I expect Culver City is an admirable place, abundant with culture and enterprise. It was unfortunate, therefore, that I didn't really obtain a good viewing of it. As I left a small local bus and made my way to the Metro Express for my subsequent journey to Exposition Park, through the bars of rain I caught glimpses of dilapidated buildings; smothered in a grotty grey, and plywood boarded windows. I crossed what looked to be a car park, though ambiguous as the the white parking boxes were absent. It exhibited an extensive collection of deep potholes, some rather deep, each one identifiable by a small pond after last night's heavy rain. As I edged nearer to the Metro Station, what I thought was asphalt turned out just to be a paste of saturated silty mud. And so, I trotted up the steps of the station, looking as if I had just waded through swamp and estuary to get there, and soiled a polished metro floor as I made for my seat.
We hurtled through the city and in the time it takes you to retrieve a desired beverage from a vending machine, I was being ushered out of the metro by way of a composed gentleman's voice announcing that through the rain beaten windows were the translucent shapes making up Exposition Park and that I should exit sooner rather than later, because the doors were closing immanently. I obliged with his request, "leaving none of my personal possessions in the carriage" and "minded the step" as I disembarked. Exposition Park filled my view; a large but unpretentious fountain becoming the focal point, though I wasn't, as you can imagine, holding high regards for water presently so I bypassed the opportunity to have a good stare at it (the only thing you can do at any fountain) and headed for the Californian Science Museum.
Museums, in general, exhibit the most compelling fact about human nature. They attract thousands every day; families blitz through traffic to get there early before the crowds start to emerge, and because hundreds of families have this same instinct, the doors open at 9am already to a mile long queue of eager enthusiasts. Such must have been the case at the Californian Science Museum today, as when I arrived, I was taken aback by the swarm of muttering heads. If any place needed it's own Highway Code, it was here. Prams were scurrying across the marble, by half-attentive drivers who whizz so close to you that you feel you're going to be scooped up. I don't know about you, but I always seem to attract a nursery of small children who think it's acceptable to sandwich themselves in between me and a exhibit, consequently forcing you to make a premature departure and move onto the next one. If there's one commendable thing to say about crowds at museums, it's that usually upon transits from one room to another, a line of single-filed traffic will seemingly form into place, without the need of markings or signs. It just naturally forms, and although you're subjected to a tedious dawdle, I hold high admiration for this shared voluntary desire for orderliness.
The usual issues I hold with Museums were very much present today, but I persisted, and got myself around half-adequately. It's a truly wonderful museum; it encompasses a broad spectrum of Science, yet somehow is concise in its approach. And it's interactive, which for those who suffer museum fatigue, is an effective antidote. You can build dams out of sand and test them in the 'Rivers' room, or carve your hand print into ice in the 'Polar' room. In the 'Rocky Shores' room, you can touch Jellyfish, Urchins and other unmemorable organisms that cling to rocks like a rugby player clasps the ball on a sprint to the tri line. There was even an L.A room which I felt a little out-keeping with the theme, but nevertheless a spacious room with lots to see and do. Of course anything interactive was pre-occupied with young children, who I felt needed the vocation more than I did, so I found content in simply reading the information attributed with each exhibit. (Where there wasn't anyone at an interactive exhibit, it turned out to be either broken or the most unstimulating of displays, though these were few and far between.)
There comes a point, though, where you're just aimlessly patrolling around the exhibits, unable to absorb anymore, like a saturated sponge, and experience tells me it's vital to exit at this point, rather than to continue strolling around, as this leads to unnecessary though unintentional tripping up small children, mindless cursing at always being in some form of queue, and the beginnings of a cantankerous attitude towards the American accent, (especially, may I say, when a mother vocally exaggerates her excitement of an exhibit solely to grab the attention of her offspring, and as any traveller will know, the American accent is perhaps arguably exaggerated enough at the best of times!)
So I concluded my expedition at the 'Transport in the 21st Century' segment, and transported myself out into fresh air. My prerogative was to locate an adequate eatery in which to obtain lunch, though the way I express it makes it sound like I was on the hunt for Exposition Park's most fine haut cuisine. To my astonishment, there wasn't anything of the kind, so I settled for a MacDonald's; a step down in quality, but for efficiency I reward it top marks, and economically, it's budget friendly. I relished all that could be enjoyed from it, and decided to explore the rest of Exposition Park.
The stroll was delightful in the afternoon sunlight; I happened upon what turned out to be the entrance of the Science Museum, a more elaborate contemporary design (the kind of frontage only a Science Museum would have). A hive of activity from the inside was seeping through the gaps in the doors, still bustling to the extent that it was earlier on. I suddenly emerged upon a great structure, and a historic architectural gem: the Los Angeles Coliseum. In one way or another, it seemingly brought an invigorating and fresh taste to the whole city. It looked almost ancient Greek in aesthetic, which is understandable given that the Los Angeles Coliseum was used for an Olympiad in the early 1930s. Regrettably, it's now inaccessible and you can only gaze and wonder at what a sporting life might have been like in the Coliseum from outside imposing gates. Nevertheless, it adds a certain quality to Exposition Park.
I meandered my way down a winding pedestrian lane, through a rose garden, and up a flight of steps towards a car park, with the most fascinating and popular oddity. A truck weighing in excess of 5400 pounds was being levered off the ground by a group of committed individuals pulling a rope on the other end of a large lever. Though idiosyncratic, it was pleasurable to watch such effort expended on what would usually be a impossible task. I drew myself away from the outlandishness and as it was progressively becoming darker, I awaited the next metro and made my westward journey towards the hostel.
By the time I had finally caught up with Santa Monica, the Sun had already set, but the glow still beckoned photographers to take a couple of snaps, which dutifully I did too, before walking a block to the hostel.
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