Lost in a Museum
A perfect beginning to my unadventures in Europe: I can explain how I got lost in a fine arts museum. I was enjoying a leisurely visit to my dancing/circusing friend Charlotte, who currently resides in Brussels. I needed to amuse myself for the morning, so I set off, map in hand, to find the Palais de Beax Arts, home to numerable masterpieces from the last 700 years-- Flemish and otherwise. I was particularly keen to see Rubens, Breugel the Elder, and Magritte.
My first little unadventure was simply not being able to find the museum. I looked at the map, saw where it was, and walked there. What I didn't know, was that this part of the museum is actually underground, and I would have been (and was) hard pressed to find an entrance. I walked into the most likely candidate, a miniscule assymetric glass pyramid building, and accidentally masqueraded as part of a Dutch tourgroup. I was counted off and shoved into a queue to wait for the tour to start. I thought this might be my lucky day, a free ride into the museum. But as it wasn't actually the museum and I don't speak Dutch. I made my exit. After some more wanderings I found it. At last. Step one completed.
Two hours later, after having seen my fill of Belgian masterpieces, the real task became getting back out. Sounds simple, but wasn't. I had wandered my way from the 15th century to the 20th. I was now five deep stories underground, leaving the Magritte wing, and reeling from Surrealistic cleverness. But how do I get back out? Where were the stairs I'd come down? A sign with a little green man looked suspiciously like an exit sign, so I followed his accompanying little white arrow. I followed another, and another, until they lead me to an ominous black door. This didn't look right, but maybe I hadn't been paying such close attention on the way down. I tried the door. Unlocked. That's a reassuring sign. The stairwell behind it looked, well, a bit empty. I convinced myself I was just taking the fast way, to avoid walking back up through 5 floors of galleries. I walked up, and up. Thus far, not a single door. Then came a door, or, at least half of a door. Another, slighlty less ominous, black door lay before me, standing only 2.5 feet tall, bearing a number 3, and seemed to be my only option. I'm not totally stupid, and realized this probably wasn't right, but still had high hopes of making it work out. This door too was unlocked.
Inside looked like some crawl space from Star Trek. And of course I couldn't help simultaneously thinking of "Being John Malkovic". I hesitated a couple seconds on the brink before taking the plunge. It had grey walls, black linoleum floors, and long naked florescent tubes along the ceilings and walls. It crossed my mind that it was an abandoned installation. Or maybe even not abandoned...hmm... only the elite museum maniacs take the time to find it.
I could tell you I found buried treasure. I could tell you I evesdropped over an office and heard juicy gossip. I could tell you the floor collapsed plunging me into the cafeteria and onto a freshly baked Belgian dessert. But please do not get excited, after all, these are un-adventures. After several paces, sort of squating-crawling, the unadventurous soul in me took over. It occured to me that this really might not lead anywhere; if it did, I might be in trouble; and most importantly, I might very well be locked out of the museum proper, and to avoid spending the night in this tunnel (and maybe even the rest of my life), I should start pounding on the back of the (full-sized) black door as soon as possible.
I retraced my steps, out of the tunnel, down the stairs. It wasn't locked. I got out fine. I walked around and around a few more times in the gallery, found the real exit. It went up a large staircase (but to my defense was unmarked, other than its largeness). I exited the museum safe and sound, having surved my close call with adventure completely unscathed. The only evidence was the dirt on the knees of my pants.
My first little unadventure was simply not being able to find the museum. I looked at the map, saw where it was, and walked there. What I didn't know, was that this part of the museum is actually underground, and I would have been (and was) hard pressed to find an entrance. I walked into the most likely candidate, a miniscule assymetric glass pyramid building, and accidentally masqueraded as part of a Dutch tourgroup. I was counted off and shoved into a queue to wait for the tour to start. I thought this might be my lucky day, a free ride into the museum. But as it wasn't actually the museum and I don't speak Dutch. I made my exit. After some more wanderings I found it. At last. Step one completed.
Two hours later, after having seen my fill of Belgian masterpieces, the real task became getting back out. Sounds simple, but wasn't. I had wandered my way from the 15th century to the 20th. I was now five deep stories underground, leaving the Magritte wing, and reeling from Surrealistic cleverness. But how do I get back out? Where were the stairs I'd come down? A sign with a little green man looked suspiciously like an exit sign, so I followed his accompanying little white arrow. I followed another, and another, until they lead me to an ominous black door. This didn't look right, but maybe I hadn't been paying such close attention on the way down. I tried the door. Unlocked. That's a reassuring sign. The stairwell behind it looked, well, a bit empty. I convinced myself I was just taking the fast way, to avoid walking back up through 5 floors of galleries. I walked up, and up. Thus far, not a single door. Then came a door, or, at least half of a door. Another, slighlty less ominous, black door lay before me, standing only 2.5 feet tall, bearing a number 3, and seemed to be my only option. I'm not totally stupid, and realized this probably wasn't right, but still had high hopes of making it work out. This door too was unlocked.
Inside looked like some crawl space from Star Trek. And of course I couldn't help simultaneously thinking of "Being John Malkovic". I hesitated a couple seconds on the brink before taking the plunge. It had grey walls, black linoleum floors, and long naked florescent tubes along the ceilings and walls. It crossed my mind that it was an abandoned installation. Or maybe even not abandoned...hmm... only the elite museum maniacs take the time to find it.
I could tell you I found buried treasure. I could tell you I evesdropped over an office and heard juicy gossip. I could tell you the floor collapsed plunging me into the cafeteria and onto a freshly baked Belgian dessert. But please do not get excited, after all, these are un-adventures. After several paces, sort of squating-crawling, the unadventurous soul in me took over. It occured to me that this really might not lead anywhere; if it did, I might be in trouble; and most importantly, I might very well be locked out of the museum proper, and to avoid spending the night in this tunnel (and maybe even the rest of my life), I should start pounding on the back of the (full-sized) black door as soon as possible.
I retraced my steps, out of the tunnel, down the stairs. It wasn't locked. I got out fine. I walked around and around a few more times in the gallery, found the real exit. It went up a large staircase (but to my defense was unmarked, other than its largeness). I exited the museum safe and sound, having surved my close call with adventure completely unscathed. The only evidence was the dirt on the knees of my pants.
posted by Nina at 7:14 PM
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