As we exited the tube, we realized we recognized the area. It was like most areas initially appear in London: crowded with businessmen and businesswomen, quaint houses and parks for children and dogs to play in. Anna, Alaura and I made a wrong turn and ran into a woman smoking her cigarette. "Excuse me, but do you know where Sir John Soane's Museum is?" I asked. "Oh, I've heard of that," she said. "I think it's over in that direction."
As we walked up to the museum, we didn't know what to think. There was a line out the door, curved around the gate. It was like a mix of an amusement park ride and airport security. The line, headed by a gruff woman, was anxious and silent. It felt as though we were waiting in an airport security line to get our bags checked. Everyone around us was frustrated and confused as to what was taking so long. By the time we got to the front of the line, we had been instructed to turn our cell phones off. Then we had to stuff our bags into a clear plastic bag, if they would fit. If we dared to bring something to Sir John Soane's house that wouldn't fit the size requirements, we had to leave our bags by the front entryway like one would an oversize suitcase that needs to be gate-checked.
As we were ushered into the cramped, dark hallway, we didn't know which way to turn. After walking through some rooms containing paintings, chairs, tables and sculptures we came to the center of the back of the house. As we were passing the coffin in the center of the house and wondering why someone would want to live with that, we heard a security guard accosting a woman visitor. "Put your jacket on," the security guard shouted at the woman as she watched and waited for the woman to obey her. Apparently, another rule in this museum is that you are not allowed to have anything in your hands, like your jacket, as you walk around.
We all thought this was a little bit intense on the security guard's part and strange, until we saw Sir John Soane's wife's gravestone. It felt like we were walking through a haunted house. There were shackles on the wall by her gravestone, which was hidden in the dark underground back corner of the house with another security guard lurking beside it. By his wife's gravestone, there was also a gate that trapped visitors in that corridor, not allowing them to leave until they turned around and walked back around the empty coffin in the center.
When we finally got back to the main room of the ground floor, we were claustrophobic and very ready to leave. We felt like we had made it through airport security, been trapped in a haunted house and were finally allowed to escape. But then we saw the upstairs. We felt guilty for not going and slowly and cautiously made our way upstairs. However, I was really glad we did because the room upstairs was like a ray of light compared to the rest of the house. It was bright with multiple windows and was painted a cheery yellow. It had beautiful artwork, like the rest of the house, but wasn't quadruple hung so visitors could actually focus on individual pieces. This is when I noticed that a lot of the people were much older. The visitors were mainly retired-age couples who seemed to know about John Soane and be interested in his collection.
This sunshine room was a nice ending to our visit, but I was definitely happy to be outside again when we left.
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