Life without a car: It works without

Like almost all children of my generation, I grew up with cars—and often in them. My parents owned three at one point. For trips, visits, or shopping trips, the engine was always fired up. We went on vacation in a camper van, often covering thousands of kilometers. In the front yard, there was a retired Karmann Ghia, and behind the wheel I dreamed of driving on highways in faraway lands. Or reading comics.

Barely 18 years old, I got my driver's license. My first long trip was to Paris – in true style, in a Citroen 2CV, popularly known as the "Duck". Even as a student, I had to have my own car. The used Golf cost only 1,000 Deutschmarks, but it served me surprisingly well for a long time. I worked as a delivery driver and drove a small van in my first job. Later, with my own family, the cars grew and became my parents' taxis for trips to music school or away games.

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I know how convenient it is to spontaneously drive somewhere in your own car. It's used to transport bulky items and several people. It's used to cruising along the Mediterranean coast, singing loudly with the music turned up. It's used to driving toward the glowing, snow-capped Alps at sunrise. It's used to curling up in a sleeping bag on the back seat. It's used to having hours of conversation about anything and everything while the landscape glides by. There's no question about it: your own car is flexible, offers freedom and comfort, and allows for small adventures.

On the other hand, a disturbing feeling crept in on the many journeys: having to constantly concentrate is exhausting. Traffic became more hectic over the years, and aggression increased. On monotonous motorway journeys, I counted the kilometers. Then I fell asleep for the first time. Near misses kept coming. Cars wedged together on the motorway, resulting in serious injuries and deaths. In the city, the nerve-wracking stop-and-go traffic. Desperate searches for parking. And on top of that, there was this environmental discussion. First, it was forest dieback, later it became a bigger picture: Climate change now poses an existential and global threat to us humans. And the car is part of the problem.

As a result, my guilty conscience increasingly accompanied me on my commutes: "Can you still take responsibility for this?" it whispered in my ear. "Isn't there another way?" it demanded. "Yes, of course," I replied, intimidated. "But since it's already here? Besides, I'm in a hurry, and—and anyway: On the way back, I can pick up a load of organic compost from the recycling center! Take that, guilty conscience!

From then on, his charming brother, the one with the best will in the world, got in touch and had more success: I'd always loved riding my bike. I did it more often now. We already had a child trailer anyway; we could use it to transport shopping and even Christmas trees. For longer journeys, we took the train. And when we couldn't manage without a car, we used car sharing. When an expensive repair was due, we sold our own car. We usually managed well. But sometimes the children were left crying in the house because I had to quickly pick up the rented car. Train journeys with lots of luggage and a baby in diapers aren't subject to entertainment tax. When we were then offered our father-in-law's old car, our goodwill was broken.

But the children grew older, and the rides with them became less frequent. Cycling became increasingly fun. I enjoyed, and still enjoy, the exercise in the fresh air and it keeps me physically fit. Appropriate clothing protects me from rain and cold. Many destinations in the city are even faster to reach by bike than by car. The bike often sat unused for days, even weeks. There were still costs, such as insurance and vehicle tax. When we had to buy a new battery because we were using the bike too rarely, we had enough – we simply gave it away to relatives. That was almost ten years ago.

I haven't missed my own car for a single day. Quite the opposite: It felt like a liberation. I experience fewer stressful commutes, don't have to search for parking, and expensive repairs and regular MOT appointments are a thing of the past. A car costs an average of €400 a month – without ever being moved a single meter. With that money, we can easily afford high-quality bicycles and occasionally rent a car. Whether it's a cargo bike, electric car, or van: car sharing gives me access to various vehicle types.

With the Deutschlandticket, train and bus travel is affordable and flexible; the German fare jungle no longer concerns me. For the last mile, I can use a folding bike or an e-scooter. As a city dweller, I benefit from a good public transport network and frequent service. People who live in rural areas have it much harder. A friend of mine, who lives with her family in a small town, has also just gotten rid of her car. I'm curious to see how she manages her daily life.

If I need to travel far away, I take the train. It's a surprisingly quick way to reach a surprising number of destinations. It takes about eight hours to get to Vienna – that's a tough trip by car. Of course, I have to be prepared for unpleasant surprises like missed connections. But I take it in stride. And how often have I been stuck in traffic in the car and arrived at my destination later than expected, exhausted? On long train journeys, I can read, sleep, work, eat, or simply gaze dreamily out the window. I often meet nice people with whom I strike up conversations.

And as for the environmental footprint: I'm certainly allowed to feel guilty about that! I travel in a climate-friendly way almost without exception – and without feeling like I have to forgo anything or restrict myself.