Having learned from our misadventures of the previous morning, we abandoned all thought of the Riverfront Streetcar, and walked to Canal St via Bourbon St. In the unflattering light of day, the street is littered with plastic cups, mardi gras beads, and assorted other debris from the previous night's debauchery. New Orleans doesn't strike me as the sort of place where one would take a family on vacation, so I was surprised to see a number of parents walking their children down Bourbon St that morning, past the strip clubs and novelty shops and bars, some of which were already open for business at 9 am.

On our journey down Bourbon St, we stopped to take a few photos of Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop, which, perhaps because it is slightly off the main section of Bourbon, was not yet open.

Our revised plan worked out much better than the original, and we arrived at Lafayette Cemetery No. 1 early for the 10:30 am tour, and had time to browse some more, read the plaques on either side of the entrance, and take a few pictures before our tour assembled.

It was definitely worthwhile to have made the return trip, as the information provided by our tour guide included not only details about the cemetery, but also a history of New Orleans, and explanations of the various rituals and ceremonies surrounding burial in the city. Most tombs contain two shelves for holding caskest during their initial burial period. Once the deceased is placed in the tomb, it is sealed for a year and a day, during which time, thanks to the climate, the body is reduced to little more than ashes and a few fragments of bone. When the time is up, the remains are moved to their final resting place, the caveau, which is an open space under the tomb. The shelf is then freed for use for another burial.

Our guide also pointed out tombs which held specific interest for their pristine restoration work, unusual features, or renowned residents. Some had particularly interesting engravings (like the fire engine on the communal tomb for the Jefferson Fire Company), or inscriptions (a German poem on the tomb of Catherine Klein, and the description of Victoria Smith Fluke "A Beautiful Uptown Lady"), which we would not have noticed on our own. We also learned that although the city owns the cemetary itself, the individual tombs are owned by the families, who are responsible for the upkeep of their property. In the past, families used to gather on All Saints Day to clean and repair their tomb and visit with their relatives. But now, in many cases, there is no one left in the city to take care of the tombs, explaining why so many of them are in such disrepair. The Save Our Cemetaries group works to restore and maintain these uncared for tombs, but they cannot do so without the permission of the owners, who can be difficult to track down. It's sad to think that many of these fascinating structures will be allowed to fall to ruin, leaving an lot full of rubble.

The wall vaults which line the cemetery walls can be rented by families if their family tomb is already occupied. After the year and a day are up, the remains would be moved to the caveau beneath the family tombs. For those who don't have a family tomb, their remains will be deposited in the caveau beneath the wall vault, to mingle with the remains of strangers.

This tomb is notable for being made of cast iron. It's the only one of its type in the cemetery.

Our return journey to the French Quarter was enlivened by the group of EMTs who were gathered at the back of the streetcar with us. The streetcars are reversible, and they were taking pictures of one of their members "driving" the streetcar. Since we were facing backwards, the streetcar appeared to be playing chicken with the cars that were following us, and morbid EMT humor involving traffic accidents abounded. This helped take our minds off the fact that our feet were already aching from the walking we had already done.

The next item on our day's agenda was a Haunted History Tour of St. Louis Cemetery #1, New Orleans oldest, and perhaps best known, city of the dead. The tour was scheduled to depart from Rev. Zombie's Voodoo Shop at 1:15, necessitating a less than leisurely walk from Canal to St. Peter. We arrived in time to buy our tickets, and drinks to quench our parched throats. The tour guides distributed white Mardi Gras beads as souvenirs and taunted our group for being unable to catch any of the sets they tossed in our direction. Finally, the group was divided into two sections, and we headed off with our tour guide, Midge. As our group wandered in the general direction of St. Louis number 1, our guide gave us a brief history of the cemetery, explaining that as the city grew, the cemetery was moved twice, and then cut in half to accomodate the needs of the living.

----The entrance to the labyrinthine St. Louis #1. Unlike Lafayette, St. Louis is a Catholic cemetery, and the families here can opt for "perpetual care" so that a surprising number of the tombs are freshly whitewashed and in good condition...however some still keep to the old ways and take care of the tombs themselves (in some creative and surprising ways).---

----St Louis #1 is perhaps best known for being the final resting place of Marie Laveau, the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans... ...and for this impressive Italian societal tomb which was featured in "Easy Rider" (apparently everyone associated with this movie behaved so appallingly - is anyone surprised? - that no one else has been allowed to film inside this cemetery)---

Leaving the cemetery, our group made its way to Congo Square in Louis Armstrong Park. Marie Laveau used to practice her Voodoo and ancestor worship in the square along with other Africans who would gather here on their day off. Leaving the park, we made one more stop, at the site believed to have been the home of Marie Laveau, although her house, if it ever really stood here, is long gone. After this, the group dispersed, and we headed back to Jackson Square, stopping in at the Voodoo Museum to buy some more souvenirs.

We wandered somewhat aimlessly around Jackson Square some more, checking out the mimes, and the fortune tellers (we had been discussing the possibility of getting a tarot reading, or some other reading and wanted to check out our options).

The Vampire Mime, luckily, is immune to the deadly rays of the sun.

Everybody loves a sock monkey.

Exhausted from all the walking we had done (we'd pretty much been on our feet since we woke up at 7:30 am or so), we took a much needed rest, lounging on the grass in Jackson Square. We also examined our interesting sunburns, and realized, much too late, that sunblock probably would have been a good idea.

As we wandered around the Square again, we talked some more about getting a reading of some sort, but the thing that most appealed to me was the handwriting analysis, and I decided to see what someone would make of my chicken scratch. On our way to the handwriting analyst, we stopped to watch Dr. Eric, a street performer with flaming red hair and a shirt to match, whose act consisted of playing with fire (literally, he ran a burning torch along his arm with no apparent discomfort, and demonstrated his fire-eating skills) and walking on glass in his bare feet. Throughout the show, he kept the audience amused, not only with his antics, but with a running commentary of caustic wit aimed at both himself and members of the audience.

For a finale, Dr. Eric removed his shirt and lay on top of the pile of broken glass and had a rather large man from the audience stand on his chest.

After the show, we proceeded to the table where the graphologist had set up shop. He had a notebook with pages divided into 8 or 10 squares, and he asked me to provide a sample of my handwriting, and my signature. Although I had been planning on doing this, and had the a half hour or so during the Dr. Eric show to decide what to say, I suddenly felt pressure to write something witty and clever. Absolutely nothing came to mind and I was daunted by the sight of the other squares filled with little messages...so I scrawled something to the effect of "This is my first visit to New Orleans and I am enjoying myself very much" followed by my typically illegible signature. Lame, I know. The handwriting analyst proceeded to tell me that based on my handwriting, he could tell that I was a creative person with an appreciation of the beautiful things in life and a need for balance. He suggested that I surround myself with beautiful things and good people, that I should live in a nice home and that I would be happy with a partner who is creative, kind, and a good lover. He then proceeded to tell me about his houses in Italy and New York, showing me some paintings he had done, and generally offering himself as a prospect for my affections. Typical. Hmmph. Anyway, the experience was entertaining, if not terribly enlightening.

For our evening's entertainment, we stopped in to Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop to judge for ourselves whether they really served the best hurricanes in town. Mmmmm hurricanes. We got cute little souvenir plastic cups for our drinks and sat down at one of the cozy candlelit tables. Apparently the bar is most frequented by couples and locals looking for a more quiet atmosphere and less of the hubbub of the central section of Bourbon Street. We sat sipping our drinks for a while and enjoying the subdued ambience, and trying to decide what else to do with our evening. We had been meaning to visit the Germaine Wells Mardi Gras Museum, but had been unable to do so because the museum was only open in the mid-afternoon and then again after 6 (access to the museum is through Arnaud's restaurant, so you can only get in when the restaurant is open for lunch/dinner). Drinks in hand, we made our way to Bienville St and found our way into the museum (with help from the hostess).

Germaine Wells participated in many Mardi Gras parades and balls, and her lavish costumes are on display in this free museum. This gown decorated with grapes and ivy was one of my favorites.