Brian Maass
If I were going to lose weight, I would have done it by now, and I only smoked for one summer in college so I could get extra breaks from a job I didn’t like, so I have a lot of freedom when it comes to the annual ritual of setting new year’s resolutions. While other people are excommunicating carbohydrates and stocking up on Dum-Dum suckers as a placeholder for That Newport Pleasure, I’m free to set the bar as low as I like; say what you will about attainable goals, but not only did this approach help me clean out my closet, but that one dusty Saturday cast a glow of success over an otherwise sour 2016. That said, I know many people still set lofty goals for themselves each January. Shreveport can help. On a recent adventure-themed media tour of the town, I’m now convinced that whatever your resolutions, Shreveport is the place to set them in motion.
Make New Friends
No one had told me there would be llamas. Gators and Friends Alligator Park and Exotic Zoo showed up on the trip schedule as a place to zip line over alligators and, if you wished, meet a baby gator; the petting zoo was not mentioned, but when I saw the telltale mop-tops of the world’s fourth-best animals, I was off. Admission includes a cup of omni-chow pellets that can be fed, either by hand or via little chutes to the ones with less nimble teeth, to most of the animals present. Using the time-honored exchange of food for affection, I befriended llamas, alpacas, a dour camel, kangaroos, assorted goats and deer, some little horses, and a rhea, the South American cousin of the emu. Full disclosure, I did get carried away and try to kiss one of the kangaroos on the snout; this was not, ultimately, my wisest decision, although I do prefer kicking the fence and running away to a “let’s be friends” talk.
Brian Maass
Face Your Fears
There are an awful lot of things I don’t like, but I am only really afraid of scorpions and heights. (Lest you be tempted to mock me, I’ll have you know that scorpion pincers are modified mouthparts.) I’m so rattled by high places that I don’t like remembering that I’ve been to the Grand Canyon; so the seven-segment zip line course at Gators and Friends represented a real challenge. Among other habitats, the zip lines pass over the alligator pond, which is billed as the thrill, but I was much more dismayed at the idea of being above gators—up high, in a direct challenge to gravity and the Fates—than I was at the idea of a potential splashdown among predators that I assumed were logy in the brisk air and full of chicken. I won’t say I got comfortable on the zip lines, but I did wind up having a whizz of a time, speeding over trees and looking down at the long-suffering camel. There are three- or seven-line experiences available; as lagniappe, the guides will show you how to do a few basic tricks like regulating speed, setting a zigzag course, or flipping upside-down. I did not attempt these (cf. above re: tempting the Fates), but they looked fun.
Reconnect with Long-Lost Relatives
Brian Maass
Chimp Haven, just south of Shreveport, is the country's only sanctuary for chimpanzees. The facility is only open to visitors six days of the year, so plan in advance. The Chimp Haven website (chimphaven.org) is a help, with detailed biographies and insights onto particular friendships among the chimps.
Chimp Haven, in Keithville just south of Shreveport, serves as the country’s only sanctuary for chimpanzees. Chimps retired from medical research and—in one case—confiscated from irresponsible “pet” owners are sent to this cozy (by ape standards) shelter-cum-retirement facility in Northwest Louisiana to hoot, climb, fling their waste, and generally monkey around as God intended. Tours include a discussion of the chimps’ speedy annual check-ups—NASCAR-level precision and cooperation mean a resident can get a check-up and quick dental cleaning in under eight minutes—and a look at some of the habitats, along with stories of chimp triumphs. A 2015 National Institutes of Health decision to no longer support testing on chimpanzees (they really are too nearly human) means that Chimp Haven will only grow in upcoming years, with the population having recently roughly doubled and expected to grow further. The facility is open to visitors only about six days a year, so plan in advance, although the Chimp Haven website (chimphaven.org) is a treat in itself, offering bios of each resident—complete with photos and notes on which chimps are friends.
[Read this: Shreveport Eats: Our neighbor to the north has an impressive food scene.]
Eat More Animal Products
Longwood General Store, a convenience store in Mooringsport that happens to contain a steakhouse, offers inch-and-a-half-thick steaks in all sizes except “small.” They also, to their eternal credit, know how to cook a thick steak at a perfect rare, neither raw nor I-guess-I’ll-be-a-good-sport medium. Steaks come with a cheese plate of cheddar cubes with homemade ranch for dipping and a small salad liberally covered with shredded cheese. When we were there, the restaurant area was heavily decorated for Halloween, adding a certain thematic unity to my perfectly bloody meat.
Brian Maass
Establish a Beauty Regimen
A small pool at the Shreveport Aquarium holds a few cleaner shrimp, creatures who get the spotlight in murky nature documentaries due to their gentle cleansing of dead skin, mucus, and parasites from “client” species who roll up to the crustacean spa. (One can only hope the shrimp continue to converse in their mother tongue as they tend to their work.) If you stick your hand in and hold still, the shrimp will crawl around them and exfoliate, leaving you with fresher, younger-looking hands (marginally) and far less smell than a day of eating crawfish. Spas offering pedicures making use of fish that perform a similar purpose have faced regulatory hurdles, due to the impracticability of sterilizing the fish between each procedure, so this is your best chance to get an ocean-style spa treatment for the foreseeable future.
[Read this: Reasons to get back to Lake Charles]
You can’t really cuddle the other fish, but the Shreveport Aquarium gets you as close as possible. A number of shallow tanks offer the chance to stroke various starfish and related animals: cool, nubbly, and fascinating. A few extra bucks will get you a few pieces of cut-up fish and instructions on how to feed them to the graceful skates and rays who lazily loop around their open-topped tank. (The trick: hold it sticking out between two fingers of your fist, and the ray will float over it and suck it up like a noodle.)
Brian Maass
Step Out of Your Comfort Zone
My previous relationship with Shreveport had largely been confined to remembering to turn onto 49 there when traveling from Dallas to New Orleans. In my later adventures exploring the various crannies of Louisiana, I’d never quite made it up there—and to be frank, assumed I wasn’t missing all that much. Mea culpa. In a slim three days, I had one of the best weekends in recent memory; I could write separate articles about food and shopping, and I wish I’d had a photographer’s eye to capture the red-brick, mural-speckled, surprising prettiness of the town. Shreveport is unlucky to be in Louisiana, where it’s overshadowed by brash New Orleans, vibrant Acadiana, and even “hey-remember-Steel-Magnolias-come-have-a-meat-pie” Natchitoches; if the state lines had shaken out a little differently, it could have been the star of Arkansas or the gem of Oklahoma, but selfishly, I’m glad it’s ours.
