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The church, a Baroque hall church, originated from a medieval brick building and is probably the oldest structure in the city. It was repeatedly destroyed and rebuilt due to fires. The current structure is likely the reconstruction from around 1718. The interior is dominated by the Leipzig green paint applied in 1831. https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/St.-Katharina-Kirche_(Elsterwerda)

The Saxon post milestone stands near the Protestant town church of St. Catherine on the main street. This distance marker, dating from 1738, is considered an important piece of cultural heritage and a landmark that shapes the townscape. In August 2025, the approximately 4.60-meter-high column was dismantled for professional restoration. https://www.elsterwerda.de/kursaechsische-postmeilensaeule-erstrahlt-im-neuen-glanz/

A bit narrow in places, but otherwise the cycle path is nice.

The lovingly maintained grounds of the Saathainer Rose Garden make the tour a special experience.

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

Well-paved cycle/dyke path between Eltserwerda and Plessa

A section for racing on fine asphalt if you are coming from the direction of Elsterwerda.

In the heart of the city, where the cobblestones still echo the footsteps of past footsteps, the Protestant Church of St. Catherine rises – not loud, not ostentatious, but with the simple dignity of a building that doesn't seek to please, but rather to tell a story. And it does, with every joint in the walls, with every shadow cast under the pointed spire. The first glance belongs to the tower – hexagonal, light-colored plaster, with a roof that seems to stretch out of time. Two clocks silently gaze at the square, as if to say: Time passes differently here. Perhaps a little slower. Perhaps a little more honestly. If you turn around, you can still see the bookstore with its golden lettering and the old pharmacy, now run by Italians – a juxtaposition of eras that doesn't interfere with each other, but rather supports each other. The benches at the monument invite you to linger, and if you take a seat there, you have the church behind you and the city in front of you – or vice versa. Sometimes, when the light is low, a reddish glow falls on the wall behind the church, where an old tree stands, its branches spreading like a shield over the nave. You don't have to be religious to feel something here. It's enough to be still. St. Catherine's isn't a church that imposes itself. It's one that remains. A place between times, firmly rooted and yet light as a thought in the early evening.