I’m not much of a recommendation type but sometimes it can’t be helped. Sofia just saw us coffee-hopping non-stop – same concept as bar hopping, just with more caffeine involved. Go, don’t go, do as you please.

-- The Apartment

We had read a description of the Apartment. It was meant to be a bar/café/teahouse where the locals hung out. When we finally got around to going for a coffee, we discovered a green orientated hideout. Though to call the place a teahouse or café or even a bar would be misleading.

The Apartment is like going to a friend’s house - if the said friend loves brewing massive pots of tea and bake quite a large amount of cookies and cakes. This time, sweet-smelling tea from the Himalayas is brewing in a black sorcerer’s cauldron. Comfortable sofas and chairs are placed in a strategically disarrayed way in rooms all adorning different murals and graffiti. As we enjoy our choice of freshly pressed kiwi juice and local non-alcoholic apple cider, we practice our Cyrillic alphabet and enjoy the rhythm of modern jazz. The tea we order later is milky and hot. On a plate next to it lies a nutty cocoa cookie. The combination makes me feel fuzzy and sleepy - Tim actually did fall asleep while I wrote this paragraph.

-- Unnamed Bar and Former Speakeasy

Still hidden and local, this bar was one of the former Speakeasy locations during Soviet Times. The entrance contains no signs and the door is locked and requires you to knock to enter. At the time, it would have required a password or keyword. Now, only the knocking tradition is sustained.

The space consists of one room and balcony with a few wooden tables. The regulars stand and chat, creating shadows in the candlelit décor. Now, there is a radio plugged in and a fridge for cold beer, only sign that electricity has reached the bar, but otherwise, long white candles are dripping wax in every corner creating a somber cave. A piano can be played freely by whoever wants to. When they do, the disco music is turned off and for a while you can enjoy cheerful cabaret tunes. A place truly for locals, here I became part of Sofia.

-- Made In Home

We ordered tiny cups of coffee. The coffee was good, slightly bitter, but even if it hadn’t been decent coffee, Made In Home would be worth the detour just for its artistically funky décor.

With murals of writing layered with frames, mobile planes hanging down from the ceiling, disarrayed tables made from anything and everything, the restaurant is its own gallery. We sat at a table just before noon. The place was empty. The waiter was friendly and the coffee soothing. We sat back after taking a few snaps and admired the menus which were made to remind of children’s fairy tale books. I photographed the outline of a fox on the wall.

Interested in giving Sofia a visit?


The Writer

I write stuff for fun, if it was for a living I would be homeless.

Find out more about me, Stefanie, here.


I like the French language, but not the one from Quebec, it's like French but dirty.
'Hey girls, where are you from?'
'Quebec.' Guy on bus