Olaf Hartmann

When we moved to Hungary a year ago, I thought we’d found the perfect escape. South of Lake Balaton, the countryside is peaceful and feels a world away from the tension we left behind in Bavaria. Back in Germany, the nights felt unsafe, and I couldn’t bear the thought of my wife walking alone. Here, things are different—quiet streets, distant neighbors, and an old house that I restored myself with calloused hands and a stubborn determination to start fresh.

At 45, I thought I understood the world. Migration in Germany felt like an endless stream of strangers taking advantage of a system I’d contributed to my entire life. When we sold our house and moved here, it felt like an escape from chaos. The village we chose is mostly locals—no influx of foreigners, no reminders of the frustrations we’d left behind.

Yet, irony has a way of creeping into life. My eight-year-old son struggled at first, navigating a new language and culture. I worried about him, but it didn’t take long for him to find a friend in his class—a Syrian boy. Their bond was immediate, and soon their laughter filled our home. I didn’t expect to meet the boy’s family, but when a pipe burst in their house, my skills as a plumber came in handy.

That burst pipe was the beginning of something I hadn’t anticipated. Over meals at their table, I learned about their escape from Syria—stories of a war-torn homeland, nights of fear, and a desperate journey to safety. They weren’t here to take anything; they were here because there was no other choice. It struck me, then, how similar we were. In Hungary, we are the migrants, searching for safety and a better life.

However, we did not experience war, and there was no urgent need to flee. When the father kindly asked why we had left Germany, I stumbled. I muttered something about safety and wanting a quieter life, but the words felt hollow.

The other Germans here don’t see it that way. Many are entrenched in their own bitterness, voicing the same complaints I once did. Now, we’re the ones on the outside.

If I’ve learned anything, it’s this: understanding starts with listening. And maybe that’s where real change begins.