First: a little background. My story after the hotel's introduction:From its very inception, Le Richelieu was created to capture the flavor and essence of New Orleans. Casual elegance is complemented by the charm of this historic city. A full range of service is accented with a personal touch, and the vibrancy of the French Quarter is balanced by the quiet intimacy of a small hotel.
Le Richelieu has been in business since 1969, and is locally owned and operated. Since it's the owner's home, he's always lavished much attention on it, making sure the housekeeping and maintenance standards are far above average.
Many say this site at one time was used as an execution ground. In 1802, when France took back Louisiana from Spain, several Spanish soldiers were shot for treason on this site. The ghosts of some of these Spanish soldiers have been reported to walk the grounds of this hotel near the swiming pool and small bar. Soldiers in old Spanish uniforms have been spotted by many of it's patrons.
If you want to experience the old-world charm and European character of the French Quarter, reserve Le Richelieu... so inviting... so New Orleans... so affordable!
This is one of the very few hotels in the French Quarter that offers free parking for guests, with unlimited in-out privileges. If you are a Beatles fan, consider springing for the Paul McCartney Suite (he stayed in 1970s).
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New Orleans is said to be one of the most haunted cities in America. How can it not have such a dark reputation? It's the setting of countless vampire stories, has a long history of murdered slaves and soldiers of various nationalities, and has been around since the early 1700s.
I used to spend weekends in NOLA fairly regularly when I lived in Houston--it's about a 5 hour drive to the city; in my mind it's the dubaucherous Southern equivalent to Vegas.
One weekend, my partner, his best friend and I descended on the city, intent spending our money on cards, alcohol and strippers. On previous visits I had said that I thought it would be fun to stay at one of the purportedly haunted hotels in town. My partner would look at me as if I had grown a second head and vociferously state that he had no intention on staying in such an establishment. As someone who had lived in NOLA for several years, he was intimately familiar with the city's reputation for debauchery, voodoo, slavery, and hauntings. Several weeks later, we made another of our regular trips to the city; my partner would head off to gamble and his best friend and I would head off to the strip bars. But on this particular weekend, he surprised me by having made a reservation at a quaint-looking hotel in the French Quarter.
After we had checked in, he said to me, "You asked for it!" I thought it was a rather cryptic statement so I asked him what he meant. "Le Richlieu is one of New Orleans' more infamous haunted hotels." My jaw hit the floor. I couldn't believe he had actually gone ahead and reserved us a room in a haunted hotel.
I think I need to explain: my other half is much like me. We both believe in the supernatural, paranormal realm that interlocks with our own. We both give it the respect it deserves and do what we can to not fuck with it. So when he said that this was one of the more haunted hotels I was a bit stunned. Excited, but stunned.
Le Richlieu is a quaint hotel, and has character beyond belief. Being in the French Quarter, it's a stunning piece of architechture that has roots that go back literally centuries. Our room was smallish; the floor was slightly uneven and the ceiling was pitched. We were on the top floor. There was a small bathroom and two full-size beds sat against one wall with a small nightstand with a tabletop lamp between the beds. It was charming, cozy, but you could tell the structure had been around for a while. Over each bed was the creepiest painting you could imagine: each was of a child, one boy and one girl, seated, and looked to be painted in the same style as those old Victorian family portraits were painted: no one smiled, someone was holding a dog or cat, and the family manse sat on a hill in the background. On the wall opposite the beds was a mirror over a small dresser.
CV sat one bed, R and I on the other, glad to be out of the car and finally in town. We were looking forward to our usual weekend routine and were talking about how we wanted to start the night: food or booze. We sat, feet dangling over the edge of the beds, facing each other, eager to get out and hit the town. In an instant, our conversation was cut off mid-sentence.
The lampshade started to swing.
It was if someone had smacked the it.
We grabbed our phones, wallets, and hit the town. The next morning, when the sun was well up and we were spent from the nights activities, we returned to our room, gathered our belongings, and checked out of the hotel.
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