We crossed a red string, which wouldn’t hold anyone entering the place, but it marked our success. We were here, in a building which we had seen so many times in famous photographs. It was one of those places you felt that couldn’t be real in any sense. It was a place ‘out there’ somewhere, untouchable and unreachable until we stepped over that tiny string.
Inside the air wasn't good, it even might have been toxic. We sensed movement immediately all around us and understood that the place was filled with pigeons. The floors, the ceilings, everything was covered in bird droppings. It felt unearthly walking the staircase of this crown jewel of the cultural high-life, a magnificent piece of architecture and breathing in the pigeon infested fumes. They sat on the mammoth lamps like audience waiting for the show to begin. The lamps reflected the golden morning sunlight coming from the large windows, like the day was holy, revealing the details, small ornaments made with craftsmanship unknown to us.