The end of an era

I remember Winter of 1995 very vividly. Me and my two best friends in the world, Sophia and Maria, are sitting at the low wall that surrounds the ancient findings at Navarinou Square in Thessaloniki, waiting for our turn to sit for coffee at Froutotypo.

Those were good times. I remember being young and not minding the snow falling on my woolen hat. I remember talking about last night’s guy, or that new band, Oasis, and how good they sounded. I remember singing the lyrics to “Bright Yellow Gun” at the top of our lungs and being joined by the group of girls sitting 5 meters away, also waiting to go in Froutotypo.

I remember dreaming about the “Beauty Cream” Froutotypo served, which was a clever combination of vanilla cream with thinned honey and bananas. It was so tasty I could swear it would be sinful! But it was a sin worth committing, a chance worth taking. For Heaven is on earth, and sometimes it hides in the smallest things.

Like the tables of that place. Round wooden tables, reminiscent of an older time, decades of the past, so small we could never fit our glasses on them! There was always an extra chair on the side, for all the glasses of water and the free- press newspapers we would always take from the counter. Most of the time, during the cold months, the café was packed. The cigarette smoke was thick, there was absolutely no space to walk through, and the conversations were always loud. When you’re young, things are always more important. And Froutotypo was always filled with young people, either age-wise or soul-wise. Students, skaters, writers, actors, everyone made a passing from Thessaloniki’s best-kept cultural secret.

I grew up in there, I learned how to think in those 30 square meters enclosed within two walls – and two large window walls. I learned how to stand up for myself, I learned not to be afraid of my thinking, I learned how to express myself, I found out I have a voice and it may stand out and be different, but it’s as good as everyone else’s. If not better.

I learned all that in a small café, on Navarinou square.

I passed from Froutotypo this morning, and it had closed down. The empty space, the small tables that weren’t there, the sign that was now down, and the “For Rent” label made it very clear to me: a big chapter of who I am has now come to an end.