“Can we, like, come here all the time and plot rebellions and stuff?” a college student asked his friend as they ducked inside the basement cafe looking for change for a dollar. Something about Cafe Pamplona does evoke a revolutionary feeling, although it’s unclear just what gives that impression at first glance.
There’s no hiding the fact that it’s in a basement: the ceiling is almost uncomfortably low, even for me, and I barely reach five feet. It’s held up by square pillars, and pipes are visible around the edges. The floor, black and white checkers, is scuffed and uneven; the pale yellow walls are decorated by just one painting, a mural faded by the years that cigarette smoke was allowed and embraced indoors.
Read the rest of my article over on CBS Boston.
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