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Once we were up, we decided to have a proper wander around the Garden District that we´d glimpsed from our generous strangers car the night before. The houses are absolutely stunning, I could see why so many celebrities have homes there too. After some lunch on Magazine Street we had to say godbye to Fanny. Again, not a euphemism. We then strolled back up to the French Quarter where we decided to get involved with a supernatural tour of the city. We learnt about the Vampires - most notably the legend of Jacques Saint Germaine. Aman of this name lived in France in the 1700s. A very strange, extraordinary, enigmatical character. He was a master of the piano and the violin. He could converse in 6 different languages. His skills as a conversationalist were unrivaled. His wealth unfathomable; He carried gems around in his clothing. And no one knew how he came into such wealth. No one knew anything about his family, where he came from and who he was. The philosopher Voltaire called him, "the man who knows everything and who never dies." No one really knows his age. He looked about 40 and continued to do so for over half a century. As charming and engaging as he was, and how he graced the dinner table of many dukes and kings even, no one had ever saw him eat anything. Only sip his wine, exquisitely, and ramble on about everything from history to chemistry.
Fast forward to the 1920's in the jazz-raving city called New Orleans and there appears a man by the name of Jacques Saint Germaine. And in almost every caliber of description this same character matches that of the Comte above. Around 40 years of age, with heavy, heavy money bags, and the most fascinating of dinner guests. And still a complete mystery as to who he was and where he came from. He would throw lavish parties and invite all the proper and elite. Everyone would sit there divulged in the conversation and the food, and curiously enough, this Jacques would never eat a morsel, only sip his wine.
But one night he had a lady stay a bit late and out on his balcony this Saint Germaine grabbed her and tried to bite her neck. She escaped by falling from the balcony and then ran and reported the incident to the police. When the police actually decided to do something about it, Jacques Saint Germaine had entirely vanished. They searched his apartment and they found certain tablecloths and each of them laid out with large splotches of blood on them. They searched the kitchen. No sign of food or that food had ever been there. All they found where bottles of wine. And after pouring themselves a glass, drinking it, and then spitting it out, the authorities, vouched that this was not only wine in these bottles, but wine mixed with human blood.
Just one of the many Vampire stories of New Orleans, not helped by the high murder rate - many of which seem to mysteriously involve blood and cannibalism. It´s easy to see why Anne Rice chose NOLA as the setting for her books.
After we were duly scared with more stories of Voodoo, murderers and ghosts, we walked - with one eye over our shoulders, to Frenchman Street where we heard it was a little more authentic than Bourbon Street. We were serenaded by another live brass band out on the street as we ate even more delicious soul food in a restaurant. Then we went to the Spotted Cat bar where a swing band and dancers were in full flow. After that, inspired by the tour, we headed to Bourbon St, where Donna had her cards and palms read by an old lady in one of the Voodoo shops. She was told she had already met her future husband - let the brain racking begin! Followed by more bars and more amazing life music, before we decided to walk back to the hostel. No where near as scary as Tenderloin in San Fran, we decided any valuables should be stowed safely in the bras, just in case.
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