The Engin Museum

I open my eyes.

I am in a large room. Like a hall. The first thing that catches my eye are the glossy blue tiles that line the floor, stretching further than I can see, and I find that I am surrounded by tall columns on every side. This place is illuminated with sunlight; I look up and find myself squinting at the bright sky. The glass roof is a hundred feet above me; it is made of intricate grid shell - like in the British Museum, only much higher. It is the tallest ceiling I have ever seen - it seems like I am in some sort of indoor colosseum, or what’s left of it.

I take a few steps forward, and find myself face to face with a monument of a woman standing with her arms outstretched. She has her neck craned upwards, towards the sky, and seems to be dressed in an assortment of rags that reach down to her knees. She looks ordinary, but something about the way she stands screams the opposite. She is occupying the space around her, unapologetically so, as if performing a monologue. I can almost hear her saying, This is me.

There is a tiny golden slab at the base of the statue, which I could easily have missed, and it has a few lines inscribed into it. I hunch over to read what it says, but the words appear to be in some sort of Greek. Or Russian? Whatever language it is, I think I am in a museum.

I move on from the stone woman, and start to navigate the other monuments. As I pass another pillar, I am met with a maze of lone-standing walls, each of average height like those in a classroom. Each one is lined with stunning mosaics from top to bottom. As I walk, I run my hands along each smooth and polished piece, feeling the spaces between the tiles. Everything around me is a different shade of blue, some light like a summer sky, others dark like blueberries.

I swivel around as I hear a voice behind me. Then someone laughs from somewhere in front. Suddenly, a little boy emerges from behind one of the walls and bounds past me, followed by a flustered young mother who clips me on the shoulder as she races after her child. Only now do I realise that the museum is filled with many other people - families, friends, couples.

I hear their chit chat but I do not listen. I am somewhere in the crowd whilst also having the place to myself.

After wandering around for a little longer, I reach a wide corridor in the centre of the hall. It is darker than where I had started in the museum. The left and right walls to either side of me are about an equal distance from each other, and I seem to be right in the middle. I turn to my right, where the sun appears to be shining strongest, illuminating the marble floor the way a car’s headlights light up a midnight road.

As I walk, I soon start to hear the faint gushing of water. There is an enormous white fountain in front of me that seems to touch the ceiling; it has five tiers and there’s a staircase behind it so that you can walk up behind the very top of the fountain. A mother holds her child back as he leans over the rail to touch the trickling water.

I step closer. At the base of the fountain, there is a concrete slab. In cream coloured letters, which are formed of pieces of broken ceramic, the slab reads:

The Engin Museum - The Best Museum in Greece

So this is where I am.

I take the staircase up to the top of the fountain, clasping my hands together and leaning over the barrier when I have made it up. I stare down at the wiggling figures passing by below. None of them walk alone.

I gaze at the fountain’s layers in front of me, mounted over each other like cursive Lego. The water cascades down from each pool, alive, in a rush to reach the ground. It looks like a waterslide.

I think of the stone woman with her arms outstretched.

Without a second thought, I sling my bright red backpack off and rest it at my feet, and then I tug off my jacket and rest it on top of the bag. A group of school friends pass behind me but they do not bat an eyelid as I swing myself over the railing and stretch my legs out towards the fountain.

I continue clinging to the rail as my toes rest on the fountain’s top tier - I don’t have to look to know that it is a long drop down. I take a deep breath and push myself from the rail, letting out a short lived scream as I fall backwards into the pool, instantly becoming part of the water. I am light as rain as the current swirls me around like a stray inflatable.

I almost complete a full circle of the pool before I am sent down to the next pool, flying momentarily. I fall straight in, but I am not submerged underwater, and I glide along as if the water is trying to keep me above the surface.

I fall down each tier, each time being held above the playful, spiralling current. In a matter of seconds, I have reached the lowest level, and I land right on my feet in the shallow pool at the bottom. I feel like I am floating in my boots as I tug at my t-shirt, which has clung to me and now looks like a part of my skin. I am not shivering, because the sun seems to have lasered through the roof and formed a spotlight over me as well as the rest of the fountain.

I shut my eyes and tilt my head up towards the light. I stretch out my arms, and I swear I can touch the walls on either side of me, however far away they are.

As I step out of the fountain, everybody walks on without so much as a glance - as if I am not there.