Photo--Map of Louisiana! You can see where I had to drive back and forth!
Saturday, November 20, 2004
Monroe, Louisiana—New Orleans, Louisiana—Shreveport, Louisiana—Day 294
Waking up early again this morning (before 6am), I had a few hours to kill before the zoo was even going to open at 10am. Luckily the hotel had “free internet” in each rooms, so I was able to get some work done on things while I waited for the zoo to open.
I decided that I would start doing some research on the zoos that I would be hitting up on my USA leg of the trip (I only have zoos left in the USA now). I opened up my notes with the lists of zoos that I need to go to and scrolled down the list.
Oh my god.
As my eyes scanned over the “Louisiana” section, I saw the worst thing I could have seen.
“Audubon Nature Institute. 6500 Magazine Street. New Orleans, Louisiana 70178.
NEW ORELEANS?!?!
Are you kidding? Are you telling me that there was a zoo in New Orleans that I MISSED? That I drove RIGHT PAST yesterday on my way to Monroe?
Yes. Its true.
How this happened is unexplainable. I could blame it on all sorts of things—jet lag for instance—but really I think it was just me subconsciously deciding, hey, I like a challenge. I will make things as difficult as possible for Sarah RIGHT before she wants to go home for Thanksgiving. Stress is my favorite thing.
Oh man. So what I would need to do is go to the zoo here in Monroe right when it opened at 10am, photograph the lone hippo there, then book it BACK to New Orleans and get there around three o’clock or so where I would photograph the hippo there, then book it BACK up to Shreveport where, tomorrow, I would drop off the rental car and get my flight to Tucson.
So I killed time on the internet while I anxiously waited for time to pass. By 9:30 I was ready to burst. I called the zoo in New Orleans to confirm the existence of hippos (the person I talked to claimed that they had three!) and I mentally prepared myself for my big day.
After getting my “free” continental breakfast and checking out, I headed to the Louisiana Purchase Gardens and Zoo. I was there before it opened and was, of course, the first person in line. I was standing in line before they even opened the gates. Once they did, I bought my ticket ($4—a deal!) and asked the girl at the ticket booth what the hippos’ names were. She told me that there was just one, and that the hippos name was Penelope.
Great. I ran off (literally) to find Penelope, wherever she was. I didn’t have a map of the zoo but searched around for signs, luckily spotting the hippo sign close to the entrance. I ran past the birds (who called to me “hello!” as I ran past!) and passed a keeper and two teenage girls who looked like they were doing some sort of internship at the zoo.
I found Penelope, eating a huge thing of hay. I snapped a few pics then ran around to the side to get a better view of her.
That’s when the most amazing thing happened to me.
Just as I set down my bag and camera case and got ready wait for Penelope to stop eating (or for me to get a good shot of her), Penelope stopped eating and came RIGHT over to me.
She then proceeded to POSE for me, opening and closing her mouth (I’m assuming that she was expecting food from me) and it was a beautiful moment. As I clicked away, Penelope surveyed me, turned a bit, put her head down, lifted it up, opened her mouth—you know, all of the things that I would ask for from a hippo. Penelope just KNEW.
After about five minutes of modeling, Penelope grew tired of me and the lack of food I was providing her. She turned around and went back to her hay as I shook my head in amazement that THAT actually just happened.
I went to find Penelope’s indoor enclosure and found a ghastly indoor pool behind huge bars. The bars were so that you couldn’t even see the pool clearly at all. It was disgusting. I had no time to spare and dashed out of the zoo as quickly as I came—all this happened in under fifteen minutes—a record for sure.
I got in the rental car and sped off, thanking Penelope for providing me with such fantastic photos. The drive down to New Orleans was fine—rainy at times. In fact, it was pouring with such a strength at one point that I thought I would have to pull over at a rest stop and wait (thus narrowing my chances of getting to the zoo on time) but luckily the rain came and went.
I pulled into the Audubon Zoo in New Orleans with sore feet and a tired, well, everything. I got out and raced to the ticket booth where I got my ticket. It was three o’clock—I had an hour before the animals were “put away” and until five before the zoo officially closed.
Perfect.
I asked a stringy teenage boy directions to the hippos and he told me with great enthusiasm. I made it to the African Safari area as fast as I could (the zoo really wasn’t that small so this was easy) and found just one lone hippo in the enclosure—swimming around in circles over, over and over. I took pictures whenever the hippo came up to breathe (every few minutes or so) and after a while of this I decided to find out the deal about the hippo.
Secretly I was happy that there was just ONE hippo, not three!
So I wandered over to the elephants where the keepers had just finished up a talk to various visitors. I asked two teenage volunteers what the name of the hippo was—and it turned into a huge debate. Several other volunteers (all under the age of 17 practically) came over and there was a great discussion about the hippo’s name. Then they pulled in reinforcements—actual zoo keepers (who were all at least 35) and I got the enthusiastic reply from one of them, Jerry I think was his name. He was quite a character—seemed like the crocodile hunter type—and he proceeded to tell me all about Tony (the male hippo) and Tony’s history—how there used to be another hippo (Rosebud) but that Rosebud passed away after giving birth to a baby, then the baby passed away after refusing to be fed once the mother died. Tony, after surviving his loss, has managed to survive as one of the oldest hippos in captivity and, more miraculously, as the only original animal in the zoo.
While Jerry worked out just exactly how old Tony was (this took quite some time until he settled on the fact that Tony was born in 1952), I jotted down the notes about Tony. Apparently Tony swims in circles all day because he and Rosebud used to be separated on two sides of the enclosure. Now that the enclosure is opened up for both sides to be accessed at once, Tony continues to use just his one side. Poor guy.
I thanked them and headed back to Tony who was doing much of the same thing that he was before. I watched for a bit longer and then wandered over to the Louisiana Swamp exhibit to check out gift shop and the famed white alligator exhibit and then came back to Tony.
I stayed there until closing time—until of which Tony did not do another thing that warranted me taking photos of him. Especially since it was getting very dark with storm clouds rolling in, and because of the horrible mosquitoes that really should go away in November (at least I think so!) I was ready to get out of the zoo. I said goodbye to Tony and headed out of the zoo and hit the road back up to Shreveport.
Funny how the drive back up to Shreveport wasn’t all that bad. I don’t know—maybe I was delirious from the five hours of driving I had done this morning—I don’t know. Somehow I managed to drive all the way back avoiding the rain and not losing my mind either. Nothing was going to stop me from thanksgiving turkey and my mom’s chocolate pecan pie. My only stops were for gas and I pulled into a Renaissance Inn in Shreveport for the night. The hotel turned out to be a skeeeetchy place, complete with rickety beds, no towels, and bed bugs. Yuck. I was so exhausted from the day—and considering it was 11pm when I pulled in—that I cut my losses and turned out the light, hoping that morning would come quickly and feeling happy about going back to Tucson for a much needed break with the family.
I decided that I would start doing some research on the zoos that I would be hitting up on my USA leg of the trip (I only have zoos left in the USA now). I opened up my notes with the lists of zoos that I need to go to and scrolled down the list.
Oh my god.
As my eyes scanned over the “Louisiana” section, I saw the worst thing I could have seen.
“Audubon Nature Institute. 6500 Magazine Street. New Orleans, Louisiana 70178.
NEW ORELEANS?!?!
Are you kidding? Are you telling me that there was a zoo in New Orleans that I MISSED? That I drove RIGHT PAST yesterday on my way to Monroe?
Yes. Its true.
How this happened is unexplainable. I could blame it on all sorts of things—jet lag for instance—but really I think it was just me subconsciously deciding, hey, I like a challenge. I will make things as difficult as possible for Sarah RIGHT before she wants to go home for Thanksgiving. Stress is my favorite thing.
Oh man. So what I would need to do is go to the zoo here in Monroe right when it opened at 10am, photograph the lone hippo there, then book it BACK to New Orleans and get there around three o’clock or so where I would photograph the hippo there, then book it BACK up to Shreveport where, tomorrow, I would drop off the rental car and get my flight to Tucson.
So I killed time on the internet while I anxiously waited for time to pass. By 9:30 I was ready to burst. I called the zoo in New Orleans to confirm the existence of hippos (the person I talked to claimed that they had three!) and I mentally prepared myself for my big day.
After getting my “free” continental breakfast and checking out, I headed to the Louisiana Purchase Gardens and Zoo. I was there before it opened and was, of course, the first person in line. I was standing in line before they even opened the gates. Once they did, I bought my ticket ($4—a deal!) and asked the girl at the ticket booth what the hippos’ names were. She told me that there was just one, and that the hippos name was Penelope.
Great. I ran off (literally) to find Penelope, wherever she was. I didn’t have a map of the zoo but searched around for signs, luckily spotting the hippo sign close to the entrance. I ran past the birds (who called to me “hello!” as I ran past!) and passed a keeper and two teenage girls who looked like they were doing some sort of internship at the zoo.
I found Penelope, eating a huge thing of hay. I snapped a few pics then ran around to the side to get a better view of her.
That’s when the most amazing thing happened to me.
Just as I set down my bag and camera case and got ready wait for Penelope to stop eating (or for me to get a good shot of her), Penelope stopped eating and came RIGHT over to me.
She then proceeded to POSE for me, opening and closing her mouth (I’m assuming that she was expecting food from me) and it was a beautiful moment. As I clicked away, Penelope surveyed me, turned a bit, put her head down, lifted it up, opened her mouth—you know, all of the things that I would ask for from a hippo. Penelope just KNEW.
After about five minutes of modeling, Penelope grew tired of me and the lack of food I was providing her. She turned around and went back to her hay as I shook my head in amazement that THAT actually just happened.
I went to find Penelope’s indoor enclosure and found a ghastly indoor pool behind huge bars. The bars were so that you couldn’t even see the pool clearly at all. It was disgusting. I had no time to spare and dashed out of the zoo as quickly as I came—all this happened in under fifteen minutes—a record for sure.
I got in the rental car and sped off, thanking Penelope for providing me with such fantastic photos. The drive down to New Orleans was fine—rainy at times. In fact, it was pouring with such a strength at one point that I thought I would have to pull over at a rest stop and wait (thus narrowing my chances of getting to the zoo on time) but luckily the rain came and went.
I pulled into the Audubon Zoo in New Orleans with sore feet and a tired, well, everything. I got out and raced to the ticket booth where I got my ticket. It was three o’clock—I had an hour before the animals were “put away” and until five before the zoo officially closed.
Perfect.
I asked a stringy teenage boy directions to the hippos and he told me with great enthusiasm. I made it to the African Safari area as fast as I could (the zoo really wasn’t that small so this was easy) and found just one lone hippo in the enclosure—swimming around in circles over, over and over. I took pictures whenever the hippo came up to breathe (every few minutes or so) and after a while of this I decided to find out the deal about the hippo.
Secretly I was happy that there was just ONE hippo, not three!
So I wandered over to the elephants where the keepers had just finished up a talk to various visitors. I asked two teenage volunteers what the name of the hippo was—and it turned into a huge debate. Several other volunteers (all under the age of 17 practically) came over and there was a great discussion about the hippo’s name. Then they pulled in reinforcements—actual zoo keepers (who were all at least 35) and I got the enthusiastic reply from one of them, Jerry I think was his name. He was quite a character—seemed like the crocodile hunter type—and he proceeded to tell me all about Tony (the male hippo) and Tony’s history—how there used to be another hippo (Rosebud) but that Rosebud passed away after giving birth to a baby, then the baby passed away after refusing to be fed once the mother died. Tony, after surviving his loss, has managed to survive as one of the oldest hippos in captivity and, more miraculously, as the only original animal in the zoo.
While Jerry worked out just exactly how old Tony was (this took quite some time until he settled on the fact that Tony was born in 1952), I jotted down the notes about Tony. Apparently Tony swims in circles all day because he and Rosebud used to be separated on two sides of the enclosure. Now that the enclosure is opened up for both sides to be accessed at once, Tony continues to use just his one side. Poor guy.
I thanked them and headed back to Tony who was doing much of the same thing that he was before. I watched for a bit longer and then wandered over to the Louisiana Swamp exhibit to check out gift shop and the famed white alligator exhibit and then came back to Tony.
I stayed there until closing time—until of which Tony did not do another thing that warranted me taking photos of him. Especially since it was getting very dark with storm clouds rolling in, and because of the horrible mosquitoes that really should go away in November (at least I think so!) I was ready to get out of the zoo. I said goodbye to Tony and headed out of the zoo and hit the road back up to Shreveport.
Funny how the drive back up to Shreveport wasn’t all that bad. I don’t know—maybe I was delirious from the five hours of driving I had done this morning—I don’t know. Somehow I managed to drive all the way back avoiding the rain and not losing my mind either. Nothing was going to stop me from thanksgiving turkey and my mom’s chocolate pecan pie. My only stops were for gas and I pulled into a Renaissance Inn in Shreveport for the night. The hotel turned out to be a skeeeetchy place, complete with rickety beds, no towels, and bed bugs. Yuck. I was so exhausted from the day—and considering it was 11pm when I pulled in—that I cut my losses and turned out the light, hoping that morning would come quickly and feeling happy about going back to Tucson for a much needed break with the family.
Friday, November 19, 2004
Pittsburg, Pennsylvania—New Orleans, Louisiana—Monroe, Louisiana—Day 293
This morning I woke up bright and early to catch my shuttle to the airport from the hotel. Since it was so early (6:15) there was hardly any traffic and we made it to the airport at 6:45, giving me plenty of time for me to check in and get my 9:20 flight to New Orleans.
The flight to New Orleans was just under three hours and I passed my time reading and trying to master the Portuguese language. We landed in New Orleans and I went to the baggage claim where I collected my bags and headed straight to the car rental desk where I picked up my compact car that would take me five hours north to Monroe.
The man renting me the car was quite a character—big and bushy with those thick plastic glasses straight out of 1985. Because I am just one year shy of 25, they slap on a $25 “under-age” surcharge for renting a car. The woman whom I spoke with on the phone when I made the reservation warned me that I must “have a clean driving record” and I will admit that my record isn’t spot on clean. I was hoping that he wouldn’t discover this and turn me away.
He just typed in my info and after charging my credit card, handed over a rental agreement and sent me on my way to the shuttle bus that would take me to the rental lot, where I could pick “any compact car that I wanted.”
So I went out to the “second curb on the left” and waited for the shuttle to come. It pulled up and I hopped in (ok, hopping is not the right word, I dragged my stuff up the steps into the van and collapsed with heat exhaustion) and we pulled away to the rental lot.
We were soon there and I waited for my compact car to be cleaned, disappointed that I wasn’t able to pick just any car that I wanted. They seemed to be out of cars! So I waited and finally a guy pulled up in a silver Chevy cavalier and handed me the keys.
I was off. I pulled out of the lot and made my way to Interstate 10, which would take me as far north as Lafayette, then I would head north to Monroe.
Heading over the swamp land that makes up the area around New Orleans, through Baton Rouge and on to Lafayette, I was really impressed with the scenery. The fact that these freeways were just built right over the swamps was really something I hadn’t seen before.
I coasted onwards to Lafayette, stopping for a bite to eat at a Subway off of the freeway around noon. I drove on and on, and ended up taking a smaller highway up to Monroe where the speed limit wavered between 30 and 60 miles per hour. It was nice though—stopping at traffic lights and being able to look around. So THIS is Louisiana.
I made it to Monroe around 4:30pm where I actually passed the signs for the zoo. I knew it would be the best thing for me to get a hotel near the zoo and luckily I had quite the selection just down the road. I checked into a Hampton Inn and collapsed on the bed exhausted from my long drive.
I asked the girl when I checked in, who seemed to be just one of those ambiguous people who look like they are just out of high school but on the other hand might be thirty something—you just couldn’t tell. I asked her how I could get to the downtown area of Monroe. She just looked at me.
“Well,” she says, “what part do you want to go to cause there ain’t much there.”
Hmm.
“Well,” I said, “how about a movie theater? Any nearby?”
She nodded and proceeded to give me directions to the nearest theater, which was just off of highway 20.
“You can’t get lost” she told me.
I thanked her and headed to my room where I lied down for a while stretching out my tired feet. Still feeling slightly jet lagged, I could most definitely have gone to bed then but I forced myself to get up. Who knows what god-awful time I would have woken up if I went to bed at 5pm!
So I headed out around 6:30pm to see just what Monroe was made of. I drove on the freeway and exited where the receptionist told me to go—but didn’t find this “easy to find” theater. In fact, I drove all around and all I could see were Wal-Marts and McDonalds. No theaters to be found. I gave up my search and ended up at “Martha’s Catfish Buffet”—this all-you-can-eat buffet place.
I walked in and told the girl standing at the entrance “One please.”
The waiters around her all just kind of smiled and told me to head right in, pay first, find a seat and then the server will help you. So I did this—I went and paid $13 bucks for my dinner and my drink and sat down at a table. I waited for a bit until the server came up to me.
“Honey, are you waitin’ for anyone?”
“Nope.” I smiled.
“Well, shoot, did ya pay? Cause all you gots to do is get your tray over there, get your dinner and then I will bring ya a drink.”
Ohhh, right. I went and got my tray and started helping myself to all sorts of fried fish, fried cheese, fried shrimp, fried potatoes. Everything was fried.
“You aint from here are you?”
I turned around and looked at the man questioning me, who was obviously an employee (I could tell by his bright blue “Martha’s Catfish Buffet” t-shirt). He introduced himself as the owner and I smiled. He asked me where I was from and replied with arched eyebrows when I said Arizona. “Well, how did you end up HERE?” He asked. Rather than explaining, I just told him that I was “passing through.” Satisfied with this answer, he proceeded to show me all the food that I should eat. “Did you get a bit of the fried catfish? How about this baked bit?” I assured him that I was trying the house specialties and thanked him for his help.
Once my plate was full I went and sat down. My waitress brought me my drink and I ate my dinner. Several employees came over to “check on me” while I was eating, just to see if I needed anything else. It was obvious that I was the only non-local there! I finished my dinner and headed out feeling stuffed full of Louisiana food and hospitality. I drove back to the hotel where I ended up falling asleep at 9pm, exhausted from my day.
The flight to New Orleans was just under three hours and I passed my time reading and trying to master the Portuguese language. We landed in New Orleans and I went to the baggage claim where I collected my bags and headed straight to the car rental desk where I picked up my compact car that would take me five hours north to Monroe.
The man renting me the car was quite a character—big and bushy with those thick plastic glasses straight out of 1985. Because I am just one year shy of 25, they slap on a $25 “under-age” surcharge for renting a car. The woman whom I spoke with on the phone when I made the reservation warned me that I must “have a clean driving record” and I will admit that my record isn’t spot on clean. I was hoping that he wouldn’t discover this and turn me away.
He just typed in my info and after charging my credit card, handed over a rental agreement and sent me on my way to the shuttle bus that would take me to the rental lot, where I could pick “any compact car that I wanted.”
So I went out to the “second curb on the left” and waited for the shuttle to come. It pulled up and I hopped in (ok, hopping is not the right word, I dragged my stuff up the steps into the van and collapsed with heat exhaustion) and we pulled away to the rental lot.
We were soon there and I waited for my compact car to be cleaned, disappointed that I wasn’t able to pick just any car that I wanted. They seemed to be out of cars! So I waited and finally a guy pulled up in a silver Chevy cavalier and handed me the keys.
I was off. I pulled out of the lot and made my way to Interstate 10, which would take me as far north as Lafayette, then I would head north to Monroe.
Heading over the swamp land that makes up the area around New Orleans, through Baton Rouge and on to Lafayette, I was really impressed with the scenery. The fact that these freeways were just built right over the swamps was really something I hadn’t seen before.
I coasted onwards to Lafayette, stopping for a bite to eat at a Subway off of the freeway around noon. I drove on and on, and ended up taking a smaller highway up to Monroe where the speed limit wavered between 30 and 60 miles per hour. It was nice though—stopping at traffic lights and being able to look around. So THIS is Louisiana.
I made it to Monroe around 4:30pm where I actually passed the signs for the zoo. I knew it would be the best thing for me to get a hotel near the zoo and luckily I had quite the selection just down the road. I checked into a Hampton Inn and collapsed on the bed exhausted from my long drive.
I asked the girl when I checked in, who seemed to be just one of those ambiguous people who look like they are just out of high school but on the other hand might be thirty something—you just couldn’t tell. I asked her how I could get to the downtown area of Monroe. She just looked at me.
“Well,” she says, “what part do you want to go to cause there ain’t much there.”
Hmm.
“Well,” I said, “how about a movie theater? Any nearby?”
She nodded and proceeded to give me directions to the nearest theater, which was just off of highway 20.
“You can’t get lost” she told me.
I thanked her and headed to my room where I lied down for a while stretching out my tired feet. Still feeling slightly jet lagged, I could most definitely have gone to bed then but I forced myself to get up. Who knows what god-awful time I would have woken up if I went to bed at 5pm!
So I headed out around 6:30pm to see just what Monroe was made of. I drove on the freeway and exited where the receptionist told me to go—but didn’t find this “easy to find” theater. In fact, I drove all around and all I could see were Wal-Marts and McDonalds. No theaters to be found. I gave up my search and ended up at “Martha’s Catfish Buffet”—this all-you-can-eat buffet place.
I walked in and told the girl standing at the entrance “One please.”
The waiters around her all just kind of smiled and told me to head right in, pay first, find a seat and then the server will help you. So I did this—I went and paid $13 bucks for my dinner and my drink and sat down at a table. I waited for a bit until the server came up to me.
“Honey, are you waitin’ for anyone?”
“Nope.” I smiled.
“Well, shoot, did ya pay? Cause all you gots to do is get your tray over there, get your dinner and then I will bring ya a drink.”
Ohhh, right. I went and got my tray and started helping myself to all sorts of fried fish, fried cheese, fried shrimp, fried potatoes. Everything was fried.
“You aint from here are you?”
I turned around and looked at the man questioning me, who was obviously an employee (I could tell by his bright blue “Martha’s Catfish Buffet” t-shirt). He introduced himself as the owner and I smiled. He asked me where I was from and replied with arched eyebrows when I said Arizona. “Well, how did you end up HERE?” He asked. Rather than explaining, I just told him that I was “passing through.” Satisfied with this answer, he proceeded to show me all the food that I should eat. “Did you get a bit of the fried catfish? How about this baked bit?” I assured him that I was trying the house specialties and thanked him for his help.
Once my plate was full I went and sat down. My waitress brought me my drink and I ate my dinner. Several employees came over to “check on me” while I was eating, just to see if I needed anything else. It was obvious that I was the only non-local there! I finished my dinner and headed out feeling stuffed full of Louisiana food and hospitality. I drove back to the hotel where I ended up falling asleep at 9pm, exhausted from my day.
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