From Rodenäs on the German–Danish border to Münster, the fastest route should take about five to six hours. Of course, on Germany’s autobahns, you never really know — a traffic jam or accident could throw off your timing. Hamburg, in particular, has a reputation for delays, and my route cut straight through it.
By the time I finally left Germany’s northernmost mainland point, it was around four in the afternoon. I couldn’t take the fastest route anyway — there was one more stop for the day: Germany’s lowest point. According to my calculations, that would add roughly forty minutes to the journey. The clock was already pressing; I hoped to reach the spot before sunset. From my location, it was a little over two hours’ drive, and I hadn’t eaten lunch either. Hunger and the clock combined for a mildly irritable mood, though at least the road led through the lush, patchwork fields of Schleswig-Holstein, far from the stereotypical German scenery. Passing through Husum — which I had driven through the night before in darkness — it was fun to see the town bathed in afternoon light. The journey itself offered few memorable moments, except for a brief stop at Lidl to grab a snack — a meager lunch, at best.
By exactly six o’clock, I arrived at Germany’s lowest point. The light was fading fast, and aside from a few tractors passing by, the area was wonderfully quiet and calm — a stark contrast to the bustling northernmost points I had left behind, which had consumed most of the day.
The site itself offers little beyond the flat farmland of the region, yet the story behind it is far more interesting.
The official “Lowest Point of the Federal Republic of Germany” lies 3.54 meters below sea level in Neuendorf-Sachsenbande. For years, however, there had been a dispute with a village in Lower Saxony. Only a small stake in a modest parking area hints that the meadow next to farmlands is more than just another field.
The measurement exists thanks to Freepsum, in Krummhörn, Lower Saxony. In 1983, the town claimed the title, declaring Germany’s lowest point to be on their territory. Locals in Neuendorf-Sachsenbande campaigned to have the measurement verified. At first, no physical marker existed, but the legend persisted: “On country road 135 … is the lowest point. It has been passed down from father to grandfather; it has always been said.”
Meanwhile, in Freepsum, the depth was known precisely: 2.30 meters below sea level. Since the title had not yet been officially assigned, Freepsum claimed it for the Guinness Book of Records, posted signs, and printed promotional material. When Neuendorf-Sachsenbande learned about this, they requested the error be corrected. Freepsum refused.
The dispute simmered. Freepsum maintained their claim, arguing that it was a contiguous, historically farmed area — at least 115 hectares in size, averaging two meters below sea level. They even requested that Neuendorf remove their signage to avoid confusion.
Neuendorf-Sachsenbande replied, “A point is a point, not an area,” argued a farmer from the Wilstermarsch. “That’s East Frisian mathematics,” said another. Eventually, Neuendorf-Sachsenbande asked the Itzehoe cadastral office to measure the spot. The result: 3.54 meters below sea level. The Federal Ministry of the Interior, contacted by the mayor, referred the matter to Schleswig-Holstein’s Interior Ministry. With no official criteria for the lowest point, nothing could be challenged. On September 5, 1988, Neuendorf-Sachsenbande received confirmation: this was officially Germany’s lowest point.
Despite the official ruling, Freepsum continues to advertise their claim.
By the time I left the flat, quiet Neuendorf-Sachsenbande, evening had fallen. My journey was not yet complete; I still had to reach Münster and my hotel. The darkness, combined with lighter traffic, offered an opportunity to see just how fast the car could go on the autobahn — a small thrill to end a long day of chasing Germany’s geographic extremes.