The best traffic-free bike rides around Havel

The steam engine house in Potsdam, often referred to as the “mosque,” is an extraordinary structure that combines engineering history with oriental-looking architecture – a real eye-catcher in Park Babelsberg.

A beautiful path for cycling.

At this point, the still-preserved railway bridge from 1926 crosses Machnower Weg. As planning progresses, an investigation is underway into whether the bridge needs to be replaced with a new one. Immediately west of the bridge will be the new Griebnitzsee crossing structure and a branch towards Potsdam Medienstadt Babelsberg. Both will allow trains on the Potsdam Main Line to continue their journeys towards both Potsdam and Michendorf. Connections to existing lines will be created. More information is available at https://www.i2030.de/suedwest/.

In 1906, the Teltow Canal opened after only six years of construction. It was intended to relieve the inner-city Spree River of heavy shipping traffic. A bridge was built over the canal for the Potsdam Main Railway. In April 1945, during the troop withdrawal at the end of World War II, the Teltow Canal Bridge was blown up by German troops and never rebuilt. A double-track bridge is to be built at the same location as part of the reactivation project i2030. More information is available at https://www.i2030.de/suedwest/.

You don't just walk up here – you enter a piece of landscape that cannot be straightened. The roots of the pines, gnarled like old hands, grasp at everything that moves: shoe soles, thoughts, time. The path winds its way up the slope, unhurriedly, but earnestly. No shallow excuses, no light footing – whoever walks here walks with their whole body. On the left, the railing, constructed from crooked wood, as if carved by the forest itself. On the right, the hint of the abyss – not deep, but just deep enough to force your gaze to pause for a moment. And then these stairs. Built not by humans, but by roots. They hold together what is about to fall apart. Earth, memory, footsteps. Every step speaks of the patience of the trees, of their desire to ascend and branch out. Nothing spectacular awaits at the top. No observation tower, no bratwurst snack bar. Only the path that leads onward – and the silence that sounds different up here. Further, clearer. Anyone who has been here knows: Not everything beautiful has to be comfortable. But everything beautiful is worth the detour.

Sand as far as the eye can see. Fine, light, slightly dusty sand that lifts in the wind and settles between the spokes. The bicycles are scattered across the water, as if someone had dumped a giant game of Mikado over the Havel. Those who land here aren't there by chance. It's far on foot, impossible by car – the place belongs to those who cycle or hike their way there. And then it lies there, this strip between water and forest. A large, wonderfully unfinished beach, where the Havel sometimes appears tame, then rough again, depending on the mood of the boats. When a recreational boater thunders past in his Bayliner, the water laps up to the ceiling of the picnic blanket, bringing a certain sense of fairness into the game – even the sun loungers should get some exercise. The people here are as mixed as the light through the trees: with clothes, without clothes, with Bluetooth speakers, without anything. Some read, others talk, most are silent. Perhaps because they know that in a place like this, you don't need to say much. It's enough to be there. Between trees and sand, between water and wind. And that's a lot.

You'd think a steam power plant wasn't a place for strolling. And yet it stands there as if it had stepped out of an oriental fairytale—with turrets, battlements, and a chimney that stretches so delicately into the Havel idyll, as if it never wanted to disturb it, but only quietly participate. The Steam Engine House in Babelsberg Park is not an engine house. It's a romantic misnomer. Not only steam was generated here, but also a certain idea of splendor: King Frederick William IV didn't want a tubular structure with a soot-covered edge, but a building with poise. So, in true Prussian style, he let aesthetics triumph over function. And so the building not only pumps water, but also imagination into the mind: Some call it a mosque, others a fairytale castle. But nobody calls it an engine house. Too banal. Those who approach do so either on foot – along one of the park's gently winding paths – or from the water, on the excursion steamer that chugs by like a nostalgic salute to the leisure culture of the 1980s. And then it stands there. Wide, tranquil, defiant – yet playful. The long chimney is an exclamation mark against boredom.

relaxed route along the Havel, have fun 🌷