Make yer way to 200 N. Alston Street, this also be known as Foley's Chamber of Commerce. Just to the north be a fine parkin' lot, free for landlubbers like yerself. Plant yer boots there and face south. Now turn a wee bit to the southeast and raise yer eyes.

Do ye see that tall bridge? She's a fine sight, not unlike the masts of me old ships stretchin' skyward. Head toward that bridge, but keep yer gaze due south. (Use your compass to be sure of your direction. Soon, ye'll spy a large, elegant two-story hotel, white as a bleached sail.

March toward her. And once yer near, lift yer eyes once again. A dozen bells swing high above—reminders of the call to adventure.

Once ye find them, turn right and seek out the narrow way—the Alley with a Feline Twist. Cats, they say, walk quiet and vanish quick. Just like I used to when avoidin' Spanish patrols.

Now, here be the part where only true pirates pay heed:

Behind a sign black as the sails on me swiftest schooner, ye'll find yer first clue. Don't be foolish and take it with ye—leave it for the next swashbuckler brave enough to follow.

There's a QR code on the left. Scan it. It'll show you yer very first clue.

⚠️ Important: The order of the clues matters. Write them down exactly as ye see them and number them 1-9. This be Stop Number One, and if ye lose track, ye may never lay eyes on the prize.

Step into the narrow pass, with brick on yer starboard side (right) and iron corn hangin' to port (left). 'Tis an alley not unlike the tight alleys of Barataria, where I'd vanish between cannon fire and cargo crates.

As ye make yer way, keep yer head movin' like a compass needle. Look left and right—watch the doors and walls, for hidden amongst 'em are cats. Painted cats, sly and still as me crew waitin' in ambush.

Count 'em well, every whiskered sentinel. Don't miss a single one. Every Mural has a cat to see.

When ye come to the Red Wall—you'll know it when ye see it—look for the blue chairs and tables.

Aye, even pirates need a break. Take a moment to snap a selfie with the Foley mural—a fine bit o' art, and proof that ye've made it this far on yer voyage. Be sure to count the cats here to add to yer tally.

Rest that peg leg, swab yer brow, and have a look around. When you're ready, rejoin the alley and continue south. There be more murals, and likely a few more cats lurkin' in plain sight. Ye should find between 13 and 14 total—but I won't tell ye the exact number. A true pirate must keep their own log, savvy?

Now, with yer final cat count in hand, ye can redeem Yer first prize. Go to Feast & Co—a fine spot to find Cat Alley treasures. Here's how ye find it:

Once yer boots touch the red brick path, step forward until you can turn right. Then, take twice as many paces as the cats ye counted. So if ye saw 13 cats, march 26 steps forward. There, ye can redeem yer first bit o' bounty.

Once ye've redeemed your treasure, press onward to find me second clue—this time in a place that warms me old bones with memories o' music, masquerades, and the jingle of stolen gems.

Stand firm with yer back to the door of Feast & Co. Picture it now: me, Jean Lafitte, strollin' through the chaos of Mardi Gras in New Orleans—masked, cloaked, and slippin' unseen through crowds as my ships filled with goods taken from fools who thought they could out-sail me. Aye, Mardi Gras weren't just for revelry—it was a perfect cover for business. And just like that, yer next clue lies hidden in the local shop that celebrates those very Streets.

Ye must look all around, and head there when the lights grant ye safe passage. Don't risk life and limb, for not even I could out-duel a runaway cart. When ye reach the right place, ye won't need to dig. The clue lies in plain sight, visible from the sidewalk. Scan the QR code and let the secrets unfold for Clue #2.

Inside? Oh, there be treasures aplenty—necklaces, jewels, earrings and more. I've seen royalty with less sparkle. With a coin or two, ye could emerge lookin' like a Queen or King o' the Gulf.

A little-known truth fer ye: by 1810, I commanded one o' the largest private corsair fleets in the Gulf. Ships like Dorada, La Diligente, and Petit Milan sailed under my flag. We took vessels clean, fast, and—aye—sometimes even sold their wares through "legal" means to local merchants. Smugglin'? Nay, just efficient tradin'. So step inside and see the jewels, and browse for jewels aplenty.

But don't forget—this be Clue Number Two, and the map grows more perilous with each step.

Ready to seek yer next clue? Plant yer boots with yer back to the jewel-laden door you just visited. Look sharp now—there be windows nearby that don't quite belong in size. That's your heading, mate. The ship ye seek lies in that very direction.

Now watch for the mighty road sign—the one that points to Robertsdale, Gulf Shores, and the great Fort Morgan. I've sailed near those waters many a time, skimming the coast at night, huggin' the inlets where soldiers dared not tread. Aye, some say I even hid loot near Fort Morgan itself—and maybe they're right...

Cross over to the same side of the road as that sign, and with the sign on yer left, Eastward lies yer next mark.

Look up, sailor. See them black sails flutterin' above ye like flags from me own ships? Aye, Dorada, La Diligente, Petit Milan—they all bore such colors, bold and ominous. Count those black sails 'til ye reach six. That's the signal ye've arrived.

Ye'll now be standin' before a fine establishment—the sort that deals in silks, gowns, and garments that sparkle in torchlight. If I were crashin' a governor's wedding, this be where I'd shop.

Scan the next clue outside—but don't rush off, mate. Step inside and take a gander. Tell the crew you're a pirate seekin' Lafitte's treasure, and they just might give ye a wink and a nod. There's no shame in admirin' the fine things—one day, when ye strike gold, you'll be back to dress like royalty.

Just remember, this be Clue Number Three, and the night grows thicker with every step.

With the fancy-dress shop at yer back, take two firm steps forward onto the pavement. Look all around, there, under the shade, ye'll spy a curious creature—a fish of red, hiding in the shade above your head.

March due east, beyond its glintin' scales. Keep goin' until ye see a sign of royalty—a monarch of the Gypsy, a place no doubt named for wanderers like meself who live by no man's law. The sun's high now, beatin' down on yer hat and back. Time to cool yer throat. Step inside this establishment, and buy yerself a drink—hot or cold, makes no difference. It'll revive ye just the same.

But afore ye enter, don't forget to scan the clue—it's there, easy to spot, right from the outside. That's Clue Number Four. Yer halfway to the truth now, and the air grows thicker with the scent of gold.

So drink deep, traveler. Refresh yer bones. Then press on. For there's still work to do, and the trail of Lafitte grows warmer...

Step back outside with yer cup empty and yer courage full. Cast yer eyes 'cross the way—there it be: a name written high on a wall, a beacon o' sweetness for sailor and scallywag alike. Even if ye can't read a lick o' letters, ye'll feel the sugar callin' from within.

Wait for the light—safety first, aye, even for a rogue like me. Cross over like a proper sailor on shore leave.

Once ye reach the other side, stand just beneath the arch. Count them—Find the three arches in a row. Beyond the third arch, ye'll spy a doorway. There, Clue Number Five lies awaitin'. Scan it swift, then step inside if ye or yer littlest deckhands be hankerin' for a bite. Trust me—a hungry crew is a dangerous crew. I've stared down mutiny more than once, and I always knew when to feed the men before lettin' 'em stew too long in the hold.

And while we speak of boldness, let me remind ye: I've been called a pirate more times than I can count. But I'll have ye know, I were a privateer—commissioned and clever, and not just a common thief on the tides. When men accused me of piracy, I didn't run—I'd look 'em in the eye and challenge 'em to a duel, right then and there. Not many kept talkin' after that. So keep yer head high, adventurer. If yer honor's questioned, stand your ground, as I did—and carry on toward what's rightfully yours.

With a treat in yer hand and fire still in yer boots, cast yer gaze once more toward the great bridge—the same one ye eyed at the start o' this adventure. She spans the rumblin' sea below, and though it be no ocean, that current's swift enough to steal a careless soul. Mind the traffic and keep yer senses sharp. No sense in losin' a leg to a cart when so close to glory.

As ye near the place where yer voyage began, slow down and search the landscape—there be signs not made of metal or gold, but of paint and art. Keep yer spyglass searching for great red flowers that never wither, and winged bugs that flit and fly in still flight. These, me hearty, mark the next passage in yer quest.

Step lightly, though—carriages still race along these lanes, and I've lost good men to wheels and whiskey alike.

Once yer near the blooms and bugs, ye'll be close. Look for a wide wooden boardwalk—a pirate never boards a ship without one, and this path is no different. Follow it to a porch that stretches broad and welcoming, like the deck of a galleon in port.

There, plain as the nose on a naval officer, ye'll find Clue Number Six. But don't rush off. Behind that door lies a trove o' local art, trinkets, and hand-crafted marvels. A pirate knows the worth of a good keepsake, and if ye seek a gift that tells a tale, ye'll find it here.

Now, let me tell ye somethin' about the name they gave me—the Terror of the Gulf. It weren't just for me raids, mind ye, but for me knowledge of the bayous and swampy channels. When the U.S. Navy came for me in 1814, I didn't run—I vanished into the wetlands, led 'em in circles 'til they dropped. Some I let go. Others... well, let's just say they weren't so lucky. That's the kind of cunning ye need on this trail. Don't just follow—outwit, outlast, out-hunt.

Ye've shopped well, sailor, perhaps picked up a trinket to prove ye were here. But now, lift yer eyes—a park lies just beyond, a green sea waiting to be crossed. The tide, in this case, be paved and bridged. Whether ye climb with vigor or ride with ease, ye and yer crew must ascend. She may not churn like the open Gulf, but take her lightly and ye'll regret it.

Make yer way up and over. This high perch be yer crow's nest—the place where I, Lafitte, would scan the horizon for sails, storms... and soldiers.

Before ye descend the other side, take a moment. What do ye see?

There, through the limbs and leaves, green and thick, a relic peeks out—a mode of transit long gone, powered once by fire and water: the steam train. Aye, it's not the kind o' ship I sailed, but it changed the map just the same. Many a smuggler found it useful, if ye knew which conductor to bribe.

Follow the path past the fountain, your crew in step beside ye. Walk proud—ye've come far. Ahead lies a row of freight cars, motionless but heavy with memory. Yer destination? The very last one—the caboose.

When ye reach it, pause if the sun still shines. Take a portrait of yer crew—proof that ye braved Lafitte's labyrinth and lived to tell the tale.

Turn yer attention to the Depot itself. Not the entrance folk use, but one that's locked, sealed, and silent. It's a door that can't be used, but aye—it holds a clue all the same. Scan it, mate. This be Clue Number Seven. Ye can go inside and cool off a bit, there be interesting treasures within.

When yer ready, step back outside. Use yer senses now—not just sight, but sound. What do ye hear? Let the breeze hush, let the chatter fade. There it is—running water, spillin' from a fountain as black as my heart after a double-cross.

Now walk, slowly, mindfully. Look for a railroad crossing signal—but not one that guards the tracks. Nay, this one leads to nowhere. With the fountain behind ye, and the sign on yer left side, ye'll be on the right path. Take note—ye should see it from both the front and the back.

Nearby, a green sign with the name "John B." will catch yer eye. This marks 0 miles—the symbolic start o' new voyages.

Keep the road on yer right, the park on yer left, and follow the path to the Ship's anchor sitting in plain sight. Here be a an excellent spot for a family portrait. Then, at the corner, ye'll spy a most peculiar sight—a round door like somethin' outta a sea-fairytale.

Cross the stretch o' pavement that lies between you and this little cottage. Inside this eclectic harbor of tea and treat, ye'll find comfort like none other. Whether it's a hot brew to warm yer spirit, or a sweet scone to calm the storm, ye'd best stop and enjoy. A captain knows the worth of a quiet port.

Don't forget—before ye settle in, scan the code outside. This be Clue Number Eight, and yer one clue away from the end.

And while ye sip, let me share a privateer secret...

After the Battle of New Orleans, when I earned me pardon by savin' Jackson's hide, I didn't go soft. Nay—I played a deeper game. I served as a spy for Spain, watchin' over the tangled politics of the Gulf. And in 1817, I made me new lair in Galveston, then Spanish Texas. I called it Campeche—and built it with walls, watchtowers, and secrets strong enough to hold back kings.

Ye've come far, adventurer. Through alleys, across bridges, past jewels, cats, and cloaked memories. But now, the sands of time be settlin'—and the final X is just within reach.

Stand tall now, with yer back to the round door of the cottage. You've had yer tea, you've heard me truths. Now breathe deep—yer journey is about to conclude.

Look to the north. There they stand: five black posts, like silent sentinels watchin' over the final passage. Before 'em, across the road... there it is—a great oak tree, ancient and wise. Its roots run deep, just like the legends I left behind.

That be the spot. The X. The mark. The end.

Approach it with the same care ye showed at the start. There are two QR codes awaitin' under its branches:

• Scan the one marked Number 1 first—where you'll hear from a realtor whose skills run so deep, she even helped me find me dream castle. And that's no easy feat.
• Then scan Number 2—This holds yer treasure claimin' spot.