Ten thousand steps, seven flights of stairs, and other various workout measurements had all my circles on my watch happy with me. I prefer traveling over a gym membership; while more costly, there is no guilt about not showing up, and the view changes. I have never increased my goals, and thus, I get cheap rewards, but still, I think the five miles of walking was good.
I rose after six passing on rising in the dark and watching the sunrise over St Louis. It is a pleasure to watch a city wake, but instead, I made coffee using the LavAzza machine, which makes tiny, polite puddles of coffee, and I must press the button multiple times to fill the small cup. This one uses capsules (provided in a pretty leather-like box), and water poured into a transparent tank. The instructions (written on the inside cover of the pretty box) are clear, but I seem to be missing something. Still, I push the button many times, and the cup finally fills.
There is a huge, tall tub that is slippery enough to kill, which contains shower stuff, and I manage (there are plenty of handholds) to wash and then shave without a likely fatal fall. I prefer cheaper arrangements.
Dressed in a T-shirt from Oregon, I head down to the coffee and breakfast restaurant, Good Press Cafe, in the hotel. The line is slow as the POS mangles a transaction, but I find a seat and have an above-average breakfast and coffee for $25. I write the blog and finish in the lobby, as the tables in the cafe are tiny. I return to my room, stash the laptop, and grab my hat and coat (it is cool in the mornings). The hotel is not near the Arc, but it is still walkable.
I walk towards the river and slightly downhill. The city is awake and busy, but still seems to be missing people, and there are housing buildings that are tall and wrecked. Graffiti and broken windows for tens of stories surprises me. Just a few blocks from the arc and the newer buildings. The homeless are on many corners. I never feel unsafe.
The parks are lovely, but there are no food carts and crowds of people working or tourists to eat their wares. Parking is expensive everywhere, and I suspect that city life is at a premium. I did see two large new modern apartment buildings, but they seemed sterile and had no balconies.
I will keep looking, but St Louis seemed empty and even sad. The crazy (insane?) joy I see in Portland, Seattle, Detroit, and New Orleans, and the love for the city, is missing so far. I will head to the other side on Tuesday via the Metro and see what I find there. My usual reaction to a city is “Can I live here? I love it here,” but that has not been the case so far. It ain’t New Orleans that is for sure.
I reach the Arc, and it is a bright, sunny, cool morning. I head underground, as that is where the museum and shuttles are located, I am told. It is a National Park, but I have a regular pass and had to pay (next year, when I get the America the Beautiful pass for those over 62, I will be free). I managed to get a pass for 11 and spent 40 minutes looking at the museum and reviewing the gift store’s contents.
There is a security check to get in, and I passed it.
The shuttle is more like an escape pod with a glass door, plastic seats, and the belief that, in the 1960s, five people fit in the shuttle. We had three, and after bending over and never standing, found a seat. The ride was claustrophobic, but for four minutes and a view of the arc’s internals, it was not bad. Recommended. It was described by one of my passengers as climbing into a dryer. There was no tumble, but the shuttle did seem to swing a few times to adjust for the angle.
The top is about the size of a double-length bus, with tiny windows and carpeted walls, allowing you to lie and look out of them. I asked the ranger if the arc sways, “When the wind is over 7 mph, yes,” and yes, you can feel it. The ranger and I discussed New Orleans, and I shared my cooking experience with him. He and his girlfriend will try it soon; he Googled it there at the top of the Arc. Glad to help. The ten minutes went by fast.
The top entrance and exit from the shuttle are via stairs, and you can see the line of arch walls leading to them. It is crowded and a bit chaotic. I heard an adult say, “If you scream the way down, there will be punishment.” The kids looked mechivious, and I suspect they found something else to do on the faster drop back (almost felt like falling).
The ranger at the top, swaying and dreaming of Cajun food, told me he loves to look out at the river. It is always changing.
I had chili, Timberline Chili (the name of the Lodge on Mt. Hood in Oregon), and terrible fries. There is no McDonald’s (“Golden Arches”), but I had to have them at the base of the arc at the Arc Café. I enjoyed the museum, found a new T-shirt, pencils, the book I wanted on the mounds (Cahokia Mounds by William Iseminger), and some stickers.
I was within 30 minutes of the paddlewheel trip, and another fee was paid. I also bought my photo from the arc and later from the paddle wheel. While not cheap, it would be less than the bar bill later. I enjoyed the tour, and the river was high. The security guy told me that the boat was parked in their parking lot (now underwater). Old Man River was charging down and deep, carrying trees and other items (food coolers were the most frequently repeated item I saw). I noticed that the paddlewheel was zigzagging to miss the larger bits.
There was a disused railroad area that was now decorated with a mural and, in places, covered with graffiti. The narrator said that folks were squatting in the building, and rumors were that they raised farm animals, including goats. Hmmm.
Note: Two-bedroom apartments near my hotel go for about $1,000-$1,200 a month.
With the arc and the river done, my phone and watch were dying. Time to head back. It was a thirty-minute walk, and I went a different way, connecting parks and monuments. Traffic was light, but I managed to walk into an empty street where someone wanted to turn into. I got honked at, and stayed on the curb. At the hotel, I found my room and napped while the phone and watch recharged.
I spoke to Deborah a few times while walking and at the hotel. We are still getting used to being separated for 49 days. I headed to the bar and had the happy hour specials for dinner and drinks. I later added a tuna toast time that was excellent.
A black young woman was standing at the bar. She was ignored. I waved a bartender over to her after a crowd of white biz types in suits, obviously spending expense-report money, showed up, got service, and even drinks, and the woman got nothing but being ignored. It was heartbreaking to me. She walked out. Apparently, here in St. Louis, a young black woman is too nervous to demand service (in Detroit, the bartender and manager would have gotten a talking-to).
My drinks and dinner turned to ash in my mouth, and I read my book and will not be back to the bar.
I went to bed early and slept, waking every couple of hours. My body just could not believe I was going to sleep tonight. I did.
Thanks for reading.
Alohawild (Michael Wild's) Website 