Café at Artists' House

Greta: If someone asked which place of student life is the dearest to me, I would say that it's Artists' House. To be more precise, its café.  When it ceased to exist, I felt like a child that grew up, came back to parents and found its room rented or turned into a storage space. Trauma...

Everything there smelled like my childhood home: a small but cosy space, worn wine-coloured Jotulė poufs, smell of the Interwar period, that you could smell at the corridor, parquet sliding under feet, a pile of coats next to the entrance, the voice of the bartender that became very dear (sending orders to the mystical kitchen which I have never seen), familiar faces of the same "residents" of the café, and these numerous cups of tea... An interesting fact that this place was one of the few where it was forbidden to smoke, so when climbing the little hill towards the house of artists, you could already see a tiny group of tonight's "performers".

The greatest advantage of this café was a closed outside terrace, worthy of Rome itself! And the hill with the sculptures (later removed and stolen...) was nice to look at, and a precious space to sit with a good company and drink beer.

This was my home. This is where I experienced the most beautiful moments and probably the most tragic episode of my student life. It had everything that one needs for a good drama. :) (2015)