ISO Alligators

After a couple of days in New Orleans, complete with a riverboat tour, a Bourbon Street jazz club, a couple of Frenchmen Street jazz clubs, a little art shopping and some good (though bacony) food, we were on our way again, destination Natchez, Mississippi. I wanted to drive the River Road trail which, I assumed, passed closer to the river and also went by several plantations. Admiring plantation architecture was way down on the list of our priorities for this trip, but I figured if they were more or less on the way we should stop and check out at least one of them.

What we didn't expect until we were already enroute was that we might have an opportunity to take a swamp tour. It hadn't really occurred to me, but yes, we were driving through the bayou and they really do have alligators in this part of the country. We saw a small, curious sign along the highway, at least, that implied as much. A fruit vendor along the highway (we were sooo happy to find some fresh fruit and vegetables, all unadulterated by bacon) informed us that Munson's Swamp Tours ( http://www.munsonswamptours.com/ )might be difficult to find. He had tried it himself one time, just out of curiosity, and only found it through extreme perseverance and because he had nothing else to do that day. We might not be so lucky. I whipped out my iPad and asked if he could show us the way, pointing out the pulsing blue dot that was us. "Oh," he said, "maybe with that thing you'll be able to find it."

It was quite a detour, but we did find the swamp tour shack. Alas, the next tour wasn't for another two hours and we didn't have that much time to wait. In any case, said a French tourist just arriving from the morning ride, the alligators seemed to be mostly hibernating. I didn't know that alligators hibernate. It didn't really seem cold enough for hibernation. Maybe the tour guide just said that because they didn't find any alligators and he didn't want his French visitors to be too disappointed. Whatever the reason, we skipped the swamp tour and continued on with our drive. If you're ever in the area during the non-hibernation season, however, and you want to get up close and personal with an alligator, it's probably worth a try.

We also visited the Rosedown Plantation House ( http://www.rosedownplantationhome.com/ ). My mom and I make good travel partners when it comes to things like walking through plantation houses and touring gardens. We were both quite interested in going to one and Rosedown turned out to be a perfect stop along our day's route, but neither of us was interested in going to more than one. It's nice little synchronicities like that which make for compatible travel partners.

Our long drive that day ended at the Natchez Eola Hotel, and that's where, for me, the nightmare began.

One thing I've learned about myself from traveling with other people is that I'm a much lighter sleeper than I had realized. I thought it was normal for the human brain to take an hour or more to wind down and fall asleep. I thought it was normal for people to wake up in the middle of the night if there was a ruckus outside. When I'm traveling, I always like to get a room on the street with an operable window so I can stick my head out and listen to the street noise of whatever place I'm in. That street noise rarely prevents me from sleeping. I like street noise. But I guess I don't like all street noise.

When I traveled in Morocco with my French friend Caroline, I discovered that she takes all of about two minutes to fall asleep. Literally, we would wrap up a lively conversation and say goodnight, and within two minutes she'd be snoring away. My friend Trish was even faster... on our trip through Portugal and Spain she consistently nodded off in a minute or less. Amazing! I can't do that under normal circumstances, let alone when I'm traveling. Add to that a noisy party outside and the night starts to get very, very long. Our lovely street-side room at the Eola was quiet enough when we went to bed, but right at midnight someone enjoying a rigorous night of partying at the club next door must have walked outside for a cigarette and left its door open. Suddenly, it was as though the party was right there on our balcony, and essentially, that's where it was. Several floors down, but facing right towards our room. Our room with the lovely, historic balcony doors that don't quite close all the way, allowing every decibel of sound direct entry. It couldn't go on, I thought. Someone will say something. But minutes went by and on it went. Boom! Boom! Boom! Ta ta boom! How could my mom possibly be sleeping through this?

After the eternity of five minutes, I decided to call the guy at the front desk to see if he could do anything. But I didn't want to wake my mom by picking up the phone. Lucky her that she can sleep through it, I thought, envious. Instead of picking up the phone, I pulled on some flip flops and took the elevator downstairs. The guy at the front desk knew exactly what club I was talking about. "How long do they stay open?" I asked.

"Two, three, four o'clock," he said. "Depends."

I had a long drive the next day and the last thing I wanted was to listen to somebody else's party for the next four hours. "I can put you in a different room," he suggested.

"Can I go in one and leave my mom sleeping where she is?"

"Mmmm, no. Sorry. Either you both go or you both stay." I felt bad about it, but I had no choice. "Do you want me to send up a porter with a cart?"

"Yes, please," I said.

That was only one part of the fiasco of the Eola, but I won't go into the rest. All was more or less fixed by the time we checked out, and I more or less managed to get enough sleep to be a safe driver the following day. I still got a ticket on our way to Clarksdale, but I don't suppose I can blame that on loud music or poor-fitting doors. Call that my $295.50 user's fee for the privilege of using the lovely, long, straight and well-policed roads of the State of Mississippi. In the grand scheme of things, that was money well spent.