Move to Germany

Moving to Germany as an Arab? 7 Things I Wish Someone Had Told Me

By Marwan Darwish · Updated June 11, 2026

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You did the hard part. You got the visa, you found a flat, you survived the Anmeldung queue. So let me be the friend who pulls you aside and says: the paperwork was the predictable part. What actually catches us off guard — every single one of us who came from the Arab world — is the small daily stuff. The unwritten rules. The fees that appear from nowhere. The day the whole country just… stops.

None of it is bad. It’s just different, and a little strange for the first month. So consider this the coffee-shop conversation I wish someone had had with me before I landed — so you can skip the mistakes the rest of us made. Let’s go.

1. Your rent is a lie — well, half of it (Kaltmiete vs. Warmmiete)

Here’s the first one that’ll sting if nobody warns you. You see a flat listed at “€700,” you do the maths, you feel good. Then the real number arrives and it’s €950. What happened?

German rent comes in two flavours, and the listings love to wave the smaller one at you:

  • Kaltmiete (“cold rent”) — the bare rent for the four walls. That’s it.
  • Warmmiete (“warm rent”) — the cold rent plus the Nebenkosten: heating, water, building upkeep, garbage, the caretaker. This is the number that actually leaves your account.

And even Warmmiete usually leaves out electricity (you sign your own contract) and internet. Then, the day you move in, you hand over a Kaution (deposit) of up to three months’ cold rent — parked in a separate account and returned when you leave.

Now brace yourself for the one that genuinely shocks people from Cairo, Amman or the Gulf: “unfurnished” here often means truly empty — no kitchen. No cabinets, no sink, no stove. People literally unscrew their kitchens and take them when they move. So before you fall in love with a flat, ask the one question that saves you thousands: “Ist eine Einbauküche vorhanden?” (Is there a fitted kitchen?)

My rule of thumb: whatever rent you see, quietly add 25–30% before you decide you can afford it. You’ll thank yourself. The whole housing maze — Schufa, the application file, temporary housing as a launchpad — is in our housing guide.

2. There’s a TV tax — and no, you can’t talk your way out of it (Rundfunkbeitrag)

A few weeks after you register your address, a letter shows up asking you for money for public TV and radio. Your first reaction will be exactly mine was: “But I don’t even own a TV.” Doesn’t matter. “I’ll never watch German channels.” Doesn’t matter either.

The Rundfunkbeitrag is €18.36 a month (around €55 every three months), and it funds public broadcasting (ARD, ZDF, Deutschlandradio). It’s mandatory, and here’s the part that actually works in your favour: it’s charged per household, not per person. So if you’re in a shared flat or a family, the whole apartment pays once, no matter how many of you live there. Agree with your flatmates who handles it and split it.

Whatever you do, don’t let the letters pile up hoping it’ll go away — it won’t, and the unpaid amount only grows. Register once at rundfunkbeitrag.de, set up a direct debit, and never think about it again. Mildly annoying, completely unavoidable, two minutes — done.

3. Sunday is closed. And I mean closed.

This is the one that gets everybody from our part of the world — where Friday is the day off and shops stay lively till late every other night. In Germany, Sunday is a day of rest protected by law, and the country honours it almost religiously.

On Sundays, supermarkets, pharmacies, malls and nearly every shop are shut. Not “closing early” — shut. What stays open: bakeries in the morning, restaurants and cafés, petrol stations, and the little shops inside big train stations and airports (quietly remember those — they’re the local trick when you run out of milk on a Sunday).

It goes deeper than shopping. Sunday is also a quiet day — no drilling, no lawnmowing, no blasting music, and in a strict building, think twice before running the washing machine. Your neighbours notice. They always notice.

The lesson every one of us learns the hard way: do your big grocery run on Saturday. The first time you open an empty fridge at 3pm on a Sunday, hungry and a little stranded, you’ll suddenly understand why Germans plan their whole week. You’ll laugh about it later. I promise.

4. Here’s the happy surprise — the government might owe you money (Steuererklärung)

After three things to watch out for, you’ve earned some good news. The German tax return (Steuererklärung) sounds terrifying, but for most employees it isn’t a bill at all — it’s a refund. The average payout is over €1,000, and far too many newcomers simply leave that money sitting with the state, because nobody ever told them to ask for it back.

Why do they owe you? Because tax comes out of your salary every month based on rough estimates. At year’s end, you get to deduct real things:

  • Your commute to work
  • Moving costs — yes, including your move to Germany
  • German courses and work-related training
  • Home-office days, work equipment, even some insurance premiums

And you don’t need an accountant for it. The official tool ELSTER is free, and friendly apps like Taxfix or WISO Steuer walk you through it on your phone in under an hour. Best part: you can usually file for the last four years retroactively — so if you’ve been here a while and never bothered, there may be a genuinely nice surprise waiting.

5. Finally, some good news — the €58 Deutschlandticket

If there’s one thing in Germany that’s actually as good as it sounds, it’s this. For €58 a month, the Deutschlandticket gives you unlimited rides on nearly all local and regional public transport across the entire country — every U-Bahn, S-Bahn, tram, city bus and regional train (RE/RB), in every city and region.

Let that sink in for a second. Live in Munich and feel like a weekend in Cologne? Hop on the regional trains — covered. Daily commute plus spontaneous adventures, all for one flat monthly price. If you grew up calculating every taxi and every fare back home, this quietly changes how you live: you stop doing the maths in your head and just go.

The one catch, so you’re not caught out: it does not cover the fast long-distance trains (ICE, IC, EC). For those you still buy a separate ticket — book early on bahn.de and they’re cheap. But for everyday life, it’s hard to beat. It’s a monthly subscription you can cancel anytime, so set it up and forget about it.

6. Health insurance isn’t optional — and there are two systems

Back home, health insurance might be a nice extra. Here, it’s the law. You can’t get a visa or residence permit without proof of coverage, and you’re expected to be insured from day one. (Germans insure almost everything, honestly — but this is the one that’s genuinely non-negotiable.) And it comes in two systems you’ll have to choose between:

  • Public (gesetzlich / GKV) — the default for around 90% of people. Your premium is based on your income, your non-working spouse and kids are covered for free, and no one can turn you away. For almost every newcomer, student and employee, this is the right call.
  • Private (privat / PKV) — built for high earners (over €77,400/year in 2026), the self-employed and civil servants. Shorter waits and nicer perks, but every family member needs their own policy, and the cost climbs steeply as you age. Switching back to public after 55 is nearly impossible — so don’t rush into it.

Now the honest part most guides skip, friend to friend: the public coverage is genuinely good, but getting an appointment can be slow. Waiting months to see a specialist is normal, and pretending otherwise helps no one. The good news is there are real, legal ways to jump the queue — the 116117 appointment hotline, university-hospital clinics, snapping up cancellations on Doctolib — and I’ve laid them all out, with no sugar-coating, in our health insurance guide. Read that one before you pick a fund.

7. The little things: cash, and the bottle money (Pfand)

Two small surprises that trip everyone up in week one.

First, cash is still king. You’d expect Europe’s biggest economy to be tap-and-go everywhere — it isn’t. Plenty of bakeries, kebab shops, Spätis (corner shops) and even some restaurants and doctors are cash-only, and many that take cards take the German Girocard (EC-Karte) but not Visa or Mastercard. Always keep €20–50 in your pocket. The phrase you’ll learn fast: “Nur Bar, bitte” — cash only, please.

Second, Pfand. You pay a small deposit (8 to 25 cents) on most bottles and cans, and you get every cent back when you feed the empties into the machine at any supermarket. So don’t toss that bottle — that’s not rubbish, that’s your money.

So what now?

Here’s the thing: none of this is a reason to worry. These are just the textures of a new home — strange for a month, second nature forever after. Budget for the warm rent, pay the TV fee once and forget it, shop on Saturday, file your tax return, grab the Deutschlandticket, sort your insurance properly, keep a little cash on you. That’s honestly 80% of “settling in.”

One last friendly heads-up, because it’ll save you stress: life here runs on appointments (Termin) and paper mail. Almost nothing is walk-in, and important news arrives as a letter in your postbox — not a call or a WhatsApp. So check your mail, book your Termin early, and don’t panic when things move slowly — that goes double when you’re converting your visa into a residence permit. Germany rewards the person who learns its rhythm. You’ll get there faster than you think.

The rest of the move — choosing your visa route, getting the documents right, the order to do everything in — we’ve mapped out step by step in our full guides hub. If you’d like a checklist built around your situation, that’s exactly what this site is for.

Sources

The figures on this page are based on the following official sources. Rules and rates change — always confirm with the German authority responsible for your case.

Facts and figures last verified: June 2026.

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