, just me, my quirky host, and that stew—the more I started pondering the core of relationships. Turns out, when you’re sharing a makeshift wooden bench, laughing about the surreal situation, and collectively trying to identify what exactly you’re eating, it’s kind of magical.

And that’s when it hit me: sometimes romance isn’t about the grand, predictable gestures that candlelit restaurants or curated charcuterie platters deliver. Sometimes, it’s about the shared absurdity—these ridiculous, unpredictable moments that make life weirdly human. And I think that’s the hidden charm of Wittensee. You don’t focus on making a perfect impression when you’re dining in total darkness with a stranger named Anke warning you about untrustworthy forest foxes.

Advice for the Bold (or Slightly Reckless) Traveler

If you ever find yourself tempted to say yes to a wildly questionable invitation in your inbox, here’s what I learned:
1. Go All In: Whether it’s an impromptu village jaunt or a surprising dinner concept, lean into the experience. New environments have this wonderful way of smashing your comfort zone into a million, much-needed pieces.
2. Laugh About It: The moment something begins to feel ridiculous is the exact moment you’ll remember down the line as hilarious. Keep those moments close—they’re connection gold.
3. Embrace the Cringe: Love, surprisingly, thrives outside of curated perfection. Whether on a date or a group dinner, remember: nothing bonds people quicker than mutual awkwardness.
4. Pack Snacks: Seriously. Always have snacks. Just in case your friend brings you to dinner in the dark, or worse, mannequins appear midway through the woods.

Final Thoughts: Bring on the Absurd

By the time I left Wittensee, I had a real appreciation for its oddball charm. Sure, it wasn’t the idyllic rom-com backdrop Charlotte probably hyped it up to be. But maybe it’s better that way. It reinforced one of the most important lessons of both life and dating: when things get unconventional, hilarious, or ever-so-slightly sketchy, lean in. There’s magic in the messiness.

And no, I will not be eating mysterious meat stew in the dark again anytime soon. But who knows? Maybe that’s where the craziest places end up offering the sweetest surprises. Just, next time, I’ll bring a flashlight. And a friend who understands the value of disclaimers.