Munster
Münster felt balanced. Not sleepy, just settled. A city that’s learned how to live with both its past and its present — and doesn’t feel the need to choose. Nothing shouted. Everything fit. We arrived on a gray afternoon, the kind where the clouds feel close but comforting. Rain had just passed, and the cobblestones were still slick shining like they’d just been washed. People rode by on bicycles in quiet procession, baskets full of books, bread, umbrellas. The city moved gently, at its own tempo. We matched it without realizing.
The Altstadt unfolded in measured elegance. Gabled houses lined the Prinzipalmarkt like they’d been placed there by hand. Arches sheltered quiet conversations, shop windows glowed softly, and the rhythm of footsteps echoed just enough to remind you that this is a city built on stone, on stories, on structure.
Münster doesn’t try to dazzle you. It doesn’t have to. You notice it in small things: the shape of a window. The patina of an old church door. The way people pause at red lights, even when there’s no car coming. A kind of respect for order, for time, for each other. We stopped for coffee in a café near the cathedral. Wooden tables, low lighting, the hum of low conversation in German and Dutch. Outside, the tower bells marked the hour with a slow, melodic grace. No rush. Just rhythm.