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Sara suggested that we visit the museum in the village. Only when we arrived there did I realize that it was her childhood home, where she lived with her extended family. A knowledgeable family whose name was deeply rooted in the village and employed many of its residents in the local furniture factory.
On the ground floor, there were several archaeological artifacts, various stones, and a few pottery pieces. In the main hall, there were paintings of soldiers, war memorabilia, and a corner dedicated to the memory of village soldiers who were sent to fight in Africa and never returned.
Ascending the narrow stairs to the upper floor, there was a cluttered heap of discarded books. There was something intriguing about it.
The second floor took me by surprise. The rooms appeared as if the family had just left moments ago. The bedrooms, the study, and especially the kitchen and dining area. Everything was in its place, even with a touch of organized chaos, allowing an authentic glimpse into their lives.
Long dresses made of soft fabrics remained in the wardrobes, a bathrobe stood in the corner of the bedroom. The kitchen utensils remained on the shelves. The large table was set, bearing witness to numerous shared meals, and the high cupboard above the oven emitted a ray of light. Such a cupboard could mainly be found in this region.
There were rooms that were transformed into exhibition spaces. In one, there was a recreation of the humble kitchen, and in the other, a representation of a classroom. Looking up at the ceiling, one could see magnificent paintings on the rafters, depicting various scenes and numbers in different depictions of life during that era.
