The stairway already gave a hint at what was coming, but I didn’t expect this. There was a whole sea of ancient pig fodder all over the place.
The sacks were broken and the fodder was floating everywhere. The smell was pretty nasty.
Don’t get me wrong, but isn’t that a brand of caviar? And a bit more successful brand than the one I paid a visit to.
There were interesting looking things on the other side but the only way to get there was to climb over this smelly mountain.
An interesting chute down to the garages.
Finally. But now there’s another mountain to climb.
Behind the sacks of fodder there was yet another collection of furniture.
And a nice looking place to hang out.
A slide this way?
Well, there certainly was one. I didn’t really fancy breaking my legs so I decided to find another exit.
Which meant climbing over the smelly mountain again.
Going down the stairs was pretty difficult and slippery because of all the fodder.
And out we go.
I decided to walk along the side of the building to see if there was still anything interesting left.
A look through the window. This man cave looked like this back in 2010.
And a look deeper to the room. There are two shots from the door this way in the earlier posts.
There had been another set of stairs up, but I didn’t see where they ended. They had also been blocked by this strange construction.
I wasn’t really sure, what it was, but it looked like some sort of a conveyor belt. Maybe it was used to haul all the fodder upstairs.
The end. There you can also see the newer annex, which houses the two vans nowadays.
The tower. There’s a similar shot from 2010, but you really can’t compare them because of the trees.
My favorite section of the complex once more.
And from an angle similar to 2010. The change is really not for the better. For a person, who loves this building, it was a heartbreaking sight.
I said my silent goodbyes to the courtyard one final time. Like the graffiti said earlier, I sensed that the end was near.
As I said earlier, I first attempted to enter in 2007, finally managed to do so in 2009 and made my first real exploration in 2010. Since then I have returned at least in 2015 and 2020. For many years I had played with the idea, that I would once again photograph every corner of this location.
I made the decision to do it in 2020 and finally did it on July 11th, 2021.
Flash forward 1,5 months.
The final weekend of August is the time of celebrations. In the area where I come from, it’s called The Venetian Festival, in other areas it’s called the end of the villa season, which is exactly what it is about. People boat and go to their summerplaces for the last time that year. They do fireworks and light big bonfires to celebrate.
I was spendig the evening at my former roommate’s place. We played games, listened to folk music and drank wine. Towards midnight she started reading Tarot cards for me. Precisely at 00.00 I received a message from a friend, who rarely messages me.
“Now it’s on fire.”
There was nothing more he said, but I knew instantly what he was talking about. It turned out, that a group of teenagers had shot a firework inside the main building. The paper, clothes, furniture and other rubble inside caught fire. And when all this stuff was burning with full blaze, it was impossible to extinguish.
After a long night the fire crews were faced with a huge brick made fire pit. The roof, the floors and everything inside had collapsed between them and were still burning. Because of the risk of a further collapse they tore down the remaining walls. According to media pictures, the tower was the last to fall.
My urban exploration home, my inspiration, my worst nightmare and the symbol of my mental health was gone after standing abandoned for 28 years. I really couldn’t help feeling, that it just waited for my last salute before fading away in smoke.
The story of me and this building was amazing from the beginning. The end was even more amazing.
Goodbye, Nightmares.
In your post, you delve into the trials of mental health, touching upon themes that mirror my own reflections. I too have harbored a steadfast belief in the eternal presence of my childhood haunts, only to be faced with the harsh reality of their transience. These places, intrinsic to my formative years, are, like everything in the physical realm, fleeting. The constancy of joy and momentary excitements dissipates with time. The only semblance of permanence is the home of my upbringing, yet I recognize that its endurance is linked to my mother’s existence; her absence would transform it into nothing but memories. It’s a somber realization to form profound attachments to these locations, only to observe their inevitable decline or ruin.