Sunday 20th October 2019

Another day in Nawlins.

And an even hotter on than Saturday.

So, to be different, we have booked a swamp tour for the morning, into the afternoon.

What larks!

We have to be at a hotel behind ours at eight to pick up a bus. We were up in time, all showered and dressed, camera batteries checked, memory cards in camera.

All set.

I just go to check something online, and an e mail had come in, that due to ongoing demolition work (more of this later), the pick up point had been moved.

Eeeek.

So, we look for the hotel, work out a route. But we have to be there by eight, and we have 25 minutes to get there.

We get going.

Sunday morning in Crescent City is a thing to behold, drunks and the less lucky were sleeping where they could, partially dressed and some stinking. Talking of stinking, the streets smell pretty bad too. Gangs of Ne'er-do-wells hanging around looking at doing mischief, or they might just be bored. Eyes down and walk on.

Down Canal Street, the turn right just before the river, and two blocks along was the hotel, and a large group of people also awaiting for the tour are already there. Including on in a Reanimator t shirt, I admire his and he says nice things about my They Live t shirt.

We wait and wait. One bus comes, double parking beside the taxi rank, which infuriates the first driver who wants to throw some punches, it seems. The bs moves on, and ours comes. We climb on as our names are ticked off.

All aboard the Skylark.

Our driver, Pam, welcomed us on board, gave us a safety brief, and drive off, taking us out of the downtown towards the motorway. On the way she asked where we were all from, whether we had tried various cocktails, foods, bars and so on, getting up a real feel good atmosphere on board.

She also points out the 9th Ward, still recovering from Katrina, the Lower 9th, even worse. But many homes have been rebuilt.

I10 leaps out over Lake Pontchartrain, the remains of the old freeway on the left hand side, another victim of Katrina.

We turn off the freeway, down ever smaller roads until we come to their office, beside a lifting bridge. Jools goes to check in, and get the wristbands we needed to board one of the half dozen boats.

We buy some snacks, as there had been no time for breakfast. And then, one by one the groups were called forward by the captains; ours being the last.

We climb on the boat, he says: don't fall in, don't drop your phones in the water.

And we were off, slowly backing out of the dock, then opening the throttle on the outboard. We were sat at the front, the bow lifts up and we accelerate along the river, taking long quick turns as the river meanders. It is a fabulous morning, the trees are hung with Spanish Moss, sunlight falls through it. The wind is in our hair, the sun in our eyes.

It is perfect.

There are many boats out, and each captain has their "spot" for finding alligators. Once one boat has been to one site, and other slides in.

We see one large adult alligator from afar, but thanks to my zoom lens, I get a fine shot.

We go on.

Time and time again, the boat slows and the captain steers us down narrow channels as we look for more gators. We only find ones fairly young, less than 7 years. But he has snacks, which he teases the gators with, to get them the rear up out of the water.

That happened on the other side of the boat, on our side we saw a small two year old gator which was more than happy to show us its gnashers.

All along the river and narrow channels, reeds an other plants hummed with life, butterflies, dragonflies and birds. Elsewhere, trees were hung with beards of Spanish Moss, which is neither Spanish nor a moss. But that is mere details.

We take a channel into the mangrove woods, trees and roots pushing out of the water. The channel narrows, and at the end is a bristly shape, a flat snout sniffs the air.

A wild boar.

Each captain has a selection of treats with which to feed the not-so-wildlife, and as the case here A cup of something entices the hog to the side of the boat, half submerged in the brackish water.

The cup is emptied into the open mouth, bits go flying, but the hog is happy.

As are we as cameras record the scene.

Behind the boat, a pair of pleading eyes looks in, and a raccoon tries to get near the boat. I am in the perfect spot to get shots, as it sits at the foot of a large tree, waiting for something. One of the passengers throws something, and the trat lands at the foot of the tree. The raccoon grasps it in its little hands.

And so our trip was coming to an end.

The boat backed out, and we make our way to the river, where the captain opens the throttle and we cruise away down the river, back to the bridge and dock, where our bus was waiting, as we were the last boat to return.

The bus retraced its way back to downtown, and on the way passing the partially collapsed Hard Rock Hotel.

Last week I saw a video of people running for their lives as a building under construction collapsed. Little did i know that 9 days later, we would be staying three blocks from it, and on Sunday the two unstable cranes were due to be brought down in controlled explosions. One man lost his life in the collapse, and local news has been paying tribute to the man.

We drop our stuff back at the hotel, only to find it is in the exclusion zone, but the police lets us in. And after dropping our stuff off we go back out to find a place to eat as it was half two and we had yet to eat.

Deaney's was closed, but the seafood next door was open. We go in.

It is quiet as most public are outside the exclusion zone, so we get a table and a very attentive waitress.

I have the seafood platter, which was wonderful, along with two hurricane cocktails and a beer.

Phew, that was some good eatin'.

And then we were told that all doors had been locked whilst the explosive charges were set off.

Another cocktail, please!

Just after three there is a huge bang that echoes round the narrow streets, and all local TV channels switches to a life feed as the cranes were brought down.

Or one was.

As the second half collapsed onto the hotel. A partial success, then.

We walk back to the hotel where after a few minutes we both lay on the bed and are soon snoring gently.

At half six we wake up to find it dark outside and our heads spinning.

I have had enough of the French Quarter at night, I know, must be getting old. But Jools says she wanted to go out, and so we do at just after eight, but it is madness out there. Not quite Saturday night madness, but mad enough. We walk down the road beside the hotel, and into another hotel bar-cum-restaurant.

I have a brown ale, Jools has cider. We have a starter to top us up for the night, and I have garlic crusted wings, which was yet more good cajun eatin'.

On all TV screens was the Cowboys thrashing the Eagles, and the sound turned up all the way to 11, so there was no escaping it.

We were done our last night in New Orleans. We walk back to the hotel, I lay on the bed and watch the end of the game.

All done.

Tomorrow, the last stage of the holiday happens, a road trip along the coast into Texas.