There is something oddly satisfying about seeing world leaders/celebrities/miscellaneous famous people displayed in wax form.
Shelby and I visited the Wax Museum in Victoria on our second day in town. Both of us were skeptical of the situation. We met a girl outside the Parliament building the night before, who described her experience at the wax museum like this:
"It was pretty cool. Except the fairy tale section is really scary. When you think fairy tales, you think pretty, like Cinderella or Snow White, right? But its not. Maybe I was freaked out because I was the only one down there...But you will have to see it for yourself."
We couldn't resist visiting the museum after this mysterious cliff-hanger description. Plus, I love freaky things. And so we went, unsure of what to expect except a lot of wax.
I encountered some of my favorite historical/literary figures in the wax museum, including Napoleon Bonaparte, William Shakespeare and Charles Dickens (Yeah, I have a strange fascination with Napoleon. He was, like, five foot two and almost conquered all of Europe). Part of the museum was arranged in display cases, grouping different figures together under strange, inspirational categories, such as "martyrs of hope" (which included the Kennedy's, Martin Luther King Jr., Abe Lincoln, etc.) One of the display cases portrayed the political friendship between the U.S. and Britain, and included various U.S. presidents: Obama, both Bushes, Clinton, and George Washington. After gazing fondly at the wax portrayal of President Obama, Shelby and I moved on and proceeded towards Winston Churchill. A father and son pair took our place at the president display case. While contemplating Winston Churchill, I heard the son exclaim in a concerned, eight year old voice: "look, dad! They don't have Ronald Reagan!" Shelby and I tore our eyes away from Winston Churchill and exchanged confused glances. Perhaps the boy is fond of Reaganomics?
After making our rounds on the first floor and sufficiently recovering from the absence of Ronald Reagan, Shelby and I proceeded downstairs, to the aforementioned "freaky" part of the exhibit. I thought maybe the girl we met was a bit squeamish, but the basement area was indeed no Disney fairy tale: it displayed scenes of men being ripped apart, limb from limb; of giant, swinging axes chopping up bloody bodies; of Joan of Arc weeping and being burnt alive; and, the comparatively pleasant Adolf Hitler behind bars. Next to the gruesome, bloody scenes found in the basement, Hitler seemed peaceful, quiet, and out of place. The harmlessness of Hitler was perhaps the creepiest aspect of it all.
The best part about the wax museum was, undeniably, taking pictures. One can insert themselves in an array of historical/biblical scenes, without actually having to time travel at all. I, for example, was photographed at the Last Supper and next to Charlie Chaplin (though not in the same frame).
Sadly, there was no wax figure of my bro, Leonardo DiCaprio. Maybe if he continues to be a stellar actor, a waxy replica of himself will appear in the museum someday. How great would it be to take a picture next to a wax figure of yourself?
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