Today, tattered curtains flutter through broken windows and the surrounding forest slowly swallows the rotting alpine structure. Yet, hidden amidst the graffiti and decay, forgotten GDR relics still sit in the shadows—leaving local urban planners clinging to a desperate hope that this townscape-defining landmark can be rescued before nature claims it entirely.
Three decades of tourism development have left hardly a stone unturned at one of Schierke’s most renowned establishments. The former FDGB holiday home "Hermann Duncker" is on the verge of collapse.
The word "Erholung" (Recreation) is still clearly legible above the front entrance, whereas the illuminated letters spelling out "FDGB-Heim" and "Hermann Duncker" have already faded. They barely stand out against the façade of what was once a highly sought-after holiday destination in Schierke.
The former "Villa Waldpark"—built over a century ago on the outskirts of this popular resort town in the upscale Barenberg district—has reached an advanced stage of decay three decades after closing its doors: the wooden façade is rotting, while bushes and trees have overgrown the garden and the terraces in front of the main entrance.
Windowpanes are missing, and tattered old curtains flutter in the wind. The floors have lost their parquet; in more secluded areas, gaping holes offer a view down to the lower levels. The only ones still living here today are bats.
Yet this "Sleeping Beauty" of a building—operated during the Roaring Twenties as the "Kurhotel Barenberger Hof"—was once one of the finest establishments in town, back when the mountain and forest village of Schierke was evolving into the hub of the Harz region's first major tourism boom.
It was a prime location—just 300 meters from the Schierke spa gardens, 500 meters from the Harz crags, and two kilometers from the Wurmberg in Lower Saxony. It was a place suited to the "most discerning and exacting tastes," as a 1920 guidebook praised.
Schierke’s transformation had begun at the turn of the century with its connection to the Brocken Railway. The village in the Kalte Bode valley—previously a place that thrived on sawmills, mining, and ore smelting—transformed into the "St. Moritz of the North."
The community of 600 residents attracted a quarter of a million visitors annually, drawing them in not only with a network of hiking trails but also with a toboggan and bobsleigh run, a ski jump, and an ice rink.
However, after the end of World War II, Schierke slipped back into obscurity. From the 1950s onwards, the reason was its immediate proximity to the East German border, which turned the village at the foot of the Brocken into a restricted zone for GDR citizens.
Over the ensuing decades, the border fortifications were steadily expanded and perfected. Added to this was the total isolation of the Brocken massif, which served as an eavesdropping center for the GDR secret service and Soviet signals intelligence units.
Consequently, the people who vacationed in Schierke during the following decades were almost exclusively loyal and reliable GDR citizens: workers who had distinguished themselves through excellent performance at their jobs, or those who possessed "Vitamin B"—connections to the holiday service—enabling them to secure one of the coveted spots.
In addition, many comrades from the party apparatus, the army and border troops, and the State Security Service (Stasi)—the GDR’s secret police—stayed there. Existing local hotels were refurbished or entirely new ones built to accommodate this clientele. Representatives of the National People's Army once lodged in what is now the youth hostel, while Stasi personnel stayed right next door in the Ernst Thälmann House.
Furthermore, until the reunification, the District Council, the Regional Council, and the Free German Youth (FDJ) all sent their meritorious members to Schierke for rest and recreation. Returning to the “Kurhotel Barenberger Hof”: While Schierke has recovered from the slump in visitor numbers following the end of the GDR—presenting an image today that is both tidy and lively—the spa hotel retains, at best, a faint echo of its former glory.
The 80-meter-long building, situated between the Feuerstein Arena and the Mäuseklippe rock formation, is being swallowed by a patch of forest that is, in places, already growing into the structure itself.
Large patches of plaster have fallen from the walls, the floorboards are brittle, and heaps of torn-off veneer litter the stairwell. Trash piles up in the cramped former guest rooms; remnants of parties and graffiti tags are impossible to miss, yet there are also forgotten artifacts from the era before the market economy’s abundance of consumer goods.
A small tin of “Trinkfix” cocoa powder—a GDR brand—sits in a niche. Jars of preserved fruit can be found, as well as upholstered armchairs from the Dresden-Hellerau furniture line that was so highly coveted at the time.
Managed by the trade union federation during the GDR era, the slate-roofed building—renamed the “Hermann Duncker” FDGB (trade union) holiday home after a brief stint as the “Einheit” holiday home—was never as striking a landmark as the “Fritz Heckert” FDGB home in Gernrode. Built in the 1950s, that facility’s ruinously picturesque remains now attract throngs of “ruin tourists.”
Much like the “Heinrich Heine”—another large Schierke hotel that has since been demolished—the “Hermann Duncker,” with its stone base and wood......design reflects the traditional charm of an alpine ski resort rather than bold architectural experimentation.
It is a landmark that evokes the heyday of tourism in the Harz region, yet simultaneously represents a burden. Michael Zagrodnik, Wernigerode’s head of urban planning, notes that the large hotel buildings dating back to the turn of the 20th century—particularly those in Schierke—possess a "distinctive character that defines the local townscape" and are therefore highly valuable.
Consequently, Wernigerode—the "colorful town" in the Harz region to which Schierke now belongs—is keenly interested in preserving such landmarks.
However, the city has no direct control over the property. While the owner of the ruin is known to municipal authorities, the city administration declines to disclose the status of his plans.
The fact that the revitalization of the town’s former luxury hotels—proposed eight years ago as part of Berlin architect Wolf Eisentraut’s ambitious "Schierke 2020" master plan—has not moved a single step closer to reality changes nothing in this regard.
After all, the "Hermann Duncker" building is still standing; despite the damage, it remains a ruin that could potentially be saved. "And we continue to hope that revitalization can succeed," says Michael Zagrodnik.
