Anything that lasts long enough becomes a museum. Old churches. Decommissioned power plants. Places with space and light and years and years of history inside. Even I have become a curated collection of a lifetime's memories.
My favorite museum was once a rail terminal. A century ago, Gare d'Orsay was the world's first electrified station and the northern end of the Paris-Orleans line. I am still transported there, though today the views are in frames instead of through railcar windows.
Now you wander through levels of wonders: Degas' dancers. Manet's bouquets. Seurat's dots. Cezanne's impressions. Van Gogh's visions.
My favorite is a sculpture: a striding white polar bear. May you, too, dream of riding through the halls, bear claws clicking on the stone floors, past great arched windows and great art, beneath the old station's grand clock, still proudly marking time for travelers.