One meets the most interesting of characters while travelling to the deeply hidden corners of the globe. The swamp is no exception, where indeed resides a curious peoples known as the ‘Cajun’. Excellent hunters, exceedingly fine fisher-folk, and tellers of choice fables, who will not allow a parched lip, nor empty belly to go un-tasted of their hospitality.
Upon our arrival to the swamp one such Cajun shared this anecdote:
Cajun: “Do you know the difference between an English Zoo and a Cajun Zoo?”
Me: “I’ve no idea?”
Cajun: “In an English Zoo you have the cages with the placards informing you of the animal’s habitat and genus—In a Cajun Zoo you have that too, plus an additional placard with a recipe!”
Of course I’m translating for you due to the fact the Cajun language is quite difficult to understand, thankfully, we had our trusty guide to translate.
We began our trek by canoe, in search of those tall-tales inspiring explorers to such dangerous and profound exploitations as one reads in books. After an hour of rowing with sore muscles, and fighting the ever damning mosquito, we happened upon a strange sight beyond the cypress trees and Spanish moss—a curious abode in the swampy jungle. Proclaiming our need to investigate, our guide promptly warned us this would be impossible, as the house we gazed upon was indeed the house of a witch—in these parts called Vodou—and we must quickly leave the area, or be cursed!
With no desire to find pins in my abdomen, nor dead chickens among my belongings, we hastily paddled our retreat.
Above the black water a light misty wind blew, eerie beyond words, and peering through the mummified branches of the trees, one could not help but suspend belief in all things romantically supernatural. And so, when our guide informed us of a most uniquely unbelievable rumor, we absolutely had to see it for ourselves. Apparently, humans (and abnormally large alligators) were not the only residents calling the swamp home. Indeed, the swamp was a veritable land of delectable’s for the creature know as the Vampire. The Vampire’s dwelling was genuinely hidden, and well fortified. Again, we are warned not to meddle, and to step foot on a vampire’s property was to invite yourself for dinner—and not as a guest.
What a grand adventure we were having! I was saddened we found no proof of pirates trawling the eldritch morass, though we had spotted a bizarre boat decaying far from the shore—who knew what secret story it held, and what became of its crew, unfortunately, I was not able to nab a picture as we were struggling to keep afloat through the dense foliage. Perhaps, next time. Our night was capped with a delightful sunset, and paired with an enjoyable snack the Cajun’s call Cracklin’.“But are not the dreams of poets and the tales of travelers notoriously false?” –HP Lovecraft