The Royal Ontario Museum's glass spire, like a crystal drill bit stuck into an old building, was rather jarring. Inside, in the Egyptian gallery, a mummy lay sprawled, its shroud torn in several places, the accompanying sign barely legible. Dinosaur skeletons reached the ceiling, and children craned their necks, babbling excitedly. In the Chinese gallery, several Buddha statues were missing arms and legs, their colors faded, which ironically added to their charm compared to those in good condition. When my legs were aching from walking around, I discovered a mineral display case in a corner; the various stones glittered under the lights, and I squatted there for a while, gazing at them. When I came out, the sun was blinding, and the steps were filled with people eating sandwiches.