I just love a good mystery, and when you weave it with lost treasure, or lost tourists, I get almost spastic- in a good way.
Here in Louisiana we have several great mysteries, like, why do tourists stand in line for h-o-u-r-s at Cafe Du Monde to drink bitter chicory coffee and eat deep fried beignets when they could just walk a few blocks to Cafe Beignet and sit down immediately?
It's a Mystery.
Why do our elected city officials continue to believe they will not get caught by delivering lucrative city contracts to their brother-n-law's asphalt company, which is actually a shill storefront in the wife's name, and used to wash money so that they can own a weekend home in Jamaica?
It's a Mystery.
How does a very visible pot-hole become a spot that no one can seem to navigate around, daily filling-up with homeless men on a diabetic bender?
It's a Mystery (not).
Why are all traffic laws wildly abandoned in favor of a physical manifestation of the shortest distance between two points is a straight line? (Actually, I like this one).
But, it's a Mystery.
And, finally, where the hell is Jean Lafitte's buried treasure? On the island of Barataria? In the Superdome? Or down on Bourbon St. in the Quarter?
I'm going with the Bourbon St. theory. In fact, I go there as often as possible...
No Mystery about that.
|Lafitte's Blacksmith Bar|
941 Bourbon St.
The interior has not been touched. It still smells
like wood smoke and shows sign of fire.
These bricks show the wear of many feet
(attached to humans
enjoying the best Hurricane in town).
You tend to STAY awhile.
|Lafitte's is the oldest continually operating saloon in the USA.|
It was originally Jean Lafitte's brother, Jean's, blacksmith shop.
It was a cover for the famous pirates stolen booty.
You can still see booty here today- but it's not Gold.