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Round trip of just over 20 km through the forest around the Ser

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Eye-catcher when driving past over the bridge.

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Anyone approaching Lake Hohennauen on two wheels will be rewarded halfway – with a bridge that is more than just a crossing. The view from here is far-reaching: Lake Ferchesar shimmers to the left, Lake Hohennauen stretches out to the right, and in the middle, Lake Semliner stretches long and blue through the landscape. The bridge itself is comfortable: structurally separate paths for cyclists and pedestrians – that's almost a luxury in Brandenburg. Below, water lilies lap against old pilings, above, boats glide by like mobile viewing platforms. If you pause here for a moment, you'll see what defines the region: expanse, water, wind – and a soothing silence that doesn't have to be loud to make an impression.

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Anyone traveling through southern Brandenburg on two wheels shouldn't simply pass by Lötze Castle. If only because it's not really a castle at all—or let's just say, it wasn't born as one. Originally, there was a brickworks here, diligently firing bricks for the surrounding estate. And as luck would have it: When the fire couldn't be controlled and the brickworks burned down in the 1920s, the then lord of the manor seized the opportunity and had a manor house built. Following the motto: If it's going to be hot, do it with style. Later, this was a children's summer camp. A time of change. Change. Then the market took over: the castle was sold, renovated, and polished. Today, the complex is privately owned, but the old walls continue to tell stories. Of brick dust and estate farming, of summers filled with children's laughter—and now of bungalows for guests who want to treat themselves to a few days of stately flair. For cyclists, Lötze is more than just a stopover: a place that shows that history doesn't always have to consist of castles and kings. Sometimes all it takes is a burnt-out kiln, a bit of entrepreneurial spirit—and a long-term perspective. The avenue leading there is quiet, the lake peeks through the trees. And those who stop feel: much has happened here—and much more will happen.

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You cycle through the tranquil lake landscape west of Brandenburg, the asphalt glows softly in the sun, the fields smell of hay, and somewhere frogs croak as if they were on the air. And then suddenly it appears – the church of Semlin. Not a monument to tourist crowds, but a house that simply stands there as if it had always been there. And somehow, it has. It was built between 1730 and 1732 from plastered brickwork, which gives it a stubborn, almost rebellious charm. The hall is strictly rectangular, the tower slightly recessed – as if it wanted to listen, not disturb. The weather vane on the roof has seen more wind directions than one's travel plans. Inside, it is bright, simple, and friendly. No pomp, no pathos – rather, the quiet whisper of past centuries. The organ, the altar, the pulpit: all from 1893. This wasn't a show of ostentation, but a design. And it still works today. Between 1985 and 1988, the church was carefully reconstructed, the beams reframed, and the plaster renewed – as one does with things dear to one's heart. The village church of Semlin isn't a destination for pious pilgrims or architectural guides. But it is a place to pause. For cyclists who value breaks as much as exercise. For people who prefer to observe rather than photograph. And for all those who sometimes feel that history isn't so far away – perhaps just a chime away.

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Stop and pause for a moment

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Unfortunately, this tower is closed due to the risk of collapse. However, there are two other towers nearby. As of March 9, 2025

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From the observation tower you can observe the many different species of ducks and geese on Lake Gülper.

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