Across the Southern U.S. – Day 5

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

The day starts with a visit to the Fakahatchee Strand State Preserve. We are near the borders of the Everglades National Park and the Big Cypress National Preserve. Our tour through Fakahatchee follows a 2000-foot-long boardwalk that starts among the mosquitoes. As luck would have it, the pesky bloodsuckers don’t follow us in. Making our way into the preserve exposes a rich depth of life and an intriguing entanglement of plants and animal inhabitants. Birds sing from above and scurry below. Flowers burst forward in strange shapes and delightful hues.

Trees wrap around each other in a symbiotic relationship of dependence as one holds up the other. Spiders dangle. Palm fronds, ferns, and the canopy shade us while we do our best to walk in silence to hear all and see all. Towards the end of the boardwalk is a lagoon harboring our first alligator. The gator floats silently while a large school of fish swims nervously, trapped between a heron and the gator. The fish don’t seem to have much to worry about as both the gator and the heron are lazily lingering; maybe they have already taken their fill. Then we realize that this lagoon may be a landlocked pond due to the low water level in the preserve; if this is the case, these fish have much to worry about.

Silence in these natural settings, aside from the chattering of indigenous species, is always at a premium. It’s not long before a small army of boisterous tourists is making their way up the boardwalk. For us, it is the signal to go, and for them, unfortunately, the heron and the gator responded to the commotion by leaving, too. Along with the preservation of the great wildlands of America, my other wish would be for the tourists to these places of natural beauty to respect the solitude and tranquility so many of us travelers are trying to find at our shared destinations.

We’re on the approach to the entrance of the Everglades National Park after just three and a half days and 2,355 miles from home. I’m reminded of how my mother-in-law’s excitement gives her the energy for the endurance she needs on such a grueling road trip. Jutta has made three other trips to the United States, and each time, we ask a lot from her because our excitement has us forgetting that we are traveling with a retired lady who might not have the get-up and go that we have. Jutta has accompanied us on hikes in Zion National Park to the Emerald Pools and down into the Grand Canyon, where she was able to witness two Bighorn Sheep butt heads a mere 20 feet in front of her. We have taken her to walk among the giant sequoias near Yosemite, and we’ve walked the trails around geysers and bison in Yellowstone. From inside the caves at Kartchner Caverns to a trip floating down the Colorado River, Jutta has always kept pace with us.

We have strolled amongst the ruins of Chaco Culture National Historical Park and found rest on the grounds of a California Mission. She’s stayed in the Luxor Pyramid in Las Vegas and slept in a cliff dwelling called Kokopelli’s Cave in New Mexico. Watched a grizzly bear feeding with her cub and has been face to face with elephant seals on the Pacific coast. After trying new foods and talking to strangers with strange accents, her back straightens with determined pride. I have come to appreciate my mother-in-law all the more on these road trips because, besides her occasional desire for a quick cat nap, this grand old lady has a spirit and most delightful gratitude that is both honest and from the heart. When, after a trip to America, we hear back from her in Germany about how she recently saw on TV a place she had visited, we hear the excitement all over again as she is full of appreciation regarding the extraordinary journeys she has had the chance to make. If only others had her zest for life and the wherewithal to rise to these challenges.

Another challenge greets my mother-in-law: we are asking her to step onto one of the loudest watercraft she may ever take, a fan boat, also known as an airboat. We are in Everglades City with reservations to have Speedy Johnson’s take us out into a private area of the Everglades outside the National Park. We have chosen Speedy, as their tours are limited to 6 passengers.

Gently, we push along out of the dock, and then our pilot hits the gas with a thunderous roar of the unmuffled V-8 engine that screams white noise as we glide over the water. Just as quickly as he gunned the engine, the pilot kills it, letting us float up to our first view of mangroves. Approaching the entangled roots a pelican lands on the edge of our boat just a foot away from where I sit, looking at me like I’m going to pull a fish out of my pocket and throw him a treat.

From the open water, our boatman fires up the engine, and we speed directly into the low ceiling of the mangrove forest, with its shallow black waters providing just enough depth to allow our passage. We narrowly missed getting whacked by the mangrove branches as we buzzed by.

Turns out this little guy is a friend of the boatman who has been enticed by treats. I’m guessing that the adage about feeding the wildlife doesn’t mean a lot when a vendor needs to deliver an experience that satisfies everyone on board.

The mangroves are sporadically growing in bunches here and there, or so it looks to me. Between the forests are grasslands.

In a larger clearing, we again stop the engine and start to float, we have an approaching guest. This is no ordinary alligator; he has acquired a taste for a meal that doesn’t come from the Everglade he lives and hunts in; he’s coming right at us. He’s coming for marshmallows. My first thought was, “How does he get the marshmallow cleaned out of those huge dagger-like teeth?”

The fan boat heads for another larger open body of water, and the pilot tells us to look at the approaching ripples in the water to our right. It’s not another killer gator; it’s a dolphin who has taken up residence in the Everglades. This is not normal behavior for dolphins; they are social creatures. Our pilot tells us they think that maybe he was separated from his pod or that he’s an outcast and that he took a liking to the warm waters and is now a local. This was an unexpected site; to be sure with all three of us getting down to pet the friendly visitor, we were having a sagenhaft moment.

Our one-hour tour is already over, which is okay as our hearing is nearly ruined. We opted to go without the headphones to feel and hear the full experience of the airboat. We cannot get over the delight of how cool this introduction to the Everglades was. Trying to leave Speedy’s, we get turned around again and again until, finally, we are on our way east on Route 41.

Historic and tiny is the Ochopee Post Office; if one were astute, they might remember that Caroline and I were here back in 1999. This is America’s smallest post office measuring but 7-foot-by-8-foot and has been the stand-in since the other post office burned down in 1953. We are stopping to drop off postcards and to pick up a few new ones from the post office itself to send to friends and family in Germany.

Driving into the Everglades National Park, the road is lined with wildlife from herons to gators, even a couple of vultures. The rest of our day will be spent here in the park. Strikingly flat is the first impression, with a sea of grass in nearly all directions. I expected jungle-like conditions, kind of like the photo above, but with even denser trees and mosses hiding gators and old, toothless men. The trees that are here rise in patches as islands amongst the brown and green grasses.

Even with large National Parks like the Grand Canyon, you have an idea of the task ahead, as you can scan the horizon and from above recognize in the expanse what kind of effort may be necessary to see even a tiny slice of the park. Here in the Everglades, you see the vastness only on your map as the park spreads out across the bottom tip of Florida. On the ground, though with flatness stretching out as far as the eye can see, I feel lost on where to begin. Under these circumstances, it would seem best that we speak with a ranger and find some orientation and a recommendation.

It turns out that this won’t be as intimidating as I first thought. We are in a car and are not prepared to see the park by canoe so our choice is simple: drive the road ahead of us. We’ll be taking the 38-mile long drive from the Ernest F Coe Visitor Center to the Flamingo Visitor Center and hold on to the dream that maybe someday we will make the canoe voyage. There was no way to do a canoe trip through the Wilderness Waterway this year due to the route running 99 miles and requiring seven days to maneuver.

Pa-hay-okee Overlook is our first stop to look out over the river of grass. Matter of fact, Pa-hay-okee is from the Seminole Indian language meaning “grassy waters.” On to the Mahogany Hammock where a trail leads us to a boardwalk over the wetlands and into the tree island, officially known in the glade as a hammock.

Fresh chutes of green emerge from the dark waters while the detritus of winter still sits on the ground, waiting to be consumed by the land. Inside the hammock, the light is filtered through a dense canopy of treetops and palm fronds, casting pale shade until near the ground, only shadows exist. Birds are heard but rarely seen while silent snails can be found glued into position on the trees we are passing. Earth and plants that can attract even a minimum amount of sunlight are able to thrive. We stop to take a closer look at a tree limb with layers of plants, mosses, grass, and weeds that have taken up residence, similar to what we saw nearly six months ago in the rainforest of Olympic National Park in Washington.

Leaving the hammock, we spot a couple of mangrove trees taking hold in the waters in front of us, and I wonder, if we come back in 15 years, will this be a mangrove forest similar to the one we were touring on the airboat earlier in the day?

West Lake is our destination, but on the side of the road, I spot a sunning gator. Being an intrepid photographer or a fool, I leap out of the car for a better photo. I had been of the opinion that if the gator so much as wiggled a toe, I would be jumping back in the car, but instead, he made a beeline into the water. Fearlessly, I followed him to the water’s edge, half expecting him to be long gone. Instead, I found this large alligator looking over his shoulder just offshore, letting me snap a couple of close-ups.

The greenish-yellow waters of West Lake are murky and lonely at first glance. As I scan the horizon, I only find a calm lake lined by a mangrove forest, but upon closer inspection, alligators can be seen in the distance poking their eyes above the water’s surface. From the tree line, a bird takes flight, followed by another and yet another. The birds dart from the safety of the canopy only to quickly dash right back in. Fish splash the surface while gliding alligators dip back out of sight. Mangrove trees push right up against the boardwalk trail, making for an intimate walk back and forth to the lake, giving us a great opportunity to peer into these entangled and otherwise impenetrable forests.

Low dark clouds have been creeping up over the southern tip of the glades, images of powerful storms playback in my memory, and I hope this will be but a passing hint of the potential for bad weather. Flamingo Visitor Center is as far south as the road permits, and we are near that end. Eco Pond, just before Flamingo, bends around a hammock on the other side of our boardwalk with an overlook affording us an elevated look into the pond and birds that are living undisturbed by us tourists. My Arizona sense of approaching rain suggests we head back to the car before the downpour starts. This sense is finely tuned for desert dwellers who must develop better-calibrated rain antennae for the little amount of precipitation that graces our arid lives.

With the rain coming down and our shopping excursion into the visitor center finished it’s time to follow the road back up the way we came. Maybe we’ll escape the rain with the trek north, where it doesn’t look so foreboding. After only a few more miles, we start glimpsing sunlight behind the clouds as the rain quickly fades off. At the Royal Palm Visitor Center near the entrance of the Everglades is the Anhinga and Gumbo Limbo Trail that we passed by earlier in the day. The sun will set soon, and this dictates we take the shorter of the trails; our final walk in the Everglades today will be on the Anhinga Trail.

This trail was well worth saving till the end of the day. The southern part of the national park is a series of hammocks, grasslands, and waterways, while this trail area is better described as a wetland. Herons, green herons, egrets, hissing alligators, and various other creatures scurry under the brush, in the water, and among the trees.

This has been our most intimate encounter with the fauna of the Everglades. Late dusk, and the waters are relatively still, mirroring the grey sky and trees. Our nearby star makes a final peek through a sliver of sky between the horizon and hanging clouds and begins its rest for the day.

But the egret knows that there is still time for a couple more bites.

Across the Southern U.S. – Day 4

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Last night, we checked in early at 9:30 p.m. this morning; we are leaving shortly after 6:00 and will soon be in Alabama. A misty gray sky lends mystery to the woods on the sides of the road where, in the distance, we can nearly make out the dueling banjos. “Was that a squealing pig I just heard?”

The sun breaks up the clouds and creeps over the Alabama horizon on Bayou La Batre.

It’s a stunning morning, yikes; it’s about to be stunning in another way to a giant turtle we just passed in the middle of the other lane. I turned the car around with my two passengers, oblivious as to what precisely I was doing. It seemed both were looking the other way, or maybe they were falling asleep.

This is one heavy-duty turtle, but even with its armor, it’s hardly a match for a speeding two-ton car, so we will move him off the road. Before that, though, I’ve got to get a photo of this guy. Down here, this is one mean-looking, razor-clawed, thick-leathered turtle, except for that optimistic sort of smile he has inadvertently going on. Laying in the street too now, I put the camera within inches of this face, and he seems to pose while I snap away; good thing he’s a slow-moving turtle.

Now before a car comes barreling down the road, it’s good deed time, and who should be selected to perform this? Caroline. She reaches down and gently starts to put her hands around his midsection when SNAP! Like lightning, a blur of dinosaur monster-turtle attempts to chomp off Caroline’s left arm with a single severing bite. Thanks to her ninja skills, she is able to save her limb in the nick of time by yanking her arm from the turtle’s jaws of death.

But now, HERE COMES A CAR! No fear, Jutta is here. Having quickly learned from the turtle’s stealth-like high-speed reflexes to attack her daughter, Jutta goes into high gear with Caroline and I standing in stunned awe by the following rapid chain of events. With a quick step right and a football-like snatch that would have had my mother-in-law drafted by the National Football League had they seen such skill, she swooped in for the grab, swing, and toss. The turtle disappeared off the road and was saved from certain death. I’d swear it was losing its breakfast over there in the grass from the motion sickness Jutta had inflicted. We made sure it was right-side up and doing well. With her newfound energy, Jutta sprinted back to the car, and we continued down the road.

The land is flat and wet with grasslands on our sides; we are driving through Heron Bay.

Too bad about all those hurricanes this coast is prone to, as it’s beautiful down here in the early morning quiet.

With the approach of the sea coming closer to the road, we soon cross the bridge to Dauphin Island. Dauphin Island is off the coast of Alabama and is in line with the Gulf Islands National Seashore.

We ferry across the waterway separating Mobile Bay from the Gulf of Mexico to join Route 180. Caroline and I could ride ferries all day while traveling over rivers and through wetlands and coastal areas. Approaching the other side, we spot some pelicans sitting on pilings. We are starting to feel a frenzied excitement, as these pelicans are an indicator that we are getting closer to our ultimate destination.

Welcome to Florida.

The gulf shore is an inviting spot to take a moment to dip your toes into the warm water. We walk along, looking for shells while strolling in and out of the calm surf. Although the sky is cloudy, the clouds part from time to time to give us a glimpse of blue sky that is like a smile from above.

This coast is flat as far as the eye can see. Compared to the 1400 miles of coast we’ve traveled along the western United States, where even while at the beaches, you can see mountains on the horizon, this land is flat in all directions.

Florida and the landscape appear to have changed again. Dunes, white sands, and clearing skies are as inviting as they look relaxing. As we drive along in the warmth of the clearing day, we are all getting a little drowsy. We stop for a rest with Jutta taking a short nap in the car while Caroline and I take a walk down by the bridge along the waterfront just before entering Fort Walton Beach.

On our way again, the roadside is a tropical paradise. Soon, we veer back out toward the ocean with Mexico Beach, bringing our attention to its pristine white sands. We zig instead of zagging back inland through a tropical forest off Point St. Joseph and are again ready for another stop, this one in Apalachicola.

In the old town section of Apalachicola, we take up our place sitting on the dock of Apalachicola Bay next to the fishing boats. It’s a beautiful sunny day with light clouds, a balmy 70 degrees, and a cool coastal breeze that feels perfect. Jutta takes a moment to write to her friend Renate; the two have known each other since University. The waters lapping the shore, the sounds of the breeze rustling the trees with birds in all directions singing and squawking, and not a car to be heard let us get lost here picturing fishermen in the early dawn light preparing these boats to head into the gulf. For nearly an hour, we drift here before we begin the drive south.

For Caroline and me, this area of northern Florida is the epitome of green, something a resident of the desert can truly appreciate, while for Jutta, this is the very essence of wild nature, something a resident of Europe’s accounted for and planned flora can easily appreciate. We scan every tree, shrub, and corner. We are looking for eagles, hawks, and squirrels; we look for gators, manatees, and turtles.

The sunlight and blue sky are reflected in still waters, with its edges cast in shadows, hiding communities of aquatic life just out of our view. Horizons disappear behind densities of plants that look impenetrable. In this watery world along the road, we cross the famous Suwannee River, immortalized by Robert Foster in the song ‘De Swanee’ more than 150 years ago. Someday, we’ll find our way up to its waters to their origins in the Okefenokee Swamp in Georgia.

The sun begins its routine of disappearance while the clouds moving back in overhead lend dramatic flair to our closing day.

With about 200 miles to go before reaching Ft. Myers for the night, this would be the last photo that punctuates the day. Tomorrow, we enter South Florida and the Everglades.

Across the Southern U.S. – Day 3

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Awake again before dawn and on the move, we stop to admire some horses in their pasture. Why doesn’t this look like we’re next to a freeway? Because we are not. From here on, except when necessary, it is on Caroline to help us negotiate our way with the best route that allows us to avoid larger roads and highways. We may be on the move quite a bit but what we are looking at go by is equally important as to those exceptional places we have chosen to stop at on this journey.

This visit to the above-ground Broussard Cemetery was not scheduled, but it is a curiosity as none of us have ever seen such a thing. With the high water table and the low elevation here in the southern part of Louisiana, it helps to keep the dead out of the muck as they slowly turn to muck themselves. Maybe it’s morbid, but we do remember on at least one occasion when flooding in this state has released several caskets from their entombment becoming makeshift canoes taking their cargo to other places in the afterlife. I’m not exactly sure if that constitutes a spiritual journey.

Welcome to Shadows-on-the-Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. This is a historic antebellum home and center of a plantation that at one time was home to 164 enslaved people, not the home, just the plantation. While it is certainly a part of our American history, there’s something peculiar about visiting a place that was, in effect, a concentration camp for the majority of people who lived next to a palace that housed their owners. What I find particularly unsettling is that we only see the beauty of the white owner’s life and gardens, a kind of celebration of a “better” time.

The garden abuts Bayou Teche, and today, the grounds are but a fraction of the size they were back when David Weeks built this between 1831 and 1834. Just as they were moving into their 158-acre plantation, David Weeks succumbed to an illness he’d been battling and died in August 1834 while seeking medical help. The Weeks Family originally held 3,000 acres in the area. Ultimately, the land was sold off to support descendants; too bad it wasn’t carved up and given to the slaves who worked these lands.

It costs $7.00 to visit Shadows-on-the-Teche, and tours are guided only. Our guide today was a terrific lady I’d estimate to be about 75 years old with a perfect southern twang in her voice.

The home is well preserved, with much of the furniture, clothing, letters, paintings, and dishes being the originals that were with the house more than 150 years ago. In that song of a drawl, our guide tells us about the Weeks family and that “they were packrats y’all.” Our guide’s knowledge and enthusiasm for introducing us to the history of the family was nearly more interesting than the home itself.

I’m conflicted in wanting to admire the belongings and things that were considered luxuries at the time, as they could only be had due to the spirit-breaking labor of what must have been more than one thousand slaves that fell under the family’s control. This is only a guess because with these 158 acres having about one slave per acre, I can only imagine that the other 2,842 acres must have had at least a good fraction of as many slaves as the main property.

The words and attitudes that echo in these rooms are abominations to human decency, but like we are apt to do as a country, it seems to best serve us to ignore our warts and deprivations inflicted upon others. Let’s celebrate the whitewashed version of history that lets everyone feel good about themselves, except those who are to this day second and third-class citizens and deserve far more than being pushed to the margin and told to make the best of it.

Colonnades, Spanish moss, and live oaks certainly give the area a touch of beauty.

Add a magnolia flower and my wife’s sometimes goofy face, and the world is perfect.

Then again, there is that issue of the thorny nature of her husband nearly best represented by a thistle, which is becoming a bit of a theme here on my blog: click here and here.

One last glance at Bayou Teche, and soon we’ll be at scheduled stop number two in Houma, Louisiana.

We have arrived at 1921 Seafood in Houma. This restaurant holds a special place in our hearts because it was three years ago, on Day 17 of our first cross-country trip, that Caroline and I stopped here by chance and fell in love with what we felt Louisiana cooking should be like. And wouldn’t you know it, we are too early today; they don’t open till 4:00, and it’s only 2:00. But before disappointment could set in, they asked what we might want and said they’d accommodate us. Seeing me about to take a photo of Jutta and Caroline, the woman who was helping us, handed the ladies this sign.

I don’t think Jutta knows what to make of this dish of boiled shrimp, red potatoes, and corn on the cob. She’s always kind of distant when trying new foods that are foreign to her experience until she realizes that, in fact, we wouldn’t steer her wrong, though she didn’t like the clam chowder we introduced her to back in 1996.

So here we are in the Big Easy as it is often known: New Orleans, Louisiana, as it’s known officially. The home to Mardi Gras and enough stories about drunken debauchery to fill volumes. The streets are old, the curbs broken, the bricks discolored, cast iron hangs over us, and the sky is overcast; our mood is not. New Orleans is like stepping into a dream. A city of mythic proportions that we could easily spend days exploring.

Our self-guided wandering tour starts in a nondescript little side street that we’ve been told leads to the more famous streets of the French Quarter. We first turn onto Chartres Street and take a left to Toulouse Street, followed by Royal Street and then another side street to another and then another street. Street musicians dish out humor and tragedy with a bit of music to accompany the one-liners lamenting being kicked out, cheated on, drunk, and broke. Cast-iron balconies with their hanging plants and flours have this looking just like it does on TV. Another turn and more musicians, but this band is serious, as evidenced by twin battling washboards; they are playing music you want to have fun with.

We walk toward Saint Louis Cathedral and Jackson Square after seeing on one of the local maps that the Mississippi River is directly across from the square. To our surprise and great fortune, we stumble upon Café Du Monde, which also happens to be right here on the edge of the square. The café is world-famous for its beignets which are a popular food here in New Orleans, as our line stretches behind and around and back again. Waiting for an order of those famous square French doughnuts heavily dusted with powdered sugar and a cup of their chicory coffee only takes minutes. We step out on the sidewalk in front of the café and do our best not to wear the powdered sugar.

Using the Mississippi River in New Orleans as our backdrop, it seemed like a great place for a selfie to note our short 3.5-hour stay in this historic city.

Back through Jackson Square and over to the most well-known street in New Orleans, we are on the infamous Bourbon Street. The street is closed to through traffic as the pedestrians represent too large a hazard, especially after these partying revelers have had few drinks.

This is not a street to take your family, and although Caroline points out a t-shirt that speaks to my inner road-raging idiot that elicits a solid laugh from her and me, it would most likely make a majority of parents uncomfortable. People visiting Bourbon Street are gravitating towards the music, and for good reason. In this group of ten guys, the brass section is stomping out some foot-slamming groovy tunes that are jammin’ with a hot tempo.

Turning the corner, we fall into a strange silent hole, or so it seems, after leaving the festive Bourbon Street. Walking along we take in the architecture before finding our car to leave this city. As happy as we were to be here, we are also happy to be leaving. We are in vacation mode, and for us, that means life has slowed down, and we are out to appreciate the beauty of things. New Orleans demands you jump on the truck and join the parade; we, on the other hand, want to hug trees.

On the way out of New Orleans, we fumble, trying to find a little red corner building with a sign that reads, The Praline Connection. The internet proves to be an invaluable tool in identifying tidbits of treasured information that, short of a personal recommendation, we would otherwise not learn of. The Praline Connection is one of those super finds. The claim by the author I had read prior to leaving Arizona is that these were the best pralines ever. While I double-parked next to a busy corner, Caroline ran across the street to secure our confectionery booty. Jutta doesn’t ask why we are stopping; she must know by now that my surprises never fail to deliver a smile. Once Caroline is back with the goods, an exclamation of ‘sagenhaft’ comes from the back seat. The word rolls off her tongue with an elongated first syllable and a pronounced last syllable. Sagenhaft is German for incredible. These pralines are seriously sagenhaft.

The Lake Pontchartrain Causeway is a 24-mile-long bridge, making it the longest in the world. It takes us half an hour to cross it, traveling north to join the I-10 east, taking us to Pascagoula, Mississippi. Tonight, we will stay at the La Font Inn, our second Patel Motel on this trip. A Patel Motel is one of the many motels across America owned by a Gujarati family. Hailing from the state of Gujarat in India, the Patels are the Gujarati equivalent of America’s Jones or Smith. Due to the phenomenon of so many roadside Middle of America motels now being owned by so many Patels, they have affectionately become known as “Potels.” They are also usually the cheapest motels in town.

Update: La Font Inn was torn down in 2010 and replaced by a Hilton Garden Inn.