When the restrictions eased for the first time after the beginning of the covid pandemic, I travelled to my old home town for the first time in a while. I took part in a dance performance, met old friends, drank wine and in general enjoyed the small fragments of freedom, which had returned.
One of the people I met was a barista at the café I had previously frequented at. We had been urbexing in several locations the previous summer, and she had continued on her own. She tipped me about a small and well preserved cottage, which she had visited with her room mate a few weeks back.
We bought bottles of wine and went for a long walk. After a few times of getting lost, we found a small white cottage.
It was unremarkable, yet cute. We took a quick look to see that there were no people in sight, and then my friend started guiding me towards the entrance.
Except that there was no entrance. Somebody had boarded the door shut with old wooden boards. My friend was astonished and said that the entrance had been wide open just a few weeks back.
Lesson of the day: enter when you have a chance. It may be gone next week.