This one was kind of a "yeah what the hell, as long as we're in the neighborhood, we might as well."
My capable associate D. dug this one out of his bottomless repertoire of nifty regional rustbuckets - alas, as with so many of our trips, he made the error of wanting desperately to get some shots of one thing, but starting us out on the complete opposite side of yet another rustological Disneyland. It was all we could do to disregard the derelict East German passenger train (?) incongruously rotting away under a back awning, and head upstairs to where the toys are.
A huge industrial bakery, this firm is typical of the decay that beset North-Western Germany between the 1970s and 1990s - as part of the massive transfer of subsidy payments accompanying the various attempts to integrate the new Eastern federal states, the German government offered vast incentives to firms willing to set up shop in Saxony, Brandenburg, and thereabouts. Alas, it was either there or here, and when "there" involves a metric ass-ton of free government money, "here" will always lose out. As with so many small to mid-sized cities in the region, the loss of such a major employer put paid to any hopes of ongoing prosperity this town might have had, and it's currently a two steps ahead of the tumbleweeds. Except for the occasional middle-aged Turkish and Balkan gentlemen showing off the latest in track suit fashion and Mercedes body modifications, the huge terrain formerly occupied by the cookie makers is a showpiece of urban blight.
Inside's not much better; it's not particularly secret, and the locals yokels have done a bang-up job finishing what the thieves neglected - most of what's not been gutted of asbestos and mass-produced cookie dough and other toxic substances is trashed, albeit with areas of machinery sporting surprisingly little graffiti.
Still, it's good for some nice photography, and we hadn't even begun to scratch the surface before the torrential rains typical of the North German summer blacked out any hope we had of sufficient lighting for any more pictures.
Also, chairs. 1337.
My capable associate D. dug this one out of his bottomless repertoire of nifty regional rustbuckets - alas, as with so many of our trips, he made the error of wanting desperately to get some shots of one thing, but starting us out on the complete opposite side of yet another rustological Disneyland. It was all we could do to disregard the derelict East German passenger train (?) incongruously rotting away under a back awning, and head upstairs to where the toys are.
A huge industrial bakery, this firm is typical of the decay that beset North-Western Germany between the 1970s and 1990s - as part of the massive transfer of subsidy payments accompanying the various attempts to integrate the new Eastern federal states, the German government offered vast incentives to firms willing to set up shop in Saxony, Brandenburg, and thereabouts. Alas, it was either there or here, and when "there" involves a metric ass-ton of free government money, "here" will always lose out. As with so many small to mid-sized cities in the region, the loss of such a major employer put paid to any hopes of ongoing prosperity this town might have had, and it's currently a two steps ahead of the tumbleweeds. Except for the occasional middle-aged Turkish and Balkan gentlemen showing off the latest in track suit fashion and Mercedes body modifications, the huge terrain formerly occupied by the cookie makers is a showpiece of urban blight.
Inside's not much better; it's not particularly secret, and the locals yokels have done a bang-up job finishing what the thieves neglected - most of what's not been gutted of asbestos and mass-produced cookie dough and other toxic substances is trashed, albeit with areas of machinery sporting surprisingly little graffiti.
Still, it's good for some nice photography, and we hadn't even begun to scratch the surface before the torrential rains typical of the North German summer blacked out any hope we had of sufficient lighting for any more pictures.
Also, chairs. 1337.