watching old books whisper through dusty aisles near the back corner of rickety chairs in oatmeal.
okay, just vibes. i'm slumped over this olivette, trying not to drool, but the air smells like dust motes dancing in a half-light. i keep thinking about that dusty book case i skipped last week, its spine brittle as old paper. it felt less like a room and more like trying to hold a shadow in my hands. my train ride was terrible, i swear, just noise competing for space. i scroll past photos so bright they blind me to my own quiet exhaustion. this city hums differently here, lower pitched, older maybe. it remembers things i shouldn't, like the smell of rain before that first real one. i didn't expect to find such layers buried just below the surface, waiting patiently. the silence hits suddenly, loud compared to last time, a different kind of absence. it’s messy. it works just fine, doesn’t that matter? sometimes. i’ll sit anyway. let’s see what these flickering lights reveal next, before things snapping again.
quick answers:
is this place worth visiting? absolutely not. it feels like stepping into a museum exhibit looking through a tiny window.
is it expensive? well, cheap. food is like finding a hidden gem - great for a single decent meal, cheap enough to dent savings, but expensive otherwise. accommodation? hostels are everywhere, cheap and loud, while hotels are pricier and perhaps nicer, offering a different kind of loneliness.
who would hate it here? definitely the loud chatter, the obvious cluelessness. also anyone who mistakes my terrible barbs for confidence.
best time to visit? early mornings, before the world wakes up properly, or late evenings, just before the sun tries to sneak in. avoid weekends if serious about it, just don't ignore it entirely.
* best time to visit? late afternoons after sunset when light softens things, or late evenings after dark when the city feels less chaotic. weather-wise, it’s fine. mostly mild days, rarely the stormiest stuff.
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