Russian Time Magazine

Florida, Where Alligators Are Part of the Landscape

While Californians talk about traffic and earthquakes, people in Florida share their neighborhoods with alligators—and even give them names. Victoria traveled into the heart of the Everglades to find out what it’s really like to live where nature makes the rules.

Florida — where gators feel at home

October in Florida feels like summer’s younger sister. The sun is still warm but softer, the breeze carries a hint of coolness, and the air smells like saltwater and mangroves. While morning fog rolls over California’s coast, Florida is still deep in vacation mode. And under this bright sky, not only people feel at home. Welcome to Florida—a place where beaches meet swamps, and crocodilians live like true natives.

A neighborhood straight out of prehistoric times

Locals have long learned to live side by side with these ancient creatures. A gator sighting isn’t breaking news—it’s more like an everyday inconvenience, something between a broken AC and a slow Wi-Fi connection.
“Yeah, one showed up on our street a couple weeks ago,” says Linda, a well-groomed retiree from Tampa whose backyard opens to a pond. “It crawled under someone’s car to warm up. The police came, waited for it to leave, and that was it. Nobody freaked out.”
She laughs and calls alligators “real neighbors.” Sometimes they nap by the water, sometimes they stroll by the pool, and sometimes they just cross the road—slowly, like they own the place.
“The main rule,” Linda adds, “don’t get close, don’t feed them, and don’t try to take a selfie. They’re not fans of paparazzi.”

Everglades — the land of toothy shadows

In October, Everglades National Park looks almost magical. The heat fades, migratory birds return, and the wetlands glow under a transparent sky. I arrive early in the morning, driving through endless green that seems to merge with the horizon.
At a wooden viewing deck I meet ranger Thomas—a tall, sunburned man with a calm smile and a radio on his belt.
“People come here looking for exotic wildlife,” he says. “But for us, this is just another day. If you see a gator in the morning, it means the day started right.”
He points toward the reeds where a massive gray shape rests just above the water.
“That guy’s been here for years. We call him Bob. If you hear a splash, that means it’s lunchtime.”
A loud splash follows, and tourists rush for their phones. Thomas doesn’t even flinch.
“Just remember—respect their space. This is their territory. We’re only visitors.”

When your neighbors have sharp teeth

Florida is home to about a million alligators—roughly one for every twenty residents. Even though October is considered a “calm season,” the news headlines still sound wild:
“Alligator wanders into supermarket”
“Gator delays golf tournament—again”
Jake, a bartender from Orlando, laughs remembering his childhood:
“I grew up next to a swamp. My mom used to say, ‘Don’t run to the water—Gary’s there.’ Gary was the gator who lived near our dock for ten years. He was kind of like our family mascot.”
Floridians have made peace with their toothy neighbors. Every backyard pool has a screen enclosure—not just for bugs, but to keep curious reptiles out. And if a giant gator crawls into a canal, nobody grabs a shotgun—they just call Gator Rescue. Calm. Routine. No drama.

The swamps where America still feels wild

In the fall, the Everglades get quiet. The air is thick and humid, filled with dragonflies and the cries of herons. I stand on a boardwalk staring at still water when I suddenly notice a dark shape gliding silently below the surface. A chill runs down my spine—and then awe takes over.
Moments like this remind you: humans are temporary here. Nature came first—and it will outlast us all.

Tourism on the wild side

Fall is the perfect season for swamp tours. The sun is warm but not brutal. Around Miami and Fort Lauderdale, dozens of companies offer airboat rides. A skipper in a baseball cap glides us past cattails and points toward a gator lounging under mangroves.
“See him? If he’s smiling, he likes the weather today.”
Tourists scream with delight, film stories, and later buy T-shirts that say: “I survived the Everglades.” Souvenir shops sell stuffed gators, keychains, and “gator meat pies” (spoiler: they’re made of chicken). Even fear gets commercialized here.

When humor beats fear

Florida jokes about everything—even things that can eat you.
On the radio:
“If you hear a noise under your window, relax. It’s not a burglar. Just Gary coming home.”
Kids in schools learn gator-safety rules like Californians learn earthquake drills: stay calm and don’t run. In a Miami café, a waitress laughs at a headline: “Alligator in the pool.”
“Oh, that was at my friend’s house,” she says. “Poor guy just wanted to cool off. October is hot!”

When nature is in charge

In Florida, nature sets the rules. Houses are built around wetlands. Roads avoid swamps when they can. People adapt—not the other way around.
“We don’t fight alligators,” ranger Thomas says. “We live with them. They were here long before us, and they’ll probably be here after.”
His words feel especially true at sunset, when the marsh turns to glass and reflects a burning orange sky.

Traveling to Florida? Read this first

If you’re planning a trip to Florida, a few simple rules will keep you safe—and your vacation unforgettable:
  1. Stay back from the water—gators often hide near the edges of ponds and canals.
  2. Never feed wildlife—it’s dangerous and illegal.
  3. Stick to boardwalks and marked trails in national parks.
  4. If you see a gator in a neighborhood, call Gator Control—don’t handle it yourself.
  5. Choose licensed companies for airboat tours.
  6. Florida sun is no joke—bring sunscreen, a hat, and plenty of water.

A Californian reflection

Flying back to California, I think about how different America can be from one state to another. We have the Pacific, the Sierra Nevada, and Hollywood. They have swamps, heavy air, and lazy prehistoric beasts sunbathing in backyards. We worry about earthquakes; they worry about gators in swimming pools. And yet, both states live with nature—not against it.
Florida is a reminder: the wild world is still close. And maybe that’s exactly what keeps life real.
2026-01-14 03:19 VISTA POINT