We started early, and Memphis was empty. This was quite nice but also slightly scary, so we caught the streetcar out to Sun Studios. This is where Elvis, Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, etc. were all discovered and all produced their first recordings. It's now a national historic monument and has a great little museum that charts the building's history, including a dancing rooster.
From there we got a shuttlebus to Graceland and proudly handed over our Elvis Insider cards that entitled us to a free platinum tour. The tour of the mansion was great and encyclopaedic, including Elvis's private jets and the piano he played the morning of his death. Unfortunately the accompanying "museums" were rooms of Elvis junk leading to gift shops of inflated price. If the King were alive today he wouldn't let it happen.
After lunch at the onsite cafe, which included Elvis's favourite fried-peanut-butter-and-banana-sandwich on the menu, we caught the bus back into town and wandered. There's a strange mix of shops here, and during the day downtown Memphis doesn't really seem to have a centre. By night, the centre is Beale Street and the endless blues clubs there.
Before heading out for dinner we walked through the Peabody Hotel, a place that houses one of the stranger Memphis tradition: ducks that live in a penthouse suite and come down every day to sit in the fountain. I'm not making this up. We caught the 5pm show, where a red carpet is laid out and the ducks "march" from the fountain, into the lift and back to their luxury rooftop. After a huge build up by the Duck Master, or whatever he may be called, the marching turned out to be more of a herding using a long stick while around 250 people watched. It was a bit of an anticlimax.
We ate at the Blues City Cafe, where duck is sadly not on the menu. When we arrived we were inexplicably ushered into the back room where live music from The Masqueraders started up. Everyone at the tables had to say where they were from, and our answer of England brought responses of "alright mate" in dodgy Dick Van Dyke cockney accents. Still, the ribs and catfish were good.
We have another day here tomorrow and catch the train to Chicago late - back into first class!
Not the real Elvis
Beale Street in the day
One of the antique streetcars - $1 a ride!
Where modern history (of any importance) began
I resisted.
Hannah stands in the very studio...
...David mans the phones outside.
That's the ACTUAL microphone. The guide said we could have our photos taken with it, but we weren't allowed to kiss, lick or bite it.
Hannah at the mansion.
David tries the front door.
Inside.
The infamous jungle room. The ceiling is carpetted too.
Nice.
Elvis bling.
He's been here too! We mooned as we went past.
That suit.
Elvis gets down with the kids.
David and a bit of the Elvis collection.
Over the top?
David weeps at the graveside.
But the King's spirit lives on.
Inside Elvis's private jet. Mmmm.
Mine!
The Peabody ducks. You see, I wasn't lying.
What it's all about.
The view from our table at dinner.
Beale Street at night.
P.S. Happy birthday Mum xx
No comments:
Post a Comment