Not long ago, I approached my wife — she who keeps us within budget — to pop a question. I whined that I needed a change of scenery for a week.
“Gosia, Gosia,” I said. “Can we go to New Orleans?”
“Why New Orleans?”
“They have alligators in the swamps,” I said. “We can take a swamp ride in a boat and see them.”
Gosia put on her hard bargain face.
“We can go,” she said. “But you have to take me to hear good jazz, eat a couple good meals, and visit a museum of my choice.”
So, with that agreed, we flew to New Orleans and lucked into perfect weather. We heard great jazz at Preservation Hall, honored my soldier dad at the World War Two Museum, and lunched on way too many king-size shrimp at a great eatery off Bourbon Street.
The week passed quickly, and now it was time to live on the wild side. Yep, we were off to be up to our navels in alligators.
First, we visited the Jean Lafitte National Park office. Gosia bought a souvenir tee shirt with a big snapping gator on the front. I picked up a stack of informational materials.
“What’s the difference between an alligator and a crocodile?” Gosia asked as I began to read.
“Alligator starts with A, and crocodile starts with C,” I said with a smug look.
“Thanks,” she said. “Did you know divorce starts with D?”
Being the considerate husband who managed a C+ in wildlife biology in school, I then launched an explanation.
“When an alligator closes its mouth, no teeth are visible,” I said. “When a crocodile closes its mouth, a tooth sticks out.”
“You looked that up on Mr. Google,” she said.
“Busted,” I confessed. “Time for a joke?”
“What is it?” She sounded suspicious.
“What do you call an alligator who bites you in the butt?”
“I give up.”
“A tailgater!”
“That’s supposed to be funny?” she sniffed.
“You know the difference between a dog and an alligator?” Gosia said, trying to out-humor me. “An alligator’s bite is worse than its bark.”
Mr. Google shared a difference of opinion on what to do if you’re communing with nature and all at once a 19-foot behemoth charges you.
“Gosia, some guides say run in a fast beeline. Some say run in a zigzag pattern,” I said.
Gosia put her hat over her heart. “Poor dead Hank,” she said. “You zigged when you ought to have zagged.”
“Yeah,” I said. “And nine out of ten guides advise not running in alligator shoes. That only makes the monsters mad.”
We caught a Grayline bus that took us to the Atchafalaya Swamp. A guide was waiting, and we boarded with 30 other tourists.
Out on the water, the guide opened a big cooler and brought out a tiny alligator.
“Who wants to hold it?”
My hand shot up. He brought it over.
I nicknamed him Stinky in my mind. He was a cute little feller, all tail and legs.
After a minute, I passed Stinky to Gosia.
The guide said he keeps the alligator for educational demonstrations until it grows to be three feet long. Then he releases it into the swamp.
“Unlike other species kept as pets, the alligator adapts immediately into life in the wild,” he said.
Our guide knew all kinds of alligator trivia. Alligators can run up to speeds of 25 miles per hour, he said.
“Gosia, you think maybe I can outrun an alligator?”
“Sure, she said, I’ve seen you leap from the couch during a football game to grab a beer and be back before the 30-second timeout ends.”
The guide told us only about five persons a year get attacked in the state of Louisiana.
“That’s reassuring,” I said to Gosia as she pointed her camera at a twelve-foot gator taking a beauty nap on a small island.
“Not if you’re one of the five,” she said.
The guide said experts think that the attack gators once were pets. They had lost their fear of humans.
Note to self: Never go swimming in the same area where the guide releases Stinky.
After our tour, we boarded the bus. He dropped us at the dock. We had time for one farewell-to-N’Awlins meal.
The menu had alligator for $27.95.
“What does alligator taste like?” I asked the waiter.
“Just like chicken,” he said.
Gosia raised an eyebrow as she scanned the menu.
“My husband will have the chicken for $7.95.”
Hank Nuwer finished the week getting certified as an Alaska artist in the schools for 2025 to teach literary arts and humorous light verse. Wife Gosia is working remotely from Warsaw, Poland.
