United by a passion for plant

A love of demolition and construction equipment crosses geographic borders, cultural divides and gender differences to unite men and women the world over.

More than 600,000 people passed through the Messe München turnstiles during the Bauma 2025 exhibition. To put that into context, that is a Wembley Stadium capacity crowd each day of the six-day event; a veritable sea of people.

There will have been some that were there as exhibitors, each looking to clinch that new sale or to meet that all-important new customer. There will have been some that were there with a very specific shopping list, looking to identify the machines and attachments needed to supplement their equipment fleets. There will have been many that attended purely to walk among the giant machines and collect brochures and baseball caps as they did so. And, of course, there will have been a small number who – like myself – went armed not with a cheque book but with a camera; a strange rag-tag band of journalists, content creators, and so-called influencers.

But regardless of what it said on our respective name badges and business cards, we were all drawn to Munich by a single irresistible force; a force that pulled us from around the world to the Bavarian city like a tractor beam. And that force is the love of demolition and construction equipment.

How else could you possibly explain why more than half a million people gave up a day or a week of their life to visit Bauma? How else do you explain the queues of people waiting at the turnstiles each morning just to get a glimpse of the machines within? How else do you explain the conversations taking place on the stands and in the aisles at the show, and that continued in the bars and restaurants of the city each evening?

At a time when the US seems intent on creating a trade war to end all trade wars, those conversations crossed geographic, language, and cultural barriers. Because in the field of heavy equipment, there is a single, unifying and all-encompassing language that is spoken and understood the world over.

It’s the language of tonnage, horsepower, reach and breakout force. It’s the language of metal and hydraulics. And whether you speak German or Japanese, Spanish or Swahili, when you stand in front of a new excavator, a high-reach machine, or a massive wheel loader, words become secondary. The machine speaks for itself.

Bauma is not just a trade show. It is where heavy iron worshippers come to lay their hands on the holy relics of their trade. It’s where you see a 400-ton machine displayed on a polished plinth like a jewel. It’s where engineers, operators, company owners, and enthusiasts alike can lose hours debating whether that new quick coupler will stand up to demolition forces or whether that electric mini excavator truly has the guts for a full shift on site.

What makes this even more remarkable is the range of people it attracts. I spoke to a husband and wife from the Czech Republic, both utterly transfixed by a new skid steer loader. I shared a coffee with a woman from the US who runs a fleet of excavators and was looking for new telematics solutions. I stood shoulder-to-shoulder with an apprentice from Scotland who was there on his first overseas trip, visibly awestruck and taking it all in like a sponge.

You see, this love of machinery - this fascination - runs deeper than mere utility. For many of us, these machines are more than equipment. They are part of our identity. Ask any operator what they run, and you’ll likely get a response that includes the brand, model, and maybe even a nickname. These machines become extensions of who we are and how we work. We remember our first excavator like some remember their first car. We can recall the feel of a particular cab, the sound of a certain engine, the way a certain attachment "just felt right."

And there’s something powerful in realising that feeling isn’t isolated. That halfway across the world, there’s someone else who understands exactly what you mean; even if you don’t share a single word in common.

The power of Bauma - and the broader equipment community - is in its ability to unite people through that shared experience. It's a reminder that behind every machine is a human story: of design and innovation, of risk and reward, of sweat, setbacks, and sometimes even salvation. You hear about the contractor who started with one backhoe and now runs a multinational firm. You meet the inventor who saw a gap in the market and built a business from nothing but an idea and a welding torch. You hear tales of struggle, reinvention, and persistence; and always, always, an unshakeable belief in the machines that built their futures.

Yes, we’re in an industry that’s tough, unpredictable, and often undervalued. But spend a few days at Bauma and you’ll see something you rarely find in more polished or corporate sectors: passion. Not the rehearsed, buzzword-laden enthusiasm you get from a press release, but genuine, eyes-lit-up, childlike excitement. Grown men and women pointing at machinery the size of a house with the same glee others reserve for celebrity sightings or sports finals.

It’s not just about big iron, either. It's about what it represents: possibility. Every new machine promises more productivity, more safety, more sustainability. Every conversation between competitors, collaborators, or complete strangers is an exchange of knowledge and perspective. Every handshake is an opportunity.

I saw a British excavator expert teaching an Australian about high reach demolition excavators. And in that moment, nationalities blurred. Cultures blended. All that remained was mutual respect for the machines and for each other.

Perhaps more importantly, in an age of digital noise and increasingly virtual lives, there’s something grounding, almost primal, about being among the machines. About climbing into a cab, smelling that new cab smell, touching the steel. It reconnects us with something real, something tangible. It reminds us that, at its core, construction and demolition are about shaping the physical world. That while the world obsesses over code and algorithms, tariffs and trade wars, there are still people out there who move mountains, who tear down cities and build them anew.

And so, as the sun set over Munich each evening, and crowds spilled out into the beer gardens and side streets, you could feel it - the camaraderie, the community, the connection. People from every continent, laughing over a shared beer, poring over photos of machines they’d seen, already planning their return.

We live in a time of division. Borders are hardening. Politics are polarising. Technology often isolates more than it connects. But in the shadow of excavators and dozers, in the roar of engines and the hum of conversation, something beautiful happens: the world feels smaller. Closer. More human.

Because that’s what heavy equipment does. It doesn’t just lift loads. It lifts people. It brings them together. It speaks in a voice of horsepower and hydraulics, and it says: you are not alone.

So, to all those who travelled hundreds and even thousands of miles to Munich to be near the machines they love, know this: you are part of something bigger. Part of a tribe that crosses borders and boundaries. Part of a story that is still being written: one machine; one connection; and one conversation at a time.