Imagine walking into famous gardens, now neglected and so arid you expect a tumbleweed to cross your path. Now add to that a museum where mannequins dressed in various styles depict the agrarian history of a country, and where women are categorized and displayed as if they are a species, between the Zebra hide and the stuffed rhinoceros. At the Museum, a gentleman appears and starts opening walls to show you exhibits, and you suddenly realize that no one has been into the museum in while, a long long while, and not just because of its 3 hours open a day policy. Walk a little further and suddenly, you are in a replica pharonic garden, teaming with spring blooms, if somewhat overgrown. You picnic while its caretakers (who also may live in a bower in the garden) bring you flowers and berries. Finally, add indiscriminate gunfire from a shooting club nearby as background noise. That’s what visiting the Agricultural Museum is like.