In May 2024, I rode from Prague to Copenhagen via Berlin. This was the fourth stage of a multi-year trip from the southernmost town in Europe: Ierapetra in Crete – to the northernmost – Nordkapp in Norway. For ease of reading, I have broken this trip down into two parts. You can read about my trip from Berlin to Copenhagen here.
At the end of my account, I have put a few notes on the routes that I used. I am happy to provide further details or send you the GPX files.
Wednesday 1st May 2024: Prague
It was the first of May 2024, the sun was out, and I was in Prague, that most beautiful of cities.
Nearly a year before, I had arrived there at the end of the third leg of my multi-year trip from the southernmost town in Europe to the northernmost. Now it was time to pick up the trail again and explore a part of Europe that was mostly new to me, riding up through what used to be East Germany, the German Democratic Republic, before cutting west and north and into Denmark. And I was doing so during the campaign for the European Parliament elections.
As the plane touched down, I was not in the best of spirits to start a bike tour. For six months, I had been suffering from on/off knee pains – tendinitis. I had gone through a whole set of remedies, and given the green light by both my GP and my physio to get out there, but take it easy.
Prague was sunny, happy, and stuffed to the gills with tourists. When I had first visited in 1991, on the outside it had been drab and sober, but underneath, there was an amazing spirit to it, a quirkiness that was totally intoxicating, Now it was full of tourists and accompanying tat: gift shops, African immigrants selling worthless trinkets on rugs, kebab shops, tattoo parlours and the 21st century additions: vape shops. It was all rather sad.
But my mood was improved by dinner in the backstreets of the west bank of the Vltava: a small but delightful Czechoslovak restaurant serving Slovak classics and notably bryndzové halušky, a fabulously indulgent mix of creamy goats cheese, chives, and fried bacon, all served on boiled potato gnocchi.
Thursday 2nd May 2024: Prague – Mĕlník: 59 km
Despite my best reassembly job after unpacking the bike, I could sense my rear wheel rubbing against one side of the brakes. So I took a slight deviation from my route and turned into a small bike shop on the edges of Prague centre where a kind old bike mechanic hoisted my bike and tested it out. He didn’t speak much English but his younger assistant did and told me that there was no problem with the wheel but that the chain was too stretched and needed to be replaced.
As he fixed my bike, he said “You from England? How many negroes you have?” I said that I didn’t know but asked him whether they had many immigrants in the Czech Republic. “We have lot of Ukrainians – 600,000”, he said disapprovingly.
Then out along the Vltava, admiring Prague’s splendid bike paths and network. Even on a working Thursday, it was thick with bike riders. The usual gradual thinning out of the city until I crossed onto the East bank and reached pleasant flood meadows with villages and cliffs, the river twisting and turning. Up on the headland, the wind picking up but luckily mostly behind me. Then down to the river again and crossing near Kralupy nad Vltavou. Mostly all paved bike path, but one stretch of mud, stones and branches.
Sometimes on these rides, you start to notice other riders doing the same route, passing them and being passed by them as one or the other of you takes breaks or slows down. An odd companionship can build up and often nice conversations when you both stop.
On this day, I noticed a ginger haired woman in her early thirties, hair tidily pinned back, loose hiking clothes, a few bike bags but not heavily laden, plodding away in a rather serious way. After passing each other a few times, I attempted a cheery acknowledgement. And was firmly ignored. Mentally, I named her ‘Charlotte’, as she had a Charlotte-ish vibe.
After Veltrusy, the wind picked up and bit with a vengeance as the Vltava turned East, heading for its confluence with the Elbe. It was a thankless hour of pedalling, and passing and being passed by Charlotte, now giving a hunted look as though I were stalking her…
At last, Mĕlník castle appeared in the distance. But in the final stretch, I saw a large tree blocking the route, and Charlotte quietly lifting her bike over it, her face now one of weary disappointment.
Crossing the Elbe for the first time, and up the last stretch of cobbles to the castle, I found Charlotte taking a triumphal selfie, before seeing me, emitting a visible harrumph, and getting the hell out of there.
Friday 3rd May: Mĕlník – Litomĕřice – 52 km
Mĕlník was nice enough: that beautiful castle, a pretty church and wide-open square, but the best views were from it: down over the Elbe, a tremendous vista of green and glinting blue.
On an overcast morning, off I went, mostly following the Eurovelo 7. The sounds of spring: cuckoos, wood pigeons… Fishermen along the banks and a regular supply of cyclists of all kinds, though not a sight of Charlotte, who had clearly bolted…
It was a day for mostly following the mighty Elbe as it swung its way through the hills. Not the most fascinating of rides, but after I passed Roudnice, the views improved, over to the volcanic mound of Rip, blue in the distance, and the Elbe narrowing and becoming more impressive. A quiet day for quiet scenery,
Not long before I reached my night stop at Litomĕřice, horror amid the beauty: the remains of the concentration camp at Theresienstadt. With my fully laden bike, it was not possible to visit, but I stood outside by a memorial to the dead, the names, and dates of birth and death marked in simple metal plates overseen by a giant star of David at one end and a cross at the other, each telling a story, right up to those who had died after the liberation, their bodies unable to take any more.
Saturday 4th May: Litomĕřice – Dĕčín: 50 km
Saturday and after two days of mostly having the roads and paths to myself, everyone was out and about on their bikes, from the very young to the very old. Hardly a minute went by without someone powering past.
The skies were mostly overcast until the sun opened up for lunch, but the route was pleasant and the views of the Elbe valley got better and better, stubbly mounds rising on both sides.
But history was very present here as well. Around lunchtime, I skipped past Ústí-nad-Labem, a town with a past as the capital of German Sudetenland from 1938-45.
Then on to my evening stop of Dĕčín, a rather ugly town in a pretty setting.
Plenty of election posters out, most of which my Czech wasn’t good enough to understand. But one – for the Social Democrats – was very clear: “No Immigration, No Euro, No War”. Fair enough, but I couldn’t help noticing that one of the two candidates being promoted had a very Japanese name and face…
Happily I was staying at a cheery modern hotel down near the banks of the river and had an equally cheery meal of pork tenderloin in pepper sauce. It wasn’t really Czech cuisine – it came with a healthy dollop or two of tzatziki – but it was exactly what I needed.
Sunday 5th May: Dĕčín – Dresden: 68 km
A longer day, though again, mostly flat and following the Elbe. With the prediction of rain, I set out early, hoping to outrun it but also to be able to take in what I suspected would be the most pretty ride of my trip.
It was quite spectacular, the stubbly hills of yesterday closed in to become thick forests climbing up steep hillsides on either side, crenelated oblongs of blackened sandstone jutting out towards the top, and trim wooden houses. For over 40 kilometres, it was bike path or quiet roads.
There was a pretty marker signing the edge of the Czech Republic but no sign to acknowledge that I was entering Germany. I was sad to be saying goodbye to the Czech Republic, a rather underrated cycling destination with an excellent cycling infrastructure.
I gave in to the majesty of the scenery, the grey skies adding to the magic. The German side was equally pretty – they call it Sachsische Schweiz, Saxon Switzerland – and as I passed Bad Schandau and Krippen, lone boulders like solid lumps of mud, rising clear of the forest.
The route had happy memories for me too: over thirty years beforehand, I had travelled along it with my parents in equally gloomy skies.
But I couldn’t completely outrun the weather: the rain started. And went on. And went on. Rarely heavy but persistent. It was a shame because even after the landscape flattened out around Pirna, there were still pleasant sights. I would have loved to have admired the ornate houses in the suburb of Kleinschachwitz, but it was time to get to Dresden and dry off. And it was also time to give my poor complaining legs a day off. They had more or less held up but felt stiff and tired after the first four days.
Monday 6th May: Dresden
Dresden held more memories. Over the years, I have experienced quite a bit of ill will – sometimes even outright racism – linked to my nationality. But few places have been filled with quite such an anti-British mood as Dresden in 1993, and this was three years after the fall of the Wall. Rather than rebuild war-damaged sites as the West Germans, French, Belgians, British, Poles, hell, pretty much everyone else, the GDR had left the ruins of Dresden as they were, with signs making it very clear whose fault this all was, fingers pointing very directly at the British for the firebombing in the dying months of the war. It was a distinctly uncomfortable experience.
Since then, the reunified Germany had taken a new approach, rebuilding the cathedral with British financial support and making good work on the rest.
Even in the continued rain, the town had a spruce new air and energy, though retaining much of the socialist architecture.
For all that, and maybe it was the rain, the place still left me rather cold. I made a note to come back on a sunny day when the renovations are complete.
As in the Czech Republic, election posters were everywhere. And tension. Not long before I arrived, a local social democratic politician, Matthias Ecke, had been beaten up and hospitalised for the sin of putting up posters…
But my spirits were at least perked up by what was quite easily the best fried breakfast I have ever eaten, described on the menu as Herzhaft – hearty – and quite rightly. I have never had sausages, bacon, scrambled eggs and the like done to such perfection.
Tuesday 7th May: Dresden – Riesa: 54 km
Back on the road and back on the river. It was chilly and overcast with the constant threat of rain but it was compensated by the scenery: regular glimpses of the Elbe, low brown hills on the Eastern bank, the occasional castle, fields of rapeseed, always a joy.
And halfway, I stopped briefly in Meissen, the town once at the centre of the pottery trade. It was a charming place, but it was chilly, so I did not linger.
For most of the day, I was away from the traffic, riding along the Elberadweg cycle path, hardly a soul around apart from the odd cheery pensioner on an e-bike. I took it gently, nursing the returning pain in my right knee, but was soon in Riesa, my stop for the night, chosen more for its position on the route and availability of hotels rather than any special features. Still, it was interesting to get a glimpse of the real Germany away from the big cities and tourist towns. Riesa was clearly a market town and even though I found it rather empty and lacking in a clear focus point or sights, there were signs of life and vitality.
But there were also signs of the past. Nearly 35 years on from the fall of the Wall, here were still Karl Marx Ring, Friedrich Engels Strasse, and another street, still proudly dedicated to a long gone Communist politician, John Schehr. The big cities might have moved on, but life in Riesa clearly just trundled on, the only thing changing: the profusion of kebab shops.
Wednesday 8th May: Riesa – Torgau: 51 km
After four days of grey skies, the sight of sun poking through the clouds. Another flat and relatively easy day, following the Elberadweg. It was not an interesting ride: mostly floodplains with only the odd field of rapeseed and the only occasional sight of the Elbe to cheer me up: a day for doing the distance and hoping for some interest when I reached the destination.
While stopping at a particularly beautiful field of rapeseed for some photos, I was passed by a bunch of elderly women bikers on e-bikes. “Ah, Sie sind ein Bio-biker!” they exclaimed. So that was what I now was: a bio biker!
I reached Torgau in the early afternoon, the sun out and a warm welcome at the Pension Wehner, a simple but charming place to stay.
What a lovely town! A range of yellows, ochres, and siennas, and a magnificently odd castle with a wonderfully ornate staircase and statues, the Schloss Hartenfels, a place for simply drifting around, and a hidden gem.
Even in this happy spot, politics were close to the surface. On a side street, the back to back offices of Die Linke – the far left – and the KPD, the German Communist Party – the even further left. I was captivated by its window, with peace signs, anti-NATO signs, professions of love for Russia – the brothers who loved peace so much that they had invaded a peaceful democratic neighbour – and at the bottom, a small teddy bear in LGBTQ colours. (I somehow doubted whether the Russian brothers would have stood for that).
And my pleasure in such a town was completed by a very nice steak meal on the main square, complete with a few glasses of good German Dornfelder red wine. For purely medicinal purposes.
Thursday 9th May: Torgau – Wittenberg: 67 km
Ascension Day and Europe Day, all rolled into one on a beautifully sunny day. I was not the only one out: hikers, bikers, motorbikers, classic car enthusiasts… At one point, I rolled through a town in the wake of a motorcycle rally and was teasingly applauded by the crowd.
Mein host at the Pension Wehner had warned me not to expect much by way of scenery, but it was pleasant enough, with a few rolling hills here and there and a crossing of the Elbe on a car ferry pulled across by wires and all for a princely €1.50. I mixed road and bike path simply to get a bit of variation and hardly saw the Elbe at all apart from that crossing.
As I neared Wittenberg, I passed through what was clearly an AfD – Alternativ für Deutschland, the main far right party – youth rally: mostly young men in black. There were others out: plenty of teenagers swilling beer – I was gently offered one – but hardly a whiff of marijuana. The whole place seemed to be drinking itself silly.
Then to Wittenberg, the home of Martin Luther, and one of the great historical towns of Germany. As I entered, I passed a group of students in straw hats, also the worse for wear. One of them belched and shouted “Fck da AfD!”…
Out for dinner at a local beer hall, the food itself rather mundane and forgettable but the place enlivened by one of the waiters, a big man with a high pitched voice and a gift for camp theatricality, much to the amusement of the diners, and by the looks of things, his fellow staff. Orders would be taken with a loud and high pitched “Gerne!” and off he would flutter to the next table.
Friday 10th May: Wittenberg and Dessau
Not everything was peace and light. I had been getting pains in my body throughout my trip, mostly the right leg and knee but sometimes pains in the left leg and even tension in the left shoulder and neck. Everything was tight, and I woke up to a very inflamed right ankle, not relieved by either walking or paracetamol.
I was determined to get out though, so took the train to Dessau, the one time home of the Bauhaus design movement. The former school was striking enough with its clean lines and colours hinted by the discreet use on window panes and it was great to visit the houses of the teachers such as Gropius and Kandinsky and see their very different styles, but somehow I felt it all a missed opportunity to tell the tale of the movement and its persecution.
There was a contrast between Dessau and Wittenberg, the former 85% destroyed during the Second World War due to its proximity to a Junkers armaments factory, and the latter lovingly preserved: a truly delightful place of wide streets and ornate architecture. And a little delight on the outskirts of town, a secondary school redesigned and rebuilt by Hundertwasser in the early 1990s, a crazy mishmash of colours and shapes, amazing that only 25 years old.
A splendid dinner, slightly off the tourist drag, of Holzfäller steak: marinated pork with potatoes, bacon, onions, sausage and salad. (Writing this, I discover that Holzfäller means ‘lumberjack’, which is rather lovely.) If only my legs had not been in such pain.
Saturday 11th May: Wittenberg – Bad Belzig: 44 km
It was time to say goodbye to the Elbe and the Eurovelo 7 and head towards Berlin. On paper, it looked rather uninteresting and quick, but, once out of the Wittenberg suburbs, I was rewarded with a succession of pleasantly dusty tracks, forest paths, and old country roads past a mixture of oaks, pine, ryegrass and wheat. This was the Upper Fläming Nature park and fläming good it was too.
There were even some hills, a welcome change after the Elbe floodplain. I was gently heading uphill all day, away from Saxony and into Brandenburg.
The drawback of cutting across country like this was the paucity of towns with accommodation. I had initially booked somewhere in the town of Bad Belzig, only to get a rather blasé reply from the owner to my request for somewhere safe to store the bike, pretty much to the effect of “You can lock it to the lamp post”, so instead stayed at the Springbach-Mühle nearby. It promised a woody setting, pleasant rooms and an onsite restaurant. When I arrived, I was treated to a dark room in an outbuilding and there was little space to walk. Even the evening meal was dreary, overpriced and undercooked: a venison steak with ravioli and cabbage accompanied by a gaudy but tasteless coloured salad.
Sunday 12th May: Bad Belzig – Potsdam: 54 km
After being bearable on the stint from Prague to Dresden, and despite taking it slowly and easily, my legs – indeed my entire body – were getting worse: knee pain, ankle pain, tendon pain, foot pain. It had been bearable on the ride to Bad Belzig, but as soon as I got going, the ankle pain started up again and did not ease, despite a judicious dose of paracetamol. I tried to focus on the scenery, but could not ignore the pain.
And even the scenery was lacklustre: the trees and fields that had been a pleasant change the day before grew monotonous. In an attempt to inject a bit of scenery, I had diverted my route slightly away from the Eurovelo 2 to follow the Schwielowsee and Templiner See on the approach to Potsdam, but there was hardly a sight through the trees, and when crossing the lake on a bike path on the edge of a railway bridge, I had to remove the baggage from the bike, lift everything up to the bridge, and then do everything again at the other side.
I arrived in Potsdam in sunny skies and a sour mood, and with my right ankle hurting, even walking to the famous Schloss Sanssouci put me in pain. The gardens were ordered but left me cold: horribly ornate and tasteless in the worst imperial style, including some busts of ‘noble African savages’ intermixed with busts of Marcus Aurelius and Vespasian for reasons that were not made clear… I had been looking forward to Potsdam but found it very disappointing.
Monday 13th May: Potsdam – Berlin: 39 km
A gloriously sunny morning but I was in a pathetically sour mood. Overnight, I had checked out the bus timetables and discovered a Flixbus that would get me and bike back to Brussels in just over 12 hours… I resolved to ride the final kilometres to Berlin, see a doctor to confirm, take my time in Berlin and then head home before my legs got any worse.
But first I had to get there. The exit from Potsdam proved more enjoyable than the entrance. I stopped at the Glienicke Bridge, better known as the ‘Bridge of Spies’ from where prisoners and defectors were ‘swapped’ between East and West during the Cold War.
It was a sobering moment, as was the thought that now I had crossed the line from East to West. I was greeted by a stiff hill heading in a straight line – the Königsstrase – through the Düppeler forest and then back down again to cross the Wannsee before I followed quiet roads and bike paths through the Grunewald and along the Havel River.
After a solid 20 kilometres of greenery, I could avoid the big city no longer and spent nearly two hours threading my way deeper and deeper into the city, more or less in a straight line for the first 11 kilometres. Initially it was bike path along the side of a busy throughfare, which started as the Heerstrasse, turned into the Kaiserdamm, then became the Bismarckstrasse, and then the Strasse des 17. Juni, right up to the Siegesäule – Victory Column in the thick of the Tiergarten. Names that were familiar to me from history books now right in front of me. And then a pedestrian/cycle only lane heading right towards the Brandenburg Gate.
I paused to celebrate at that most momentous spot. Even with my aching body, it was quite an achievement.
I had been told not to fear cycling in Berlin and mostly it was right, though I did get on the wrong side of one or two motorists for that classic unGerman offence of ‘not knowing and following the rules’.
And then another half hour threading my way to my Airbnb in the former West German suburb of Kreuzberg, where I was greeted warmly by the owner, Simon, despite being 30 minutes late…
I Googled and found an English-speaking local doctor who accepted walk-ins so off I went into a modest set of offices in a nondescript apartment block and sat and waited. The doctor was kind, listened to me, looked at my bike videos, and with just a cursory look, told me – my German ended up being better than his English – that I had a small tendinopathy. Don’t worry but continue to take it easy. So off I went, not entirely convinced but figuring that I may as well give it all a try.
To read Part Two, from Berlin to Copenhagen, click HERE.
Route notes
From Prague to Berlin, I mostly followed the Eurovelo 7 though made the mistake of deviating away from it onto the southern bank of the Schwielowsee and Templinersee. At Wittenberg, it joins with the Eurovelo 2. From Potsdam, I rode straight along the Königstrasse before picking up the Eurovelo 2/7 again right through to the Brandenburg Gate.