The lady behind the second door was much more welcoming. I took some joy from this and from the fact I’d chanced upon the correct establishment, although the gallery’s pictures, sadly, weren’t especially memorable. The main point I took away was the predominance of the number ‘three’; many of the artworks featured three of a particular subject, or were split into three areas, or otherwise were a bit triangulary. Or “trio-ish”.
Did I mention that the building and decor were magnificent? They became more so once it became apparent that, outside, rain was absolutely pelting onto and bouncing up off Battenberg. I poked my head outside, saw drains and gutters buckling and members of the ceremonial Battenberg guard being fairly washed away, down towards the Alexander Nevsky Church. I took stock, peered down at my already ‘atmospheric’ STINKING desert boots, and suddenly felt inspired to look round the Ethnographic Museum.
Once I had the correct ticket, my welcome to ‘Ethnographeee, Ethnographeee’ dramatically improved, even if my feet were squeaking. The exhibits were everyday and stuck on the dull side on the interesting/boring continuum; lots of smocks, tools, bad toys, dyes, things made from wood, hair and teeth. That sort of thing.
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