Ah-huh-huh
Alexis is planning on travelling to Oklahoma today, but we agree to meet up in Austin. Karin moves into my twin room with me to split the cost. Friends Carla and Charles, who I have not seen since I lived in Hokkaido about fourteen years ago, have organised a day trip all the way from Little Rock, Arkansas to come and see me, with their three kids. They collect me from the hotel and we drive to Graceland to see all things Elvis. The kids, aged between five and nine, are incredibly affectionate, arguing over who gets to sit next to me, holding my hand, and hugging me all day. The youngest, Daffodil, is a cheeky little thing, Francesca in the middle is more serious, and Robert is a little hyperactive and totally loveable. I want to take them all home with me.
We buy our tickets then stop for lunch, sharing a serving of Elvis’ favourite food: a fried peanut butter and banana sandwich. No wonder he ended up overweight. It’s pretty greasy and disgusting, but kind of sweet and melty at the same time.
We catch a minibus to Graceland and are loaded up with earphones with an audio explanation of the house and out-buildings. The house structurally is well-designed – it’s just the 70s décor that horrifies. The first few rooms are not bad. The downstairs is a little garish, with yellow vinyl sofas in the recreation room. The pool room is amazing, with yards of fabric folded over the walls and ceiling. The jungle room is hideously 70s, with faux fur covering the chairs, a waterfall at the end of the room and green shagpile carpet on both floor and ceiling. It’s around here we notice we have lost a child and have to raise the alarm. Francesca is found by the guards, wandering in tears in the back garden. Reunited we continue the tour.
The exterior buildings contain a lot of Elvis’ trophies, some of his oh-so-trendy rhinestone bedecked jumpsuits and various memorabilia. The man himself is buried in a plot not far from the pool, next to his mother and grandmother. His two planes are parked next door. We tour these next, along with the exhibition of Elvis’ cars, his movie memorabilia and more bits and pieces from his military stint. Every exhibition has a corresponding souvenir store. I’m tempted by the Elvis’ pajamas. Interestingly, nothing at Graceland shows Elvis during his fat sweaty years and there is no discussion of his drug-induced death.
Along with a smoothie stop, this takes pretty much all day. We are among the last to leave and drop the car at the hotel so we can walk into town for dinner. Alexis is in the room – she’s decided to stay the extra night and come with me direct to Austin on the night bus. She asks if it would be okay if she bunks on the floor for the night. My hotel room is turning into a hostel, but hey, it’s only one night.
Carla and Charles invite Alexis to join us for dinner and we head off to a local seafood place, where they insist I try the blackened catfish, a local specialty. The restaurant is diner-style and has a Billy Bass adoption wall. Billy the Bass is the name for the rubber fish on a wooden plaque that sings when you press a button. The walls in the restaurant are covered with Billy Basses that have been donated by customers. A lot have been decorated with sequins, jewellery, paint, you name it. Thankfully, the batteries have been disconnected, so they no longer croon.
Dinner is seafood gumbo and catfish. Gumbo is a kind of soup with rice and seafood. It is quite thick and a mud-brown colour, which is not the most appealing, but it is delicious. The catfish tastes like slightly spicy fish and chips. Strangely, the seafood is served with crackers on the side.
Carla and Charles are among the most generous people I’ve ever met. They insist on paying for my entire day – the tickets to Graceland, lunch, and dinner for Alexis and I. We both protest, but to no avail.
We stop back at the hotel to refresh, then grab our cameras and head back to Beale Street for some photos. As we are heading home we poke our heads through the door of a tiny blues bar to see the singer, who has a brilliant growling blues voice and rocks on the harmonica. He’s so good we stop in for a drink so we can listen to the rest of the set.
The Duckmaster
Our first stop today is the Peabody Hotel, to see the tradition of the ducks. Every day, at 11am the duckmaster (I want his job) marches the ducks from their home on the roof of the hotel, into the elevator down to the lobby and along the red carpet to the central fountain. Here they splash and play all day, returning to the roof at 5pm. The tradition started when a couple of the hotel staff had a few sips too many of Jack Daniels and thought it would be funny to let their duck hunting decoys, which at the time were live ducks, loose in the fountain. They then forgot about them and came back to find them happily splashing away. The rest is history.
As we wait for the ducks, the guy next to me, Mark, starts chatting. He’s from Nashville. We talk for a while and I get the feeling he’d like to ask me for lunch, but doesn’t know how. We have a photo together and I offer to send him a copy. He only has snail mail. We say our goodbyes and I walk outside with Alexis, Karin and I debating on how to get to Sun Studios. As we walk around the corner, we run into Mark again. He kindly offers us a lift to Sun Studios.
Sun Studios is where Elvis recorded his first hits, but the studio also represented artists like BB King, Jerry Lee Lewis, Ike Turner and so on. After the tour, Karin goes to the bus station, while Alexis and wander into town. I’m once again in need of vegetables, so we head to a restaurant called The Tea Shop. It is run by a friendly Palestinian woman. I choose a chicken and avocado salad to restock on vitamins. Perfect. We are also given cornsticks, one of the specialties of the restaurant. These are made of some kind of cornbread and are about the length of a cigar. They taste a bit like hushpuppies, with less oil.
Central Memphis has a tram that runs down the Main Street, and along the riverfront and back, in a picturesque loop. For the grand total of a dollar, you can ride the full circuit, which sounds like a good plan…until we’re on the tram, where we are held up for about 40 minutes. We’re not sure why. Eventually our tram has to reverse and go onto another track and we all pile onto the next one to finish the journey.
Dinner is back on Beale Street. I feel like I should have more ribs since that’s what Memphis is known for, but I'm still needing vitamin enrichment. The solution is a ceasar salad topped with pulled pork. After a time-filling coffee and email session at Starbucks, we collect our luggage and board the overnight Greyhound to Austin.
Comments