Stiege, Saxony-Anhalt, Germany
Years ago, ambitious plans flourished on the grounds of an old clinic in the German Harz region. Today, the Albrechtshaus near Stiege is nothing more than a ruin. Yet, thanks to a bold rescue operation, the historic stave church was at least saved.
The site where the church once stood looks like a swimming pool that was built too shallow. A few floor slabs remain, along with weathered steps and some stones that—until just a few years ago—supported an extraordinary church structure. The Stiege stave church—reportedly donated in 1905 by a grateful patient from the adjacent Albrechtshaus sanatorium—has vanished from its original location, having been moved at the very last moment.
Near a small town
After years of complex preparation, the church was relocated last year from the forest near the small Harz village to the heart of the community—a move spanning two kilometers as the crow flies. Today, the Scandinavian-style wooden building stands there as a visitor attraction hosting concerts, festivals, and celebrations.
The urgent necessity of this €1.2 million rescue operation is evident in what remains of the former Albrechtshaus tuberculosis and pulmonary sanatorium at its original site. Only a few walls are left, overshadowed by freestanding masonry that points toward the sky like a warning. Beams are charred, rusted steel reinforcement bars lie exposed, and sections of roof hang unsupported in mid-air.
Named after Albrecht of Prussia
One hundred and twenty-five years after it opened, the sanatorium—named after Prince Regent Albrecht of Prussia (of the Duchy of Brunswick)—lies in ruins. Abandoned thirty years ago, a fire ten years later destroyed the greater part of the once-imposing main building—a structure that had served as a sanatorium for cardiovascular patients during the final years of the GDR and even saw a fresh start as a rehabilitation clinic after reunification.
Today, only "lost place" tourists occasionally find their way to this woodland site, which in its heyday boasted its own railway station.
With 229 Guests beds
Grand plans to revitalize the heritage-listed complex had already gone up in smoke years earlier. It is hard to even imagine what the place once looked like. Shortly after the turn of the millennium, the hotel operator Kempinski seriously considered taking over the building—originally constructed to treat tuberculosis patients—and converting it into a five-star facility with 299 guest beds.
The complex was slated to feature not only several restaurants and cafés but also an indoor pool with a wellness area, a fitness center, tennis courts, and a section dedicated to treatments based on traditional Far Eastern healing methods.
The state had pledged half of the 50-million-euro investment sum, with the Swiss company intending to cover the remainder. However, the project collapsed amidst a dispute over conditions that Kempinski could not—or would not—meet. The state revoked the funding approval, and the investor withdrew.
The beacon of hope
The beacon of hope for regional tourism was extinguished, and the complex—situated on a rise above the Selke River and nicknamed "Mottenburg" (Moth Castle) by locals in the Harz region due to the distinctive sounds of the former patients' labored breathing—slipped back into a deep, dormant slumber.
The wood-clad structures fell into decay. Rain pours unchecked through leaking roofs, and trees grow through the crumbling remains of the walls. Young people party in the basement of the ruins of what was once a magnificent main building.
A decade and a half later, not even Marko Brandt, the local mayor of Stiege, knows who currently owns the property—let alone what plans they might have for it. Enrico Schmidt is in much the same position. A forced auction took place years ago, during which the site changed hands once again, says the head of the Oberharz municipal building department.
The owner ist gone
"A Berlin real estate company was the owner once; now it’s a different one." However, nothing is known about plans for the nearly 14-hectare site. "Unfortunately, we have no contact with the owner."
It is the same story with many of these old buildings that, after years of neglect, are beyond saving. The longer the decay persists, the more remote the prospect of rescue becomes. Those who buy such ruins do not do so as saviors, but in the hope of offloading them later at a higher price. The "Mottenburg" thus languished, drifting toward its ultimate collapse. Now it has been demolished—leaving behind nothing but a heap of rubble.
At least the stave church escaped that predetermined fate.
