How a polluted East German city became a hipster paradise

Thirty-five years ago, East Germany’s Peaceful Revolution began the transformation of polluted and deserted Leipzig into a hipster paradise

In the spooky Stasi HQ in Leipzig, now a rather sinister museum, Tobias Hollitzer, the museum’s director, is telling me about his participation in the Peaceful Revolution which led to the fall of the Berlin Wall. In October 1989 – exactly 35 years ago – he took to the streets, alongside 70,000 other East Germans, aware that the secret policemen in this building would be watching his every move.
Tobias and his fellow demonstrators knew they were risking everything. All previous demonstrations in East Germany had been brutally repressed. Yet incredibly, miraculously, this time was different. These peaceful protests were so vast (subsequent demonstrations numbered up to half a million people) that the East German regime was unable to suppress them, and that hated tyranny ended up collapsing without any violence whatsoever.
Thirty-five years on, a lot of people still assume that Germany’s Peaceful Revolution began and ended in Berlin. In fact, it was here in Leipzig that the largest and most significant demonstrations occurred, eventually resulting in the reunification of Germany and the collapse of the Iron Curtain.
Leipzig celebrates that heroic uprising every year, with illuminations marking the route of those demonstrations all around the city centre. But it isn’t just that uprising which makes this such an intriguing destination. Remarkably, during the past 20 years, it has also become Germany’s hippest city.
If you had told me Leipzig would become a hipster’s paradise when I first came here soon after German reunification, I would have called you crazy. During the Cold War, it had been a bastion of heavy industry. Its skyline was strewn with smoking chimneys, its buildings were blackened by pollution and the surrounding countryside was disfigured by enormous open-cast coal mines.
Reunification had improved the air quality (by putting those old rust belt industries out of business) and the municipal landmarks had been spruced up, but on my first visit the city still bore the scars of wartime bombing and 40 years of communism – it remains debatable which was worse.
Returning to Leipzig 10 years later, I was amazed at how much had changed. In the intervening decade, the city had had a rigorous spring clean, and its streets were now full of life. Previously deserted boulevards were awash with trendy bars and restaurants. The hidden hand of the free market had worked its unseen magic, transforming old industrial sites into galleries and speakeasies.
I’ve been back many times since then, and each time I come the city looks better than before. Countless antique buildings, left to rot under the GDR (German Democratic Republic), have been painstakingly restored. Most of the modern buildings are rather bland, and the communists left behind a fair few eyesores, but Leipzig isn’t a place for picture postcards. It’s bustling and invigorating, with a youthful, energetic buzz, and its can-do atmosphere is infectious. During the Cold War, its population shrank from 600,000 to 500,000, and a further 50,000 went west after reunification, but since the millennium it’s returned to its pre-war peak. It’s now the fastest-growing city in the Bundesrepublik.
Arriving at Leipzig’s palatial Hauptbahnhof, Europe’s biggest railway station, you can see why, before the First World War, this was the second city of the German Reich. Like Glasgow or Chicago, it was a metropolis built on commerce. Its grandest buildings were mercantile – covered arcades, department stores – but Leipzig isn’t all about shopping. In the heart of town is the Nikolaikirche, the church whose “Monday meetings” provided a platform for those protests which Tobias Hollitzer and his fellow refuseniks – Soviet citizens who were not permitted to emigrate – risked their lives to join. Robust without, ornate within, it’s a moving, inspiring site.
I board a westbound tram to Plagwitz: once the industrial heartland of Leipzig, now the centre of its thriving alternative arts scene. I alight outside the Felsenkeller (felsenkeller-leipzig.com), a flamboyant bierkeller full of punters drinking beer and wolfing down big platefuls of Teutonic grub. Today it’s a lively music venue, but a century ago it was a forum for raucous political rallies led by socialist firebrands such as Rosa Luxemburg. Like so many sites in Leipzig, it’s a relic of the city’s stormy past.
I walk west along Karl-Heine-Strasse. Virtually every building is covered in graffiti. Virtually everyone on the street seems to be covered in tattoos. I stop off for a cold beer at Westwerk (westwerk-leipzig.de), a former iron foundry full of funky bars and boutiques. Who would have guessed this ugly building would become such a fashionable place to hang out?
The flagship venue here in Plagwitz is the Spinnerei (www.spinnerei.de), once Europe’s biggest cotton mill. Built in the 19th century, this dark satanic site looks positively Dickensian. It’s hard to believe it was still up and running when the Berlin Wall came down. Hopelessly outdated, it closed down after reunification, and reopened as an arts centre. It has since become a big attraction, but it hasn’t lost its edgy, underground vibe.
What makes the Spinnerei so special is that artists don’t just show their work here; they also make it here. There are gallery spaces on the ground floor and studios up above. One of its resident artists, Evelina Boger, takes me on a tour. As she shows me the haunting paintings in her airy, sunlit studio, she tells me why she loves working here. There’s loads of space to make and show her art, but there’s more to it than that. She’s part of a community, a secret enclave within the city. It feels like anything could happen here.
Back in the city centre, another veteran of the Peaceful Revolution, Thomas Zemmrich, walks me around some of the key sites of 1989. Is he optimistic or pessimistic about Leipzig’s future, I ask him. “Historically, I’m a pessimist,” he replies. “Personally, I’m an optimist.” Naturally, things today aren’t perfect, but thanks to those peaceful revolutionaries, Leipzigers can now have their say about these imperfections in free and fair elections. It’s a world away from the so-called German “Democratic” Republic that Thomas grew up in – in reality a socialist dictatorship, a repressive one-party state.
On my last night in Leipzig I meet up with German journalist Siegbert Schefke, a civil rights activist under the old communist regime. Over dinner and a few beers at Gasthaus Barthels Hof (barthels-hof.de), one of Leipzig’s oldest restaurants, he describes how he filmed the demonstrations here in 1989 and leaked the footage to West German television. Broadcast throughout the free world, the impact of his clandestine reportage was immense.
I ask him whether it was all worthwhile, whether he’s happy with the way things have turned out. Of course, he says. Sure, the Bundesrepublik has its problems, but in a united Germany, East Germans can now do what they want, and for him this trumps everything. They’re no longer spied on by the Stasi. They’re no longer prisoners in their own land.
Walking back to the Hauptbahnhof the next day, homeward bound, I see the lampposts are festooned with posters for the forthcoming elections: half a dozen different parties, each with their own promises, their own demands. Nowadays in Eastern Germany this seems quite normal, but without heroes like Siegbert Schefke, this basic freedom would be a fantasy, and Leipzig never would have become the vibrant city it is today.
The Runde Ecke (runde-ecke-leipzig.de) is an eerie museum devoted to the oppressive activities of the Stasi, East Germany’s notorious secret police. It’s housed in the Stasi’s former offices, which makes it intensely atmospheric. For a broader view of East German history, visit the Zeitgeschichtliches Forum (hdg.de). Full of fascinating artefacts, it’s a vivid survey of post-war Germany, from division to reunification and beyond.
Connewitz is one of Leipzig’s most colourful districts, with lots of former factories converted into creative spaces. Panometer (panometer.de), an old gasometer, and Kunstkraftwerk (kunstkraftwerk-leipzig.com), an old power station, both stage stunning sound and light shows in spectacular industrial settings.
A local institution since 1525, Auerbachs Keller (auerbachs-keller-leipzig.de) is Leipzig’s most ancient and celebrated restaurant. The cuisine is traditional German – hearty, meaty, good quality – but the best thing about it is the ambience. Hidden in a cavernous basement, its most famous guest was Goethe, who used it as a setting for his play Faust.
Built in 1842, the Bayerischer Bahnhof (bayerischer-bahnhof.de) was Leipzig’s first railway station. Today it’s a popular brewery, a great place to sample Gose, Leipzig’s sour and salty local brew. The in-house restaurant does decent pub grub. There’s a leafy biergarten out the back.
Concealed in a quiet courtyard behind a baroque façade, Hotel Fregehaus (hotel-fregehaus.de) is a charming hideaway in the historic heart of town. The rooms are sparse yet stylish, the communal areas are warm and intimate, and the central location is ideal. It feels less like a hotel, more like a family home. Doubles from €152 (£128), including breakfast.
William Cook flew to Berlin from London Heathrow with British Airways (ba.com) and travelled on to Leipzig by train with Deutsche Bahn (bahn.de). The journey from Berlin Brandenburg Airport to Leipzig takes around two hours. BA also flies to Berlin from London City. Ryanair (ryanair.com) flies direct to Leipzig from London Stansted. For more information visit leipzig.travel and germany.travel.