The punt glides silently away from the pier in Lübbenau. A long wooden pole lowers to the bottom of the canal, and with a single smooth movement, the punter propels the craft forward. There is no engine noise, no wake - only the rustle of leaves, the chirping of birds, and the gentle lapping of water parting beneath the bow.
The Spreewald’s canals were not formed by human hands. Thousands of years ago, a glacier shaped the landscape, leaving behind a sprawling network of tributaries of the River Spree. Today, it flows through one of Europe's best-preserved wetland regions, which we visited as part of a press trip hosted by the German National Tourist Board.
More than 1,000 kilometres of waterways meander through forests, meadows, and small islands, creating a landscape that feels more like a Brothers Grimm fairy tale than modern Germany. It is precisely due to this unique blend of nature and traditional way of life that the Spreewald was designated a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve in 1991.
Special purpose barrels
Navigating the waterways is the finest way to discover the region. For centuries, water here served as dust-covered roads did elsewhere. People used it to travel to market, school, neighbours' houses, or church. Punts were used to transport hay, firewood, livestock, and building materials; even today, the postman in the village of Lehde delivers mail by traditional wooden punt from spring to autumn.
Along the banks stand wooden houses with thatched roofs and gables decorated with wooden snakes. Gardens overflow with flowers, and small wooden bridges connect the islets where people still reside. Moored outside almost every house is a punt - not as a tourist attraction, but as an essential part of daily life.
Between the courtyards, large wooden barrels can occasionally be seen. For centuries, these have been used to prepare the famous Spreewald gherkins, a product that has made the region renowned across Germany. Thanks to the fertile soil and abundant water, gherkin cultivation here boasts a tradition spanning over 150 years, with preservation recipes passed down through generations as closely guarded secrets.
Today, only gherkins grown in this specific area are permitted to carry the protected
"Spreewälder Gurken" label. Yet behind this famous name lies far more than gastronomy; it is the story of a community that learned to adapt its life to the water rather than attempt to tame it.
To truly understand this way of life, drifting along the canals is not enough - one must step back into the past.
A step back in time
The village of Lehde is home to the oldest open-air museum in Brandenburg, a place where authentic houses from different parts and eras of the Spreewald have been preserved. Right at the entrance, we were welcomed by a woman in traditional folk costume offering bread and salt, explaining that this is how guests are greeted in their community.
The museum was established in the 1950s, when historical buildings from various villages across the region were relocated to preserve the memory of a lifestyle that was gradually disappearing. The first house we entered dates back to the mid-19th century. Simple on the outside, every detail reflects the ongoing relationship with the surrounding waters.
Built entirely of timber without a single nail or screw, the massive beams are fitted together so precisely that the entire structure rests on large stone blocks. A space was left between the ground and the floor to keep the house dry when water levels rose, whilst in winter, straw was packed underneath for extra insulation.
At the apex of the thatched roof are wooden ornaments carved in the shape of snake heads, representing the so-called Snake King. According to local belief, these creatures brought good fortune, as they gathered only on higher ground where floodwaters could not reach.
Inside, there are no corridors or separate rooms as we know them today. Up to fifteen family members would live in a single room, which served for cooking, eating, weaving, mending clothes and tools, spending long winter evenings, and sleeping.
Infants slept in cradles, young children in large wooden chests, while adults shared beds. There was not enough room for everyone at the table, so the youngest often ate standing up. Everyone had their own spoon, but shared a single communal dish for food.
Without punts, this mode of living would have been impossible. The workshop next door preserves the tools of master craftsmen who built these boats using traditional methods up until the 1990s.
The oldest examples were hollowed out from a single tree trunk, while later models were crafted using more complex techniques. The timber was heated over a fire, doused with water, and carefully bent into its distinctive shape - sturdy enough to carry hay, livestock, or construction materials through narrow channels.
Yet the Spreewald was not shaped by water alone. Its identity has been safeguarded for centuries by a minority group whose language and customs can still be heard and seen among the canals and wooden cottages.
Homeland of the Lusatian Serbs
An integral part of the Spreewald story belongs to a people who managed to preserve their language, customs, and culture despite numerous historical shifts in the region.
On road signs, maps, and notices throughout Brandenburg, a second language often appears alongside German: Lower Sorbian. At first glance, it feels familiar, with traces of Slavic roots recognizable between the words. This is no coincidence.
It is the language of the Lusatian Serbs, or Sorbs, one of the smallest Slavic ethnic groups in Europe, who have inhabited the region of present-day eastern Germany for over a thousand years.
Their ancestors settled the marshy areas along the River Spree in the Early Middle Ages. The natural isolation created by the surrounding waters helped them preserve their identity, while teaching them to adapt nearly every aspect of their lives to the environment.
This is why the museum in Lehde is not merely about architecture and historic artifacts. Every house, piece of furniture, and punt forms part of the narrative of a community that lived in harmony with nature for centuries.
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A section of the open-air museum is dedicated to the ornate traditional costumes of the Lusatian Serbs. These were not merely celebratory attire, but a visual language of communication.
One outfit was designated for attending church, another for field work, a third for village festivities and celebrations, and a fourth for weddings. Even the headgear and shawl decorations varied from village to village and community to community, allowing locals to identify someone's origin at a single glance.
This diversity remains a vital component of the local identity today. During traditional celebrations, processions, and religious holidays, many residents still don the ceremonial costumes of their ancestors, keeping alive traditions that have endured in the Spreewald far longer than in much of Europe.
As we leave the museum and walk back to the punt that will take us back to our starting point, it becomes clear that the Spreewald is not a place to be experienced superficially. Here, nature and humanity are inextricably linked.
Its greatest value lies in the fact that nature became the principal architect. The water dictated where houses were built, how villages took shape, what people ate, how they earned a living, and how they preserved their culture and identity.
(EUpravo zato)