Third day in Memphis

Graceland day. Set the Alarm to 7:00 but then extended it to 8:00, after all we are on Holiday. And motel breakfast would only be served until 9:00. Miriam was too lazy and said she would skip breakfast for another snooze. So I went alone. Waffle, fried eggs, coffee. Not to bad, but not too good too.

After breakfast Miriam was still sleeping.” I go to the Blues and Rock museum first and you can sleep some more.” “Hmmm” which I suppose wade a yes.

Across Beale Street again. Empty in the morning, but a few places were already, or still open. Blues playing from speakers, rather silently, but still immersing the street in the right soundtrack, ready to serve breakfast for the late or early birds.

The Blues and Rock museum was still closed. It opened at 10:00, 30 minutes to go. One backpacker sitting in front of the building, obviously waiting, but
Too early to be in the mood for small talk. So I went about the area taking some photos. Nice. Time to actually think about motives, photos, composition. I always buy this fancy equipment, thinking about getting into using it properly later, and it almost never happens since later is as busy as today. Should take more time off to do things right.

The museum is very cool. It starts with a film about the history of the Blues. Then it takes you through the historical background, cotton pockets, shareplanters in a feudal society, mechanization causing urban migration, and the start of Beale Street. Music as the way to mix races in the time of racial segregation. Howling Wolfe, the birth of Rock’n’Roll and of course Elvis and Jerry Lee Lewis, and all the others I don’t know.

Tube radios, battery operated, because families were so poor they could only buy one battery per year the use was rationed. Shotgun houses, houses through which you could shoot using a shotgun without damaging anything, Elvis Birthplace was one.

Then back to the hotel. Miriam in the shower. I downloaded the Uber web site in the hotel, just in case. We tried to take the bus to Graceland, found the description how to get there in the internet, but did not find the bus station. I asked in a hotel and a porter went out with us to point us to the bus station. She went the extra mile and showed us how a bus station sign looks like. People are so nice here.

Walking to the supposed bus stop. It was not where it was supposed to be. But we saw a bus. But not line 20. Finally we found a bus stop sign, without any time table and bus numbers. “How long should we wait before I call an Aibee?” “10 minutes?” 10 minutes it was. No bus.

So I did finally compromise on my ideals and requested for an Uber using the App, charge to PayPal. The guy arrived in a Mitsubishi van, white, beard, typical southerners look. He said he had just come from Graceland and off we went. He comes from Boston and works for homeland security. Said that budgets are cut and that the US is currently starting World War 3. It would have to happen without home, once was enough. I asked him whether he was in Vietnam – no. Too young for that. First Gulf war. He was member of a flight crew and often flew out through Ramstein. He fitted the image I have of the US from media, people need to have several jobs to survive.

Graceland. The villa was surprisingly humble and not at all what I expected. Yes, there were a few kitschy rooms and he did have horses, many cars and two airplanes. But compared to Michael Jacksons Neverland and Bill Gates’ house the whole compound appeared very “affordable”. Seeing his grave between his parents’ and his uncles on the farm was also quite humbling. All the riches did not prevent him from having to deal with so many issues that he died of a prescription drug overdose at 42. More than 20 different drugs found in his body.

Late lunch at the diner in the welcome area across the road. And the purchase of some souvenirs. After looking at his two planes we then called another Uber car. A danish woman with her daughter was at the taxi stand, having fulfilled herself a childhood dream by visiting Graceland. We offered her a lift in our Uber and parted at our hotel. The Uber driver was a lady, telling us about the abuse of Uber and suggesting that another company is much better for the drivers.

A quick siesta of around one hour. Then back to Beale Street for the last passalong shopping and a last beer on the road. Then the last visit to a bar, the rum……, $5 cover charge and an OK blues band.