It's raining money, hallelujah

I was inside the cemetery yesterday with a fine group of tourists from Iowa, or Indiana, or Illinois or some such place. I was in fine form, elaborating on our unique custom of disposing of our dead, dozens of corpses together, in above-ground brick-and-mortar boxes.

(There are 84 people interred in Marie Laveau's tomb alone and roughly 100,000 in the single city block that is St. Louis Cemetery Number One. Wanna know how that's possible? You'll just have shell out the $36 for my tour!)

So as I was saying, I was right smack in the middle of my spellbinding lecture when we were all startled by a shower of coins descending from a clear blue sky, striking our heads, and landing at our feet. Rather than wasting time pondering the source of this strange gift, I decided that the best way to show gratitude was to start shoving quarters into my pocket. A couple of my guests gathered more coins and handed them to me, evidently surmising that I needed the money worse than they did.

I still don't know for sure what was going on, but I can venture a pretty good guess. The Archdiocese which owns the cemetery recently implemented new rules in order to cut down on vandalism. Tourists aren't allowed into the cemetery unless they are accompanied by a licensed tour guide. On any given day, hundreds of people are turned away at the gate. A lot of these are pilgrims who have come to leave a gift at the tomb of the Voodoo Queen in the hope that she will make their mother-in-law sick or make them win the Powerball or something. I figure that the coins must have been tossed over the wall by some frustrated devotee of Marie Laveau who had hoped to leave them as an offering at the base of her tomb.

I just hope that I haven't upset Madame Laveau by taking a gift that was intended for her. If a wheel suddenly falls off my carriage mid-tour we'll all know why.

Can't find the trees for the forest

When I'm out on the trike I'm always on the lookout for people standing on street corners looking lost. If I don't manage to pick up a ride, I'll at least try to leave our guests with a  impression that New Orleanians are friendly, helpful folks.

Yesterday I spotted a couple who looked like suitable targets, so I stopped to offer my assistance.

"We're just looking for a bar," they said.

"Which one?" I asked.

"No particular one. Just someplace to get a drink. "

Nice! Since my grade school days I've always had an overwhelming preference for easy questions over hard ones, and I'd be hard pressed to imagine an easier question in any field than, "Where do I go to get a drink in the French Quarter?"

Did I mention that we were just a block off Bourbon? Yep. A single city block. Even if I had managed to sell them a ride, it would have been a very, very short ride!

A couple of hours later, I came across another clueless-looking couple on a corner just a couple of blocks distant from the earlier encounter.

"Can I help you find anything?" I asked.

"Yes! We're so glad you came along! We've between walking for six blocks looking for a bar and we haven't seen anything. Where's the closest place to sit down and relax and get a drink?"

I helpfully pointed out a couple of bars within spitting distance, including one that they had passed just half a block back.

Today I've decided to do an experiment. As I'm riding around looking for riders, I'd like to see if it's even theoretically possible to go six contiguous blocks in the French Quarter without passing a single bar. I'll let you know how it turns out.