Oh airy airplane hangar-like Palace of Conventions, you are like a post-modern post-card about convergence in 3 dimensional space. You are bigger on the inside than on the outside I swear, and your glassy shops and tendrils of escalators and tucked away stretches of food-court-like restaurants with windows and big booths defy my (admittedly already-poor) sense of spatial orientation. But really it's the forest of giant pink trees that makes me love you, you whimsical beast of a convention centre you.