In the heart of Plänterwald stands an iconic Ferris wheel – silent, decaying, but brimming with stories. Spreepark Berlin, once known as “Kulturpark Plänterwald,” opened in 1969 and became a favorite destination during the DDR era, drawing millions of visitors. After the fall of the Berlin Wall, the park struggled with financial turmoil, ultimately closing in 2002. Since then, it has become a haunting blend of ruins, legend, and a site of longing.
But this is just the beginning. The story of Spreepark is filled with so many twists and absurdities, it surpasses even the wildest of fantasies. What follows is one of Berlin's most bizarre and captivating tales.
1969–1991: The "Kulti" – A Leisure Paradise in East Germany
The Kulturpark Plänterwald opened its gates in 1969 to celebrate the 20th anniversary of the DDR, quickly becoming a beloved spot for both young and old. Attracting up to 1.7 million visitors annually, the "Kulti," as it was affectionately known, was the DDR’s only permanent amusement park. Spanning 29.5 hectares, it offered a simple yet charming mix of permanent rides, booths, and green spaces.
The Ferris wheel, a visible landmark, was modernized in 1989 for the DDR’s 40th anniversary, becoming a highlight. Besides carousels and roller coasters, open-air concerts were held, and in the 1980s, the park even attracted a subcultural punk scene. The park was not just a place of leisure, but a mirror of DDR life – down-to-earth, creative, and full of contrasts.
1991–2001: From Kulturpark to Spreepark – The Start of a Glamorous Chapter
After the fall of the Berlin Wall, the state-owned Kulturpark Berlin was dissolved in 1991, and among seven bidders, the Spreepark Berlin GmbH, led by showman Norbert Witte, won the contract. However, this decision would soon prove disastrous. The Berlin Senate had failed to investigate Witte’s background thoroughly – a mistake that would later make headlines.
The Witte Dynasty: From Albanian Kings to Berlin Showmen
Norbert Witte came from one of Germany's most unusual circus families. His grandfather, Otto Witte, was a carnival artist who became infamous for claiming to have been “King of Albania” for five days in 1913. Despite the story being entirely fabricated, Otto proudly carried the title until his death, even inscribing it on his gravestone. His legendary adventures symbolized the flamboyant, sometimes dubious charm of the carnival world. This mix of boldness, imagination, and boundary-pushing would also shape Norbert's controversial tenure at Spreepark.
Norbert Witte: A Showman with a Dark Past
Norbert Witte, grandson of the notorious Otto, grew up in Hamburg’s carnival scene and quickly gained a reputation as a talented yet risk-taking showman. However, in 1981, a tragic accident that killed seven people and injured 15 severely tarnished his career. While attempting to repair a defective ride at his carnival, a crane collided with another ride, causing one of Germany’s worst carnival accidents. Witte was later convicted of manslaughter and bodily injury, which damaged his reputation beyond repair in Germany.
After the accident, Witte tried to rebuild abroad and returned to the former Kulturpark Plänterwald in 1990. In 1991, his wife’s company, Spreepark GmbH, unexpectedly won the contract to operate the park. But the Berlin Senate had failed to properly investigate Witte’s past, making him a questionable choice to take over the park.
The Collapse into Madness: Spreepark’s Bankruptcy and Drug Smuggling
By the end of 2001, Spreepark was on the brink of collapse. The once-popular park, which had attracted millions in the '90s with ambitious renovations, had succumbed to falling visitor numbers, mounting debt, and failed investments. With no parking allowed in Plänterwald, visitors stayed away. On January 18, 2002, Norbert Witte and his family fled to Lima, Peru, leaving behind debts of 11 million euros.
Under the pretext of shipping six rides for repair, Witte secretly sent attractions like the Flying Carpet and the Jet Star roller coaster in 20 containers to South America. However, his attempt to build a new amusement park, Lunapark, failed miserably due to extortion, tropical weather damaging the rides, and Witte’s poor Spanish. His downfall came when an associate convinced him to smuggle cocaine in the Flying Carpet. 167 kilos of drugs were hidden inside the ride’s arm, but a tip-off led to Witte’s arrest in 2004. He was sentenced to seven years in prison in Germany - he'd had a heart attack and was allowed to stay here.
More dramatic was the fate of his son Marcel, who was unknowingly involved in the smuggling operation. Marcel was sentenced to 20 years in a notorious Peruvian prison. After 13 years, he was finally transferred back to Germany in 2016, offering hope for a new beginning.
Around 2010/11, I planned to offer guided tours through the then-abandoned Spreepark in collaboration with a Berlin tour guiding company. However, our project failed: The security company guarding the premises, along with Norbert Witte’s wife and daughter, demanded two-thirds of our earnings. They explained that the money was urgently needed to bribe the Peruvian prison staff to ensure the survival of Witte’s son, Marcel, in the notorious prison. These financial demands were simply beyond our means.
Spreepark as a Lost Place – Adventure and Nostalgia
As a child, I visited Spreepark for the first time and rode my very first roller coaster. It was a magical place – the Ferris wheel, the wild water ride, the spinning teacups – everything had a special charm. But by the late 2000s, after the park had been abandoned, it became a “lost place” that drew adventurers like me.
My friends and I climbed over the fence to explore the decaying grounds. It was a thrilling experience, sneaking around rusted rides and crumbling buildings. One time, we jumped into the still teacups – a surreal and morbid sight. Suddenly, lights came on in one of the buildings where Norbert Witte once lived. We ran as fast as we could.
Another time, a friend thought the water ride was filled with concrete. He jumped on – only to land in cold, algae-covered water. Soaked and laughing, he chased after us. We always had to watch out for the security guards.
Spreepark was a magnet for adventurers and nostalgia seekers alike. Over time, security became tighter. Guided tours and the "Café Mythos" offered a legal way to experience the magic, but those days are long gone. Today, Spreepark remains a fading memory of glorious and tragic times – a piece of Berlin’s history caught between fascination and decay.
The Future of Spreepark – Art, Culture, and Sustainability
Spreepark is undergoing a dramatic transformation. By 2026, a unique public space will emerge, blending nature, art, and culture. Old relics like the iconic Ferris wheel will be restored and made accessible in new ways. The wheel will spectacularly "float" over a water basin, a tribute to the past while looking to the future.
Other historic elements of the park will be preserved and creatively repurposed. The Mero Hall, former "English Village," and Cinema 2000 will be reimagined as cultural venues. The listed Eierhäuschen, now completed, has become a popular spot with restaurants, art residencies, and a boat dock.
Sustainability is at the heart of the plans. Streets will be rewilded, non-native trees replaced with native ones, and the park will be accessible without cars – by bike, public transport, or boat. Entrance fees will remain affordable, ensuring the park is accessible to all. The Spreepark of the future will not just be a place for relaxation but a catalyst for innovative urban development and cultural diversity. The abandoned rides will remain, preserving the park’s eerie charm and rich history for generations to come.
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