We walk through the sandy, cavernous entrance. A lady with tiny braids in her hair stands at the front counter and Eddie buys us tickets. The lights are dim and blue, making everything look submerged.

Past the lobby are three arched entrances, each bearing the sign of its respective exhibit. My eye is immediately drawn to the one on our right and my legs want to leap with the thrill of it. There’s a sign made to look like sea-worn driftwood painted with red letters that say SHIPWRECK.

“Let’s go there,” I say.

I look back at the group. Ellie is smiling at me, and nods. Ruth is on her phone.

We head right, past some swampy-looking trees dripping with moss, and under the stone arch into a dark hall. There’s only dim light, shimmering and blue, like waves. At the end of the tunnel is another arch, and through it I can see an aquarium wall and what may be, if my dancing heart isn’t playing tricks on me, a giant sea turtle.

I step more quickly down the dark hall and through the entrance. We enter a room shaped like the hull of a ship. The walls above and below and all around are made mostly of thick glass, making everyone in the room a fully submerged participant in this underwater kingdom, this living Atlantis.

What I saw is a giant sea turtle. I crane my neck a little bit to see him past the rock he’s hiding behind. A stingray as big as me swims so close I gasp and step back, but then step immediately forward again and watch the ray glide like a magic carpet over to a bed of algae. Fish are everywhere, some small and flashing colors any artist would be proud of, as well as giant sluggish things that look more like big rocks than fish, their faces in a perpetual scowl. Some of them look like they could swallow me whole, even if their size is distorted by the water.

Between my feet, the glass flooring reveals the underwater world and sandy floor below. Another huge ray sleeps in the sand, partially covered. Without taking my eyes away, I pull my camera from its case and focus in on the stingray. I bend down close to try to minimize distortion from smudges and glare from the glass. A spiky pink sea urchin by the ray’s left eye completes the frame like it’s a still life. I click. Another fish gets too close and the ray skitters up and away, leaving only a puff of sand behind him.

There’s a short lady wearing round-framed glasses and an employee polo shirt standing by the entrance, and I step over to her when none of my group is watching.

“Hi,” I say. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” she says. “That’s what I’m here for!”