The best traffic-free bike rides around Schlachtensee

Popular bathing spot for naturists.

A wonderful path that leads through magnificent forest for a very long time.

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.

Between Katteweg and Am Waldhaus, the Königsweg has now been "converted" into a bicycle street (typical Berlin, so simply painted on)

Before the rerouting, the A115 motorway ran west of Dreilinden. At this point, the motorway turned south toward the Teltow Canal. In doing so, it crossed the Potsdam Main Railway line (https://www.i2030.de/suedwest/). The old railway bridge is still preserved and a popular hiking destination. Also clearly visible is the crash barrier, which was intended to protect the central bridge pier from collisions with trucks. As part of the planning for its reopening, the question of whether the bridge is still needed is being considered.

Before the rerouting, the A115 motorway ran west of Dreilinden. At this point, the motorway turned south toward the Teltow Canal. In doing so, it crossed the Potsdam Main Railway line (https://www.i2030.de/suedwest/). The old railway bridge is still preserved and a popular cycling and hiking destination. Also clearly visible is the crash barrier, which was intended to protect the central bridge pier from collisions with trucks. As part of the planning for its reopening, the question of whether the bridge is still needed is being considered.

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.