The very building where its collection is housed is a dull fusty and tightly buttoned example of chaste and late-flowering Edwardian

The very building where its collection is housed is a dull, fusty and tightly buttoned example of chaste and late-flowering Edwardian Classicism (the Exhibition Road frontage, designed by Sir Richard Allison, dates from 1928). It was to represent great moments in the past; at the same time it was to be a showcase of the new and challenging.Over the years, it has become more a celebration of the past than of the present. Its charter, and one enthusiastically championed by Prince Albert (a prince for whom the modern world was to be embraced rather than scorned), called for its curator and trustees to exhibit great inventions in science, technology and medicine. True, the British Museum had mummies and "Ginger", the dead cave man, but as it was far off in Bloomsbury, its Grecian halls could not be visited on the same half-term holiday. The Science Museum, like the V&A and Natural History Museum, was a spin- off from the Great Exhibition of 1851.

It also boasted a full-scale mock-up of a coal mine and if you were quick off the mark, you could wander into its labyrinthine depths and hide out from parents, siblings and warders. At an age when the Victoria and Albert Museum was incomprehensible, only the Natural History Museum with its dinosaurs and stuffed animals was a rival in the affection of children innocent of videos, computer games, drive-thru' burger joints and American-style superstores. This was the museum with the thrilling children's section downstairs, featuring such extraordinary inventions as a door that opened automatically when you walked towards it. Who cannot remember their first visit to the Science Museum in South Kensington in London? This was the museum where you turned cranks and pulleys, pressed knobs and buttons and placed your finger gingerly in a 10-zillion volt Van de Graaff generator and your hair stood on end like Strewlpeter's. It killed 27 people, caused pounds 100m worth of damage and lifted long stretches of the Atlantic coral reef clean out of the water.MATTHEW BRACE. Minor tremors happen several times a week, as twisted buildings around the country show. The last big one was on 22 April, 1991 and measured 7.4 on the Richter scale.

Broken traffic-lights, determined taxis and swarms of buzzing pizza delivery bikes add to the confusion. If you're in a hurry, take a taxi, and if you're lucky, you'll get Ramon, the moonlighting policeman who grins maniacally at the wheel and waggles his revolver at other terrified motorists who wisely swerve out of his way.Greatest danger: Earthquakes Most Josefinos refuse to talk about them. Pork scratchings, jalapeno peppers and cheese wrapped in tortilla chips are the most popular, but for the Latin man whose libido needs a boost, a bowl of chilled ceviche (raw fish marinated in lime juice) is recommended.Biggest hassle: The capital's frenetic one-way system and numerous gaping potholes make driving not dissimilar to an amusement arcade game. This clear spirit is made from sugar-cane and is very popular with mariachi singers, who are ordered by their severe band leaders to steer clear of beer lest it dry up their voices.What to eat: Bar snacks, or bocas, are delicious and often free with drinks. Don't be alarmed if a man approaches you in a bar carrying a young crocodile for sale, or you see a cyclist making his way to work with a pet racoon clinging to his shoulders.What to drink: Guaro, the local firewater.

Best translated as "living in Costa Rica is so pleasurable, every day is a delight". Very handy for the non-Spanish speaker trying to get out of an awkward confrontation with a street trader, or sweet-talking a policeman into cancelling a speeding ticket.Hottest ticket: A cramped space on the terraces among the Ultra, the fanatical followers of San Jose's leading football team, Sapprisa. They provide tireless displays of jungle drumming, fireworks and chanting at even the dullest of matches. They sing good-natured ditties such as "My heart is so purple" (in adoration of the team's lurid strip), but the charm lapses when they launch into their Spanish rendition of "The referee's a bastard".Latest fad: Despite living in the safest and most peaceful country in Central America (they abolished their army nearly 50 years ago), Joseffinos (San Jose folk) have gone security mad, erecting thick metal bars on every window and doorway they can find.