This article is part of
our series called “The New Europeans.” Ahead of the European elections,
we are visiting people who don’t dream of Europe, but who live European
lives. The series focuses on moments of joy and conflict that wouldn’t
have happened without the EU.

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Waldemar Hackstätter strides across his
lawn. He points to the flower bed, a spade still sticking out of the earth, and
at the garden swing, positioned under the cherry tree so that the fruit
practically grows into your mouth. He shows off two small fountains, a cement
Buddha and a gazebo that he built himself. An H and a W are welded into the
metal roof. They stand for Hildegard and Waldemar. Or Herzlich Wilkommen, Waldemar says, it’s up to you. There is also a
barbecue, of course, and a baking oven and a small smoker for fish. The only
thing that’s not quintessentially German about the yard is the fact that it’s not
in Germany. It is instead located in a small village in northwestern Bulgaria
called Sirakovo, home to 60 people and a few donkeys.

The Hackstätters are two of many German
pensioners who have moved abroad, mostly due to monetary concerns. Hildegard
and Waldemar say they could no longer afford life in Germany, in their hometown
of Biberach an der Riss, a town in Baden-Württemberg that looks straight out of
a postcard. So they became a different kind of economic refugee: Rather than
fleeing poverty in their home country, they fled wealth.

Waldemar’s long, white hair flows across
his shoulders. He has long sideburns, a moustache and a goatee he only grew
because his wife once got him a musketeer costume for Carnival. The look is
emblematic for the 77-year-old: If he does something, he’s all in. He often
says things like, “I want to live, I don’t just want to survive.”.
Or: “In Germany, I was poor. Here, I’m the second-richest man in the
village after the farmer.”

It’s not always easy for Hildegard, 71, to
avoid rolling her eyes when her husband says things like that. She speaks in a
broad, Swabian accent, likes to tell dirty jokes and has the smile of your
favorite grandma. “They’re delicious, believe me,” she says as she
sets a bowl of cream puffs on the table –  frozen ones, from the Lidl supermarket. The
German chain has a store just a half-hour away from their village in Bulgaria.

Hildegard Hackstätter worked for 45 years
in Germany – as a cinema usher, as a dairy packer and for a shutter company.
She was a cleaner in both a retirement home and a thermal bath. She worked as a
lifeguard and used to drive people with disabilities through the city. Although
she has what might be called a spotty job history, she worked almost her entire
life. When she received her pension certificate 12 years ago, she says, it was
like a punch in the gut. She says she sat on the floor of her apartment crying
until 3 a.m. Not even 500 euros a month after 45 years of work. “Girl, we
have to leave Germany,” Waldemar told her.

So they left for Bulgaria, the poorest
country in the European Union. People here earn average salaries of just over
500 euros per month and almost a quarter of the population is at risk of
poverty. In Bulgaria, poor pensioners from Germany are part of the upper-middle
class. “Here, I don’t have to look in my wallet and wonder if I can afford
to eat in a restaurant or not,” says Waldemar. “Here, I just
go.” By moving, the Hackstätters increased their pensions without
receiving a single extra cent.

Every couple of weeks, Hildegard and
Waldemar head for the Black Sea, a 30-minute drive away. The road leads past
fields of lavender and sunflowers, straight as an arrow. Up here in northern
Bulgaria, between Varna and the Romanian border, there isn’t much reason to
build a curve into the road. They pass an oncoming car only every five minutes
or so. They love the wide-open spaces and the quiet.

On Durankulak beach, the waves produce
foamy bubbles, likely due to algae. It’s a bit too cold for a swim anyway.
Hildegard has zipped the collar of her jacket closed because of the wind. South
of here, at Albena and Gold Beach, the hotel resorts are getting ready for the
season, with bulldozers pushing sand back and forth. In the summer, it is a
package-holiday zoo, not the kind of thing the Hackstätters are particularly
fond of: too full, too expensive and too many souvenir shops. They prefer it
here. Just 500 meters down the beach, says Waldemar, it’s usually empty in the
summers, too. “You can go into the water whenever you want.”

They stroll along, arm-in-arm. The climate
has been good for them, they say. After all, it’s the same latitude as Rome.
And Waldemar’s shoulder problems have disappeared, he says.

Almost a quarter-million German pensioners
live abroad – most of them in Switzerland, the U.S. or Austria. But more and
more of them are settling in Eastern Europe. Thanks to the EU, it has become
easier to move to a different country in retirement – to places where the cost
of living is only half as much. Twice as many German pensioners live in Hungary
as just 10 years ago, and the same holds true for Poland. The Czech Republic is
also attracting increasing numbers of German retirees. In 2017, the last time
official statistics were gathered, there were 652 German pensioners living in
Bulgaria. But the Hackstätters believe there are actually far more. And that
more will come. Currently, every fifth retiree in Germany is at risk of old-age
poverty and a look at demographic trends makes it clear that the problem is
likely to get worse: Aging in dignity will become an unattainable dream for
many in the country. “The fact that retirees in Germany have to collect
deposit bottles is scandalous,” says Hildegard.

The Hackstätters say that they would have
been forced to survive on 300 euros a month in Germany, which is why they moved
to Bulgaria. It’s also why Waldemar says things like, “We’ve lived here
for 10 years and haven’t regretted it for a single day.” And: “Even
if I had 5,000 euros per month, I wouldn’t go back to Germany.” Sometimes,
Waldemar Hackstätter sounds like he is trying to drown out the quiet voices of
doubt in his head.