When I entered the glasshouse, the paths were empty and every sound seemed enlarged: water dripped from the overhead pipes and a ventilation fan sighed behind the palms. The air felt suspended, as if the building had not quite woken. Then the staff unlocked the outer doors. Within minutes, families pressed around the map stand, wheels clicked over the paving and questions crossed the humid air. The earlier hush had vanished, although the place did not feel disorderly; visitors moved slowly beneath the leaves, looking upwards.