Monday we took the longest one-day drive we’ve ever done: 420 miles, going from Lexington south and west to Memphis. While we left in the rain, it was pretty uneventful except for when the iPhones’ clocks all changed an hour. I didn’t realize that the line between Eastern and Central time runs through the middle of Kentucky and Tennessee. This actually gave us an extra hour on a day when we could use it.
The Peabody in Memphis is an institution, and they have their renowned Duck March in the lobby twice a day. As the name suggests, a bunch of semi-trained ducks walk from the elevators to the lobby fountain in the morning, and back in late afternoon. We managed to arrive and snag a choice (although not prime) viewing spot among the crowds for what is ultimately watching some ducks walk for about a minute. But the hotel gets to sell a load of drinks while everyone is waiting.
The lobby is quite nice and ornate. The room itself is not up to (our) modern standards – only a tub shower, no minibar, ugly carpet, no obvious color scheme other than “all”. We can see the Mississippi River a few blocks away from our window, and both Arkansas and Tennessee across it. And there is a concierge on the floor, along with a nice buffet breakfast and afternoon drinks (1).
But we didn’t come to Memphis for the hotel – we came for music and music history. In the evening, we walked over to Beale Street, a few blocks away. Beale Street is three blocks of bars with a lot of music, mostly blues. We settled into one and had dinner, and wound up staying for the first hour of the show. The Eric Hughes Band was rockin’.
After walking Sally home (2), I came back to find some more music and watch the people in the street. Despite Memphis being 63% black (3), The people I saw were 95% white, and 50% old (4). We were pretty much all tourists, as further evidenced by the big busses parked a couple of blocks away.
None of that stopped the musicians, however. I heard everything from blues, to great funk/soul, to three white boys playing acoustic guitars, to a poor black woman singing Hotel California by reading the words from her phone and making up the melody as she went along.
(1) The afternoon drinks don’t start until after the renowned Duck March, as they wouldn’t want to stop you from buying drinks in the lobby.
(2) Like a good southern gentleman.
(3) 2006-2008 American Community Survey, via Wikipedia.
(4) My eyeballs.