Above water: The Berlin Badeschiff as a place of worship

The spa park of Bad Dürrenberg is located on a Saale plateau. A fountain splashes not far from the spot where a golden ball and a plaque indicate an excavation: It was here 9000 years ago an extraordinary woman is buried – the “Shaman of Bad Dürrenberg”. The woman with the animal tooth veil over her eyes has fascinated me ever since the first reports about her identity as a healer and fortune teller.

I visit on an August day State Garden Show in the beautifully designed spa park, where you could see the shaman 90 years ago when creating a ditch found. Her bones were taken to the State Museum in Halle by the Nazis, misinterpreted and she was forgotten for decades. The former place of worship above the Saale now offers a view of chimneys and power plant towers, while the Saale passes darkly below.

Above water

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Anne Hahn is an author of novels and non-fiction books and swims the waters of the world for “nd”.

We humans love iconic places, I think, as I wander through the halls of the former Berliners Omnibus-AG meander. A gate opens at the end of a brick hall; I booked the two-hour time slot online four days in advance. A sandy wasteland filled with umbrellas, deck chairs and rustic seating areas opens onto the Spree. Once you’ve managed to change in the cabin or toilet and stowed your luggage, you can stroll freely to the cabin Badeschiff.

On the left, water lilies bloom on the Spree, on the right a coot rests on a stone, three seagulls eye the bar. Straight ahead shines the tank in which happy people lounge in turquoise water. We walk across wooden decks past two showers and a casual lifeguard in a straw hat, and two ladders lead us into the water. It feels like half of the 250 bathers per slot are in the pool, from grandchildren to grandmas. The predominant language is English, hardly anyone without a tattoo. I dive between dozens of feet to the edge, resting my chin on the short side of the tank. Here you can lie down, sit on the long sides – and marvel at everything. The panorama stretches from the television tower to Molecule Man and the Treptow high-rise.

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Canoes and boats abound on the Spree. On Saturday afternoon some skippers are already cheerful and a canoe is heading towards us. A loud whistle sounds and everyone turns their heads, the boat rental people, the cormorant on the wooden peg and all the ship’s crew. Our lifeguard threatens the sinner, who quickly turns away. A bathing grace that is just climbing the edge of the boat prefers to quickly slip back into the pool.

Later, I ask the artist on the pipe on his deck whether anyone has ever fallen into the Spree. Our lifeguard laughs that someone is always jumping. They then climb ashore over there, but are not allowed back into the pool because people don’t shower with soap here and “our water should stay wonderfully clean.” The English and Spanish are surprised at how little their skin smells after bathing, he says. The chlorine content in their pools is three times higher. We look over the Oberbaum Bridge, barges and seagulls along the Spree and I hold my breath a little.