Notes from Cologne and Bonn

“Sunset over Cologne: the Hohenzollern Bridge frames the twin spires of Kölner Dom as the Rhine reflects the golden hour glow.”

Somewhere between the schnitzel in Bonn and the sarcasm in Cologne, I found myself 40,000 feet in the sky — eating a surprisingly edible meal on an Air India Dreamliner. The chicken had ambition. The rice was warm. The bread roll didn’t feel like a threat. For once, airline food wasn’t the punchline. It was… almost thoughtful.

But this isn’t a story about altitude. It’s about two cities — Bonn and Cologne — linked by the Rhine, connected by history, and bridged (in my case) by a quiet drive with Shems, a Syrian Uber driver who now ferries strangers between lives, borders, and Brauhauses.

Bonn: A Whispering Capital with a Global Mic

Cruising the Rhine under a sky full of stories—Bonn’s calm before the sail.

Cloud-kissed calm over the Rhine in Bonn—where history flows as quietly as the river beneath the bridge.

I was in Bonn to attend the Global Media Forum 2025 — a place where journalists, technologists, and policy wonks gather to talk algorithms, democracies, disinformation, and occasionally, the price of bratwurst. Between panels, coffees, and polite nods to LinkedIn connections in real life, I walked the riverside and wondered how this former capital still felt so composed.

Bonn is what happens when a city resigns from power but keeps its filing cabinet. The buildings are stately, the Rhine glides with intent, and even the schnitzel seems to arrive with diplomatic clearance. Beethoven was born here, and the city still moves to a minor-key rhythm. Even the ducks look like they were briefed.

I left Bonn in a silver-grey Uber driven by Shems, who fled Syria nine years ago and now watches Shahrukh Khan movies dubbed in Arabic. “Cologne?” he said. “Just 30 minutes. But it’s another country. They drink differently.”  He wasn’t wrong.

Cologne: Gothic Spires, Roman Roots, and Kölsch Rules

Cologne at dusk—where cathedral spires meet steel and sky.

Cologne doesn’t whisper. It belts.

The Cologne Cathedral towers like a gothic exclamation — vast, blackened, and permanently judging your choices. It took over 600 years to build, and still seems annoyed you showed up without a better coat. But Cologne’s swagger began long before the cathedral.

Long before Eau de Cologne or cathedral selfies, the city was Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippinensium — named after its native daughter, Agrippina the Younger, born here in AD 15 and later a Roman empress. Impact? Massive. She stamped Köln with imperial swagger, made it an official colonia, and left behind a legacy that still shadows every spire. She mothered Nero, outmaneuvered emperors, and probably wouldn’t have tolerated late checkouts.

The Altstadt and the Bridge of Promises

Thousands of promises, locked in love—Cologne’s Hohenzollern Bridge wears its heart on iron.

Cologne’s Altstadt isn’t just quaint — it’s a dense, charming maze of medieval facades, twelve Romanesque churches, and riverside pubs where Kölsch is spoken more fluently than German. Every alley carries echoes of another era — and the scent of grilled sausage.

A short promenade from the cathedral takes you to the Hohenzollern Bridge, a steel-and-stone marvel that sees 1,200 trains a day. But what stops you isn’t the engineering — it’s the love locks. Thousands of them, each padlock a tiny, rusting promise. Modern folklore over old iron. You cross it once, twice — but it stays with you, especially with the cathedral behind you and the river catching the afternoon light just right.

Beer with Rules, Not Menus

Schnitzel, fries, and Kölsch—Germany’s golden trio served fresh on a sunny afternoon.”

In Cologne, you don’t order beer. You enter into an arrangement. The Köbes — not a waiter, more like a beer diplomat — appears with a Kranz, a circular tray loaded with 200ml glasses of Kölsch. No questions asked. You drink, he replaces. You don’t finish? He brings more. To stop the flow, you place your coaster on top of the glass like a ceasefire agreement.

Ask for water and prepare for judgment. It’s not service. It’s a ritual. And it’s glorious.

Above the Alps, A Meal Redeemed

Air India at 35,000 feet: Where the menu flies first class too. From grilled salmon to buttered asparagus—your tastebuds take off before you do.

And then — somewhere over Europe, on my way back — Air India delivered a meal that didn’t make me question my life choices. No mystery sauce. No dehydrated rage-bread. Just a plate that said, “You’ve earned this.”   In a strange way, it completed the arc — from Bonn’s polite dignity to Cologne’s beer-soaked drama, and now, high above the Alps, a tray that wasn’t trying too hard and still got it right.

Two Cities. One Forum. A Man Named Shems.

Bonn is reflection. Cologne is performance. Bonn listens. Cologne sings. And somewhere between them, Shems drove me — a man navigating new borders while carrying the weight of old ones. This wasn’t just a business trip. It was a tale of empires, algorithms, beer rituals, cathedrals, and quiet moments that linger. And maybe that’s what global media really is — history retold through the rhythm of cities, the kindness of strangers, and the silence between two sips of Kölsch.

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