We left The Old Spaghetti Factory to go find the Arch, turned left, and there it was.

From the direction we were approaching, the moment we broke through the trees in the surrounding park, we were already too close to the Arch to capture the whole thing in a single photograph.

I did like the glint of sunlight at the top against the cloudy early evening sky.

We got tickets to ride to the top and Abby, Katie, and I (3 people) crammed (crammed) into a tiny egg-shaped capsule with five seats (5 seats). Left, Abby, fascinated by the proceedings. Center, Katie, claustrophic. Right, me, acrophobic, next to the glass window looking down into the hollow arch. Quite a team, we are.

The viewing area at the top is spacious enough and it sure seems sturdy … but leaning onto the lower walls to peer straight down out the windows was kinda creepy. Also all of the windows taste like snozzberries.

The view to the west: 6M 25M

A game was about to be canceled by weather and the Arch was an enticing vantage point on a full stadium. 7M 32M

Here’s some of that looking-down-into-the-hollow-Arch I was talking about. The ride down was mostly stairs I can handle, platforms I can handle, dark doesn’t bother me, and then suddenly whoosh that’s a long ways down!

When we arrived we’d been in a hurry to catch the next tram up; but after our trip to the top, we looked around at the construction information. This model shows how the Arch was completed — the two sides built independently with cranes riding up the outsides, lifting each section to be welded and the gap between double walls filled with concrete; then the last piece hurriedly lifted into place because one leg was expanding in the sun.

Outside, one of the floodlights that illuminate it, with me for scale. It was getting dark enough I was half expecting it to turn on and give me grill marks.

We walked westish to Kiener Plaza with its kid-friendly stepped fountain.

It felt darker than this and I love optical image stabilization in my camera.

One last look at the Arch behind the Old County Courthouse before walking back.

From the scene of the high water, Eads Bridge is lovely at night.

The sign outside is unassuming

but the entrance is genteel

and the waiting room ornate.

It doesn’t stop there: even the stairs are beautiful

and stained glass abounds.

The restaurant is obviously built in an old factory

and they’ve done an amazingly tasteful job of blending industrial brick and beam with stately decor.

Parts even evoke a Victorian gentlemen’s club.

These are not people I know. Pretend they’re not there wondering why I’m taking a picture of them.

The food, for its part, was delicious. I ordered The Manager’s Favorite, a plate of spaghetti with choice of four sauces. The marinara was bright and nothing to complain about but nothing out of the ordinary; the mizithra cheese and browned butter, a house special, was very tasty; the white clam sauce was delicious; and the straightforward rich meat sauce was most of all to my liking.

I’d go back in a heartbeat. Eat there a couple of times a week and try to get tired of it, I would.

This should give some idea how far above normal the water level was.

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