Today, the weather was warm and bright, with clear skies and a high of 83°F. It was my second day with a three-hour break from taking care of Joan—a brief but welcome moment of time to myself.
Yesterday, Gabriela and I were chatting, and she told me about her favorite café in Poznań: u Przyjaciół. As she described it, something about the name rang a bell. Then I remembered—I had visited it a few years ago, but only the garden area outside. I’d never been inside, so when she began explaining how unique and cozy the interior was, I realized I had no idea what it actually looked like. Curious, I asked her to show me pictures online, and what I saw intrigued me enough to want to go see it for myself.
This morning, I drove out to the café and, luckily, found a handicapped parking spot right in front—an encouraging start. From the outside, it looked charming as I remembered, but stepping inside truly surprised me in the best way. It wasn’t just a large room with tables like I had expected. Instead, the space was cleverly designed with intimacy and comfort in mind.
Down the center of the room runs a narrow aisle, and along each side are cozy, semi-private seating nooks. Each nook has a long wooden slab of a table, flanked by two cushioned two-seater couches. Behind each couch is a fabric screen that gently sections off the space, giving each group a bit of privacy without feeling closed in. It had a warm, inviting atmosphere that felt thoughtfully put together.
I settled into one of the nooks, ordered a cup of coffee, and quietly took in the ambiance. At the far end of the table hung a set of intriguing art prints—quirky and colorful—adding even more charm to the space.
One downside I quickly noticed: the central aisle is unfortunately too narrow to accommodate a wheelchair, which means I won’t be able to bring Joan inside. However, the garden section, which I’d visited years ago, is fully accessible and would be a nice option when we want to go together.
I forgot to mention a small but memorable detail from my visit to the café—something that added a quiet layer of depth to the whole experience. When they brought my coffee to the table, it arrived not just with the usual sugar and spoon, but also with a business card tucked neatly beside the cup. At first glance, I assumed it was just a standard promotional card. But when I picked it up, I noticed it wasn’t just advertising—it had a message printed on it, almost like a fortune cookie.
The card read: “Open your eyes. The world in which you were born does not exist anymore.”
I paused for a moment, rereading the sentence. It caught me off guard—not because it was ominous, but because it was true in a quiet, undeniable way. According to the card, the café had opened in September 2021—just a short time ago, yet already settled in like it had always been part of the neighborhood. Still, that quote lingered with me more than the date.
As I sat there, sipping my coffee and watching people pass by outside the window, my thoughts drifted across the ocean to the United States. That one sentence—so simple and direct—summed up something I’d been feeling for a while. The familiar version of the world I grew up in, with its predictable rhythms and certain assumptions, really does feel like it's gone. Not just changed, but transformed—sometimes in subtle ways, sometimes in ways you can’t ignore.
It was a surprisingly profound moment for such a casual visit. All sparked by a cup of coffee and a little card I almost overlooked.
After enjoying my coffee and a bit of quiet time, I returned home around 2 PM. The sun was still strong and inviting, so I helped Joan change into a pair of shorts and her sandals. We headed out for a stroll in Solecki Park. Gabriela joined us—she lives nearby—and it was lovely to have her along for the stroll.
