Memphis, Tennessee: Home of the Blues

September 10, 2008

We learned why Memphis is the home of the blues as soon as we arrived. Apparently, all their budget hotels use a special anti-Caitlin perfume and we spent several hours driving around checking in and out of rooms. Eventually, we decided to spring for the extra ten bucks and settled in at the Graceland Motel, an Elvis-themed Days Inn. Somehow, the guitar-shaped pool, five minutes watching an all-Elvis movie channel, and a brief glance at the hound dog’s mansion (literally across the street from our room) were the only run-ins with the King we had. But, the trip isn’t over and we haven’t seen Roswell yet, so who knows?

 

Beale Street in downtown Memphis, the nexus of everything blues. In the background you can see the famous BB King’s Restaurant, and in the foreground are several people who clearly identify with being down-and-out.

 

This picture is the closest Andy came to smiling.

 

Inside BB King’s. We paid the cover charge so we could hear the live music and were promptly sat behind the stage in clear view of a bunch of wires, so we promptly changed our seats (twice) as people got up and left. The music was great, but it was even better watching an androgynous, elderly man from the Netherlands robotically swing dance with, not only his wife, but a twenty-something barfly wearing cutoff jean shorts.  The band later called the androgynous man (along with a dozen or so other oddballs) up to the stage for a dance contest, but kicked the barfly off the stage when she tried to clamber up without being invited. There wasn’t really a prize or a winner for this contest, but the singer (a large black woman known as the Princess of Beale Street) made sure that a skinny, white, dread-locked hipster from England knew he had a place to sleep that night — *WINK*

 

Pictured above: The Princess of Everything.

 

Memphis had the most homeless people of anywhere we’ve seen yet. Fortunately, in that town, it just makes them better musicians.

 

As we walked home to our car, a fifty-something man happened to be walking the same way. We had a good talk about how he works as a cook but is somehow also in the army and going back to Afghanistan soon. When he asked for a ride, we had the excuse that our car’s back seat is completely full.

 

As it turns out, Memphis has a lot more to offer than blues. There are also ducks. We planned our second day around making it to the lobby of the Peabody Hotel where a group of ducks spend all day splashing around in the fountain. Their handler leads them out of an elevator and down a red carpet at 11 a.m. every day but, try as we might, we missed the blessed event by just a minute.

 

Gettin’ itchy under house arrest. Either these are lucky ducks, or ducks who live in quiet destitution, save a quack or two.

 

Our guide book led us to Pig on Beale, which is famous for its BBQ.

 

And there is the pig on Beale himself! Having worked in a BBQ restaurant himself, he found the meal a little lacking. But, hey, the sweet tea had free refills.

 

We didn’t seem to get much further in our adventures in Memphis than Beale Street.

 

A. Schwab’s General Store: “If we don’t have it, you don’t need it.”

 

This theatre sure looks important.

 

BB King? Louis Armstrong? We really need to learn to read inscriptions.

 

Beale Street!!!!!

 

This is a bat. At first glance, it may appear to be a wood chip or a piece of dog poo but, trust us, it’s a bat. A baby bat. A baby bat that Andy saved. We passed by it on our way to see the ducks but didn’t know what we could do, so we left it.

Hours later, after many adventures, it was still in the same spot. A godless emo, too busy looking at his iPod to watch where he was going, stepped on the bat and showed the adventurers that it was still alive. Andy took off his sock and used it like a glove to pick up the bat, but it flipped out and tried to bite him. After a few tries, he succeeded in harassing it enough to make it dive-bomb a security guard and land on another patch of cement in a business plaza, which was better than a sidewalk so we left it again.

 

Yet again, fate brought us to the bat even more hours later. It was mere feet away from a tree and fenced-in square of grass, so Andy grabbed a traffic cone, put it over the bat, and tried to nudge it toward safety.

The bat was not pleased with this course of action, and was actually smaller than the gap between the cone and the ground, so it went nowhere.

 

The adventurers gave up once more and carried on.

 

However, Andy is quite a resourceful hobo and, upon passing a trash can, spotted an empty styrofoam cup and paper bag. We hightailed it back to the bat, who was now being watched by a couple of apathetic businesswomen on a smoking break (“The rats will get probably get him.”). Andy managed to get the bat inside the cup using the “Ew, a Spider! No, don’t kill it!” technique.

 

All he had to do then was drop the bat at the foot of the tree. Instinct compelled the bat to crawl up the trunk, out of reach of the rats, and hang upside down for a nice nap. Hooray, us!

 

Feeling pretty well-satisfied with ourselves, we walked a few blocks to a park and sat down for a rest. We passed by an old homeless man sleeping under a bench and didn’t think much of it because nearly everyone in Memphis is homeless. Then we noticed that a legless homeless man and a member of the Blue Suede Brigade (uniformed question-answerer) trying to wake the man under the bench. He didn’t move and, after a few minutes, an ambulance arrived. They unceremoniously swung the body onto a stretcher and drove away in no apparent hurry.

 

So, we went back to the Peabody to be cheered-up by some ducks.

 

 

This time, we weren’t too late to see some duck pageantry. The lobby was packed with people craning their necks to see what would happen, which resulted in nobody being able to see or hear anything.

 

Their handler gave an inaudible speech about the history of the ducks at the hotel (they’ve had ducks for about a hundred years or something) and set up the red carpet and special duck staircase.

 

Pushy people ruin pictures. Little kids couldn’t even see! These ducks are sure something.

 

If you could see through the crowd of people, you’d see ducks walking single file on a red carpet.

 

And up the elevator they go to roost for the night in their Penthouse.

 

If there’s a lesson to be learned from Memphis, we aren’t sure what it is. Apparently, it’s a land full of homeless people who (surprise) have to die in the streets, bat-eating rats, and spoiled ducks. Maybe we’d have some newfound appreciation for the Blues if we weren’t so confused. Maybe the lesson is that life is just plain confusing, so you might as well sing about it.

Or something like that. Does that sound profound? 

 

Next time on the All-American Swashbuckling Wanderlust Romp in F Sharp: S’mores!