The best MTB trails in Untere Pulsnitzniederung

Initially, a rectangular concrete fountain was erected in the park in 1967. Inside, there were five fountain-like water features. During the term of Mayor Wolf-Dieter Schwarz (1975–1991), bronze figures were later integrated. These were designed by the Hohenleipisch sculptor Hans Eickworth, who died in 1995, and modeled after the Elsterwerda town coat of arms used until 1994. The fountain's main figure is a bronze magpie. Two other bronze figures depict lilies. The lilies originally came from the coat of arms of the noble family von Köckeritz, who were the lords of Elsterwerda from 1367 to 1512. They were later also incorporated into the Elsterwerda town coat of arms. https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Markt_(Elsterwerda)

To mark its 20th anniversary in 2013, the Elsterschloss-Gymnasium Support Association commissioned the creation and installation of an art installation on the grounds of the present-day Elsterschloss-Gymnasium. As part of the "Art at the Castle" project, a bronze casting model of Elsterschloss Elsterwerda was created. This model provides information about the former and current uses of the building complex, as well as its historical context throughout its existence, thus further enriching the castle's presence. https://www.elsterschloss.de/kunstobjekt.html

The bust was erected in 1983 in what is now Elsterwerda's memorial square, replacing a VVN (Association of Victims of Nazi Persecution) memorial. It was removed in 1994 and stored for several years at the municipal depot. Since October 1, 1997, it has been re-erected in the nearby city park. (wikipedia)

Beautiful, well-paved section of the Elster cycle path between Elsterwerda and Plessa

Well-paved cycle/dyke path between Eltserwerda and Plessa

Between ivy-covered walls and shady trees, he stands – silent, heavy, cast in bronze: Karl Marx, with a stern gaze and a mighty beard. No socialist pomp, no red flag, no revolutionary pathos – just a pedestal with a simple inscription and a narrow path leading through the modest little garden. Those who come here must want to. This monument doesn't call, it waits. The air is calm, the light slant through the trees, a few leaves have strayed onto the gravel bed. It is a place that doesn't make noise – but resonates long afterward. The bust looks forward, as if to remind us that history is not only past, but also present. That ideas leave traces – not only in books, but also in paving stones, cities, and minds. In Elsterwerda, where world politics usually treads rather quietly, this place seems almost defiant. A monument that doesn't glorify, but rather reminds us. Of thinking. Of doubt. And that even great ideas will eventually stand modestly under trees – and wait for us.

Entering Elsterwerda's market square isn't just a visit to the center of a small town—it's a quiet conversation with time. The pavement speaks of centuries of trade, arguments, gossip, and celebration. And of a fire that came when everything seemed long over. The western half—a post-war space, open, almost shy, as if still wondering if it belonged. The eastern part, in contrast, is closed, staid, and as old as the city itself. A fountain watches over the square. Playful, almost foolish, with a figure that pretends to have everything under control. Perhaps a reflection of civic pride, perhaps just a tongue-in-cheek commentary on the world, a three-story ascent, with dove, blossom, and a water feature that never flows the same. As if someone had tried to bring order to the chaos of history. The rows of houses all around seem as if they have come together to stand together – against the wind, against change, against the force of events. And while the cars park on the paved areas like bored onlookers, the facades whisper of the days when horse-drawn carts set the pace and merchants still weighed their goods by hand. Elsterwerda's market square is not a postcard motif. It is a place with patina, with fractures, with substance. A place that knows more than it shows. Anyone who stops here and listens quickly realizes: This square speaks. You just have to learn to listen to its silence.

A small path branches off, quite casually, as if it didn't want to disturb anyone. The wind rustles through the dense canopy of leaves like a quiet editor sifting through stories before they're allowed to appear. It smells of earth, of moss, of restrained dignity – the park doesn't intend to please, but simply to be there. Here, between the castle and Pulsnitz, the world briefly slows down. Children's voices echo past afternoons, bird calls like invitations to linger. You walk through a web of light and shadow, and sometimes you simply stop, not because you have to, but because you can. Two paths lead further – neither is wrong, both are tranquil. A narrow stream reflects the treetops. The river says nothing, but it means well. There are no tourists sitting on the benches, just thoughts. In this park, no one writes postcards – but many continue to write quietly to themselves.