Last place for Rostock residents in the Happiness Atlas: Unemployed, where others go on holiday
Rostock often makes headlines, usually infamous ones. This is no different now: According to the Happiness Atlas, the Hanseatic city is home to the unhappiest city dwellers in Germany. Yet there are many reasons why people in Rostock can be happy.
I sit on my beach towel, my feet buried in the sand. The sun shines, embracing my body with summer warmth, the waves of the still icy Baltic Sea gently lapping against the shore of Hohe Düne. Seagulls cry from the distance, and Saxon chatter from nearby.
Then a ship's horn sounds. Two ships from the AIDA fleet sail past the Warnemünde lighthouse and out into the Baltic Sea . Numerous happy vacationers stand on the outside deck and wave, and the onlookers on the quayside wave back. The air shimmers with warmth, the sky glows orange. And I—I'm unhappy.
At least, I should be, according to a new ranking by the SKL Happiness Atlas. It determined which 40 major cities in Germany have the happiest people. Kassel took first place , followed by Rostock in 40th place. They're even behind Karlsruhe and Wiesbaden. The people here must be very desperate, I think.
Jokes aside (and all happiness). Why are people here so unhappy? According to the SKL Happiness Atlas, the highest levels of life satisfaction were found "where life remained familiar, manageable, safe, and green." Surely all of this applied to Rostock, too, I thought. Those are all things I love about my hometown.
The tranquility of the city, the short distances.
That you don't have to spend two hours on public transport every day and involuntarily cuddle with strangers on overcrowded buses (a Hanseatic horror anyway) to get from A to B. That you can get anywhere by bike with minimal stamina.
The family atmosphere.
On almost every stroll through town, you meet people you know—whether that contributes to personal happiness is debatable. But it gives you a feeling of social envelopment, of familiarity. Whether you're meeting a schoolmate for the first time in ten years at the supermarket checkout or a former work colleague at 3 a.m. in a club ("Moin." – "Na." – "Wie is?" – "Muss").
The people.
Yes, the Rostocker is a Mecklenburg grump, a grumpy person. Rather cool and distant, suspicious and cautious. It's actually a miracle that this species has continued to reproduce for generations under these conditions.
But the Rostock native is also down-to-earth and loyal. A loyal soul who, once trust is established (so after about five years), is hard to shake off. The Rostock native doesn't talk, he doesn't act, and he doesn't immediately fall over in the face of a force 2 wind. If he does, a dry sense of humor helps.
The proximity to the water.
Whether it's summer or winter, strolling along the harbor or lying on the beach is simply therapeutic. The view of the sea is calming; the sound of the waves replaces any chill-out playlist. Plus, the sea is always there; the tidal range is significantly lower than on the North Sea. A day at the beach feels like a mini-vacation, leaving you feeling refreshed, refreshed, and more confident. Plus, you can show off your tan.
Well, not in every situation. At least not politically. I see the fundamental problems facing Rostock, and Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania in general, the reasons for the dissatisfaction. The aftermath of reunification, the unemployment and poverty rates that are above the national average, and the city's profound social divide.
Given this background, can I love my hometown? Yes, I can. Because I also see what distinguishes Rostock, how the city wants to move forward. The people who enable, educate, and create. The change, the resistance, the will.
The people of Rostock are, of course, aware of this strange ambivalence. And because attack is the best form of defense, it's practically on display. The motto in the region: "Unemployed where others go on vacation."
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