The kitchen was fairly old. What I could guess from under all the destruction, the place was from the late 1970’s.
Another strange find were the old, yellow cupboard doors. They look exactly the same as the cupboard doors in my previous apartment.
Of course this wasn’t the only thing from my past, present or future that I have found in an abandoned house. In one former student dormitory I managed to find both a microwave from my old childhood home and a photo from a building I moved into five years after my find.
I’ve said several times that I don’t understand the logic behind breaking other people’s property. But I understand the logic of vandals even less: all cupboards are broken, yet the kitchen towels are where the last inhabitant left them.
Another look towards the highway running past the house. It’s somewhere behind the trees.
I don’t think you did. Now, let me explain.
When roaming through abandoned buildings I do my utmost never to publish any documents or papers with name or address information visible. If the inhabitans are dead, publishing would probably not be a crime, however I don’t think it would be ethically right to do that.
But that does not mean, that I wouldn’t use the information for trying to gather more information about the inhabitants and the fate of the house to find out, why it has ended up abandoned.
The final inhabitant of this house was a very old lady, who died at a very old age some 10 years ago.
But the newest personal items we found here were nowhere near 2010. This jar of syrup was manufactured in the early 2000’s, and the telephone bills were from a company, which disappeared in 2002. The house has been empty for a longer time than just 10 years.
That bottle of vinegar looks familiar. It isn’t the latest product either, as I don’t think that company sells vinegar anymore.
This pile contained both sent and unsent Christmas cards, mosquito repellent and official documents.
Another attempt at capturing the beautiful evening light inside.
I never realized that the big stoves were made of metal. I always thought they were of bricks. Well, reality hit me here.
Another photo of the poor, shocked stove. After that we will go upstairs.
There, perhaps, you will see why this is called the house of dirty stories.