Goulash Programming Nights

The Legendary Congress about Hacking and Art

What happens when you gather 1,500 hackers, artists, and tinkerers inside one of Europe's most iconic media art spaces, and throw in flying sharks, Club-Mate cocktails, and a goulash kitchen straight out of a military field manual? You get GPN23, the Goulash Programming Nights. Equal parts tech conference, digital playground, and cultural mashup. Many questions are asked but one is never answered: "What is normality?"

June 2025

Goulash programming for the masses not the classes

From June 20^th - 23^th , 2025, I had the pleasure of attending GPN23, Goulash Programming Nights (Gulaschprogrammiernacht), one of the most unique and beloved gatherings in the German hacker calendar. Organized by Entropia e. V., the local chapter of the Chaos Computer Club (CCC), this four-day, three-night event was hosted in none other than the legendary ZKM, Center for Art and Media in Karlsruhe.

GPN23 brings together around 1,500 participants from all over the country (and beyond) for an intense long weekend of coding, tinkering, designing, making music, writing fiction, and celebrating all things hackable. Add to that the regular foot traffic of museumgoers visiting the ZKM exhibitions or the adjacent Kunsthalle Karlsruhe, and you have a beautiful chaos of cultures colliding. Classical art and bleeding-edge hacking under one sprawling roof.

The event's motto this year, "Hidden Patterns", couldn't have been more fitting. Because if you looked closely... through the orange tables, flying sharks, and terminal incantations... you'd find a rich tapestry of curiosity, collaboration, and sheer creative energy unfolding in every corner.

Sharks and signs.

The sharks could be remote controlled using this little device

Day 1: "Chewie, We're Home!"

My first day at GPN23 kicked off on June 19^th with a sense of excited disorientation. Like stepping through a glitch in the fabric of normality and landing somewhere between a hacker conference, an art installation, and a sleep-deprived festival. It was my first time at this event, and I immediately knew I'd found my tribe.

The central hacker space inside the ZKM was buzzing. Long rows of orange tables were packed with people building weird contraptions, debugging devices, composing music, or staring deep into the glow of their terminals. Everyone was approachable and generous with their time, whether they were old-school Unix wizards with beards and bellies or teenagers prototyping projects with Raspberry Pis, asking ChatGPT for help when they got stuck.

Some people were crafting synth beats through headphones. Others were building hardware contraptions. Some even wrote fiction. A group had assembled an old Jurassic Park pinball machine and made it publicly available to play with. Brilliant!

Assembling the Jurassic Park flipper machine.

At 4 p.m., the event officially launched in the Medientheater, where the ever-charismatic Obelix introduced the organizing team, and especially the tireless volunteers lovingly referred to as "trolls". From that point on, the evening unfolded in waves of curiosity and contradiction: engaging, sometimes disturbing talks on subjects ranging from clever hacks and synth circuitry to the violence of online discourse and internet policy. One standout session was by Giulioz, a gifted young Italian hacker who walked us through how he manipulated a synthesizer's sound chip with the finesse of a digital alchemist.

Outside the building, the legendary goulash tents gave the event its culinary soul. These mobile field kitchens were formerly used by civil protection units. The kitchen volunteers served not only steaming goulash but also waffles and baked potatoes. The kitchen even had their own DJs with turntables and a large sound system to make the wait for food more pleasant.

And just behind them stood a massive ivy-covered wall. What did it conceal? Nothing less than the offices of the Attorney General at the Federal Court of Justice.

We were told (half in jest, half in warning) that this venerable institution merely tolerates the hacker invasion each year. And not without reason. In years past, pranksters have projected leftist slogans onto the wall or written provocative "chocolate-based messages" that didn't exactly resemble chocolate.

Attorney General at the Federal Court of Justice.

Before diving fully into the night's sessions, I made time to visit parts of the ongoing ZKM exhibitions:

"All Memory Is Theft" and "The Story That Never Ends" were lovingly curated and deeply resonant.

And perhaps most exciting for a computing history buff like me: I finally got to see the legendary Zuse Z22 vacuum tube computer, fully on display. The last time I visited the ZKM in 2018, it was being repaired. And this time? There it stood in all its metallic, Cold War-era glory.

And of course, I couldn't resist playing with the remote-controlled flying sharks that cruised silently under the ceiling of the ZKM's towering atrium. Because why not?

By the end of the first night, I had already met a 3D printing genius, a cryptographer with a typewriter, and three Italian synth artists with modular rigs that could've been straight out of a sci-fi set.

I dragged my tired carcass back to my Airbnb, but riding a Nextbike rental across town is a joy. The Club-Mate was flowing. The ideas were flying. And the best part? It was only day one.

Megatron and the rebel alliance

Day 2: Of Tschunk, Demo Drawings, and the Illusion of Normality

The second day of GPN23 was my first full one, and I tried to make the most of it. Things kicked off with a well-organized breakfast provided by the lovely folks at Entropia e. V. Fueled by carbs and caffeine, I began wandering the venue again, soaking in the new additions and returning to some familiar corners.

One of the first people I ran into was Qetu, preparing for his talk on analog computers and synthesizers in the ZKM's acoustically impressive Kubus. The room, known for its wall of high-end speakers, promised immersive audio, though Qetu chose to deliver his set in mono. A charmingly minimal and rebellious decision in a maximalist setting.

And also on this day, there were just so many hardware projects scattered throughout the hack space. They were impressive and baffling, bizarre and delightful. There were custom LED displays that could be remotely hacked by other participants, vintage black-and-white televisions retrofitted with Raspberry Pis to play 1970s TV shows, and mysterious towers of blinking components whose purpose I couldn't even begin to guess. I caught myself standing in front of one particularly strange contraption, channeling Captain America in The Avengers: "It seems to run on some form of electricity."

Regular Marin standing in front of a projection of custom Super Mario.

I took some time to revisit the ZKM exhibitions, which continued to impress on a second viewing. The marvelous media art exhibitions had a way of lingering in your head like an unresolved chord. Nearby, the ZKM Gaming Zone offered a fun detour: a clash of eras with retro standup arcade cabinets alongside modern titles like Firewatch, The Stanley Parable, and a massive side-scrolling platformer like Super Mario reimagined in colorful pixels projected across a wide wall.

Craving a bit of contrast, I slipped into the Kunsthalle Karlsruhe, which shares a wing with the ZKM. The feeling was completely different. Here were classical oil paintings, marble sculptures, and even a collection of tribal artifacts. It was a striking juxtaposition. The brushwork and devotional stillness of this space set against the blinking LEDs and DIY chaos of GPN just a hallway away.

Speaking of chaos, my hunt for a GPN23 T-shirt was initially thwarted by logistics. Only pre-reserved shirts were available. Luckily, a kind local CCC member sent me a link, and within minutes, I had a QR code and a fresh t-shirt in my hands. This year's design featured a really well-done chromatic aberration with the key visuals of the event.

This was perfect timing. I was starting to look a little out of place. You see, I was still wearing a white collared shirt, which earned me curious glances and the question, "Why are you dressed so business-like?" from some nearby hackers. Fair point, even though I hadn't tucked in the shirt and it looked a bit ratty. Most people were in t-shirts, hoodies, sneakers, or in some cases, furry costumes, skirts, or proudly flamboyant outfits for Pride Month. So I did what any sensible person at a hacker con would do: I changed into my new GPN shirt and put on a pair of plastic cat ears. I later learned that wearing cat ears comes with a responsibility: you must greet fellow wearers with a cheerful "miaow."

Dressed for the part at last, I sat down at one of the tables and focused on my creative project: a demoscene animation for Evoke 2025. It's going to be weird. Think a fish, a giant eyeball with teeth, a mysterious lady, a superhero, and a sleek panther. I jumped between illustration work in Procreate on the iPad Pro, early HTML5 animation using Tumult Hype, and sketching out the accompanying music on my Teenage Engineering OP-Z. I chatted with the three young guys next to me, who were building a custom Wi-Fi network for fun.

At some point, I wandered back into the Kunsthalle, still wearing my cat ears, GPN shirt, and cap. One of the museum custodians, a middle-aged lady, struck up a conversation. She gestured at my ears and asked, with curious frankness, if I was gay or trans, like some of the other visitors she'd seen. I explained the ears were just part of the fun, that they weren't tied to any one identity. When she asked if I was "normal," I gently countered that "normal" is a fluid thing, and that Pride Month is exactly about celebrating that fluidity. The contrast amused me: earlier, I'd been too formal for the hackers... now too unusual for the traditional art crowd.

Later that night, I explored the two bars that fuel the social energy of GPN. The main bar was a well-oiled machine serving soft drinks, snacks, and the iconic "Tschunk", a Club-Mate-and-rum concoction that's practically the sacred beverage of GPN. For a more refined experience, the Speakeasy Bar, tucked away behind the main one, offered bespoke cocktails mixed slowly and carefully by dedicated bartenders.

The night ended in the Lounge, the event's no-photo zone. Dim lighting, plush chairs, and a wall-sized screen provided the backdrop for a hypnotic rotation of techno and trance DJ sets. It was a welcome pause, a chance to just be, without deadlines and without explanation.

Despite having a voucher and a hunger perfectly calibrated for a hot bowl of goulash, I never quite mustered the patience to stand in line at the field kitchen. Each time I thought "now's the moment," the queue stretched on, and I told myself I'd come back later. I didn't. In fact, I somehow managed to go the entire GPN23 weekend without eating a single spoonful of the event's namesake dish. So yes, four days, countless bytes and beats, but not a drop of goulash. Classic.

Day 3: Defragmentation of the Mind

The third day of GPN23 struck a beautiful balance between productivity, cultural immersion, and community. I continued working on my demoscene project, shifting between drawing, audio experiments, and code, while also making a conscious effort to talk with the people around me. GPN isn't just about the things we make, it's about the people who make them.

The Hackerspace itself wasn't air-conditioned, and despite its lofty ceilings, the heat and humidity started to build up. Let's just say parts of the room were beginning to smell... lived in. The legendary GPN "6-2-1 rule" (six hours of sleep, two meals, one shower per day) exists for good reason. Some attendees were ignoring the "1."

Outside, the heat was relentless, but inside, the conference rooms were fully air-conditioned, making them the perfect escape. As a result, I ended up attending more talks than on any other day. A small but delightful detail that always made me smile: when the organizers wanted attendees to move closer together to make space, they asked us to "defragment" the room. It's the kind of term that only works at a place like GPN.

One of the day's highlights was Psykon's presentation on the making of this year's Revision demoparty invitation demo, titled "Grow Beyond." Not only was it visually and conceptually compelling, but the technical insight was equally fascinating. They'd developed an entirely custom editing tool just to build the production.

Later in the evening, the demoscene got its dedicated spotlight: Shana, madonius, and hexchen hosted a fantastic two-hour introduction session for curious newcomers. They showcased a range of demos from recent years, walking the audience through both their technical limitations and aesthetic intentions. It was a joy to watch: newcomers were often left wide-eyed, asking, "Wait, how is that even possible?" Their reactions were endearing and reminded me how magical the demoscene still is to those who experience it for the first time. There's something truly special about seeing creativity flourish within strict constraints, and watching it spark curiosity in others.

After the sessions, we moved outside to the lawn in front of the Attorney General's building. We sat in small groups, drinking Tschunk, exchanging ideas, and soaking in the evening air. There was music in the background, and the walls of the ZKM lit up with colorful projections, transforming the entire space into a kind of digital campfire, a warm, open zone of reflection, laughter, and connection.

Little did I know that my earlier decision to skip the goulash line would cost me my last chance... by day four, it was gone. I had assumed there'd still be some on the final day, but day three turned out to be the last day for goulash service.

Day 4: A Goulash Full of FOMO

The fourth and final day of GPN23 started... slowly. I had stayed up far too late the night before, and the combination of summer heat and Tschunk-fueled insomnia didn't exactly help when I finally did make it back to my Airbnb. Still, despite the grogginess, I made my way to the ZKM in time to catch a few more sessions and soak in the last hours of this remarkable event.

One thing I made sure to do before the end was make a donation. I had heard from several people that GPN's operational costs had risen sharply, and that many attendees misunderstood the Goulash Delicacy Package as a traditional ticket price. In reality, it was a way to control the number of participants, a safety measure due to limited capacity at the ZKM. As a result, some people didn't realize the organizers, Entropia e. V., were still depending on voluntary donations to help cover the substantial costs of running the event.

By early afternoon, GPN23 began winding down. The incredible team of volunteers, the "trolls", started packing up equipment, taking down signs, rolling up cables, and slowly restoring the ZKM to its everyday self. Bittersweet.

For me, the real heart of GPN23 wasn't just the talks or the tech. Though those were fantastic, it was the people. The chats at the tables, the help from strangers, the laughter during talks, the shared Tschunks on the lawn. Most sessions are recorded and quickly made available on media.ccc.de or YouTube, which means you don't have to catch everything live. And realistically, you couldn't. But the conversations, those moments of spontaneous knowledge sharing, excitement, or absurdity, you had to be there for those.

Looking Back: Past Futures and Future Pasts

What made GPN23 special was not just its scale, but its setting. The ZKM, flanked by the Kunsthalle Karlsruhe and tied into a history of media art dating back to the 1960s, created a uniquely layered environment. Within a few steps, you could move from a hallway full of digital experiments and hacker tables to a gallery of classical sculpture, or to a room where retro arcade machines buzzed alongside modern indie games. It was a place where the past's unrealized trajectories were on display next to the future's freshly invented ones.

The art, the hacking, the demos, the discussions, the heat, the Club-Mate, the cat ears and the flying sharks... That combination melded into something more than the sum of its parts. A kind of techno-positive energy that both honors history and looks forward with unashamed curiosity and playfulness.

I left tired. I left inspired.

And yes! I left without ever having goulash.

To put it in the immortal words of a humanoid machine sent from the future to destroy humanity: I'll be back!

Nerds against Nazis - a just cause!