New Heights in St. Louis

Regardless of its small size, St. Louis frequently provided opportunities to experience vertigo and dizziness. Understandable considering that their city symbol, a steel arch, casts a shadow long enough to act as a sundial for overhead planes. And yes, visitors can ride to the top for a full view of the city and Mississippi River.

So I went! In order to ascend the North side of the arch, passengers loaded up into petit, 60’s style pods with five seats and limited space. A busy season sees thousands of visitors and off months only hundreds a day, which meant no lines today and a pod per person.

It took about five minutes of clamoring and clanking, with gears and pulls laboring outside of my pod window, to reach the top. Though looking onto the city hundreds of feet in the air, leaning over an interior ledge to look out of little rectangular windows, a sense of safety remained. One similar to watching New York City fly by in the back of a taxi cab.

After photos and locating key building, the novelty wore of and down I went, clamoring and clanking in my pod. Underneath the arch and burrowed under the ground, the Westward Expansion Museum comfortably stretched out, introducing visitors to the importance of the Louisiana Purchase, St. Louis as a main stop in westward travels, and the expedition of Louis and Clark. As a traveler, my interests leaned toward learning more about the latter. Luckily a movie depicting the journey started in twenty minutes, just enough time to aimless browse the gift store.

Enormous! I could not believe the size of the movie screen. The video depicted the tale with soaring camera shots over plains of wilderness and stretches of the Mississippi river, frequent enough to induce motion sickness. Louis and Clark’s experiences seemed to relate to my own, until, after reaching in to my large purse, a pair of Polartec gloves and a cell phone surfaced. Beginning on the Mississippi meant paddling against the current and going into uncharted lands. Risks included weather and wary Native Americans. Clark, a master map maker, drew up the first ones for the area, while here I stand looking at an over illustrated map or notes jotted down from Google to find my way around. Our journeys do not compare.

After all of that history and seriousness, my next stop provided the needed fun break. Though closed, the repair crew of the City Museum did not mind my wondering, or crawling and climbing, around the place. This odd wonderland, filled with caves, sculptural metal work, stairs, slides, fish, whales, and other recycled oddities, developed in the mind of Cassilly. When I emerged from the spiral stairs onto a maze of metal framing, Al, the organ repair guy, greeted me with a look of surprise. However, he did not mind the unexpected visitor, and thoroughly described the acquisition of a 1920’s organ and its adoption into the museum. A computer screen built into the organ played songs on command, and Al pressed some buttons to start a French march. Not only did the organ pips blow, but other bells, whistles, and drums completed the soundtrack. I never quite understood what tears of joy meant until listening to this musical wonder on a cloudy afternoon.

After our conversations, he pointed me up the stairs, providing directions to the slide which traveled from the tenth floor to the third. After minutes of climbing I found it and went down. And down. And down. So down, I finally slide out in front of Al. A failed attempt to stand up gathered a laugh as he mentioned this was a common reaction.

While continuing on my way, admiring the sculptural, decorative, and imaginative qualities, I could only suppose the place filled with kids and parents. Luckily, this first visit did not contain such distractions.

With my shoes back on the St. Louis streets, not up hundreds of feet in the air or descending down a multilevel slide, a safe feeling surged. Well, until arriving at my hotel, where the elevator soared up at the press of a button to the twentieth floor. At least I am not afraid of heights.