Can't go past Tuscaloosa

Can't believe it is a week since I last posted. Life has a habit of swallowing you up. Have been busy putting together the Darwin-Broome movie in time for the aqua group's Christmas party. Then I have to do the USA movie in time for sending to loved ones for Christmas, so many deadlines. I thought I would give them up when I retired. Ha ha.

Anyway back to our last day on the road in the USA.

We left New Orleans at 0830 hours, Maxine hopeful that we would find a shop selling quilting materials en route. A town called Laurel had nothing but a Macca's where we stopped for coffee. The car needed filling up at Tuscaloosa, Alabama and we did too. It was lunch time. The only eating places in sight were the usual suspects. I was not in the mood. 'Any diners around here?' I asked the woman in the service station. 'Y'all like ribs?' she said. 'Yes' was my cautious response. I wasn't sure I wanted ribs either, all that pork, but anything was better than Wendy's or Macca's.

Following her careful instructions we wound our way out of town into instant countryside past a church and there it was, Dreamland BBQ Ribs. (like everywhere else they have a website) It took a while to adjust to the gloom after the bright light outside. Dreamland BBQ Ribs was like a small bar, the walls decorated mainly with car license plates, sporting memorabilia and photographs of satisfied customers, many of them famous like George W. Bush who preferred to eat their ribs to Air Force One food. Now some may think this a dubious recommendation but what the hey, we were hungry. If it was good enough for George Dubya it would do.

Sign above our table

I balked at the ribs, ordered a half sausage instead but I fancied the home baked beans and potato salad. The sausage was like a bratwurst. The rest each ordered a quarter rack of ribs. There must have been about a pound of meat on those ribs. Wouldn't like to run into those huge hogs on a dark night!

The food was good, the ambience friendly; 'you want your picture taken together y'all?' Love those southern accents.

The aftermath!

Our stop at Dreamland BBQ Ribs encompassed what I consider to be three passions of the south, eating, sport, and religion (the church across the street, bet they're busy on Sundays.) The only thing missing was the guns.

Well fortified and with plenty of time to spare we decided to keep on going to Atlanta instead of stopping the night in Montgomery as originally planned. While on the road, Krista checked us into the next day's flight via her I-phone and her Atlanta friends looked for a hotel for us via Hotwired, a website which finds last minute accommodation for you. (Love modern technology)The deal is that you don't know where you'll be staying until you pay your money via credit card. You can get lucky like us. For $89.90 (A double Queen room) we secured rooms at the airport Hilton. If you're game to take a chance on a road trip it's worth  it. I wish we'd known about it sooner but then we may have missed out on some of the experiences and personalities we met going the budget route.

We were gagging for hot tea when we arrived in Atlanta (none to be had at two stops en route. We couldn't believe it, not even at Macca's). Krista's friends obliged, serving it in glass cups that don't burn your fingers. I was fascinated.

The next day I experienced another first, coffee out of a ceramic mug at 'Waffles'. Thus far it had all been polystyrene. Okay, it was a budget trip!

An uneventful flight deposited us in NY and a cab ride with a driver (Brooklyn born of Greek- Albanian parentage) who entertained us all the way to Brooklyn. Only in New York!

Wrap up in New Orleans

A few facts about New Orleans (NO) our Grayline city tour guide told us:

. the first apartments ever built in the USA were built in NO
.  Cafe du Monde (of beignets fame) was the first cafe to open 24 hours a day (it opened in 1803; they must have been confident.)
. NO has the oldest outdoor market in the USA
. the US mint in NO is the only one that minted both currencies in one mint. Not quite sure what he meant by that because according to one source they minted Mexican centivos for a while, but they also issued confederate half dollars (silver) instead of the gold US coins when Louisiana seceeded from the USA. Take your pick.

We visited a cemetery: much is made of how bodies are buried in NO. Because it is built on swamp land,  burying in the conventional way was not an option. At the merest flood, bodies could float down the street. So they bury them above ground as is the practice in Spain for instance. The tombs are used over and over but the practice is not to put in another body until a year and a day has passed.

What if Aunty Ida dies 6 months after uncle Fred who she could not live without? She gets put in a holding vault in a wall waiting for the requisite time to pass whence Uncle Fred's bits (they decompose fast in the heat of NO) are put in a ziploc bag and placed in a corner of the tomb. His coffin is burnt to make way for Aunty Ida's. May they rest in pieces.

Above ground tombs NO cemetery

From the land of the dead to the land of the living. We stopped by City Park (twice the size of Central Park, and the fifth largest in the USA) It houses a fabulous children's park designed around famous fairy stories, a 30,000 seat football stadium, the NO Museum of Art, and a Botanical Garden.

According to Wikipedia:

Hurricane Katrina did extensive damage to the park, with winds toppling an estimated 1,000 trees and damaging many more. The subsequent failure of multiple floodwalls brought about the inundation of much of the city, and almost the entire park was flooded with 1 foot (0.30 m) to 10 feet (3.0 m) of water that remained for two to four weeks, damaging all buildings, amusement rides, maintenance equipment, electrical systems and vehicles, and causing the death of more trees and landscaping - including nearly the entire plant collection in the New Orleans Botanical Garden.

Reconstruction is underway, and to our eyes there was no sign of damage.

Spanish Moss

At last I got to see Spanish Moss hanging on trees. For some reason I have been fascinated by this stuff. Come to think of it I associate it with a book I really like,  'Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil' set in Savannah. The cover features Spanish Moss dripping from trees making it look mysterious.

Wikipedia tells us that while it rarely kills the trees (usually Southern Live Oaks)  it lowers their growth rate by reducing the amount of light to a tree's own leaves. It also increases wind resistance, which can prove fatal to the host tree in a hurricane. Spanish Moss has been used as insulation, stuffing in the seats of cars (Model T Fords for example) and mattress stuffing.

'Walking Oak' in City Park

We drove by Lake Ponchetrain, second only to Lake Superior in size; a 24 mile-long bridge crosses it.


A swing through the Garden District (mentioned in previous blog) brought us back into the city. Hungry, we headed for Mother's Restaurant for some classic New Orleans home cooking (as advertised in the tourist literature). Proved to be a popular place, we queued for quite a while for our crawfish gumbo, po'boys etc. It was worth it.

The streetcar (started in 1835, with each one recorded on the National Registry) took us back to our hotel and a rest before heading out to Five Happiness, a Chinese restaurant for dinner. Once again we were hungry for vegetables and the restaurant did not disappoint. It has been selected as the best Chinese restaurant in NO for years. Of course we ordered too much and could not take the doggy bag they offered because we were leaving the next day.
 


Recorded 6141 steps on the pedometer but it felt like more.

For some reason this sign caught my eye.

Can't go past Katrina

We chose a city tour which included visits to the eastern area of New Orleans where the levees broke when Hurricane Katrina struck 5 years ago. Twelve feet of salt water from the Gulf of Mexico hung around for 3-4 weeks, imagine the mud, the stench! Many people have not returned.

While people were offered $150,000 to rebuild it came with conditions, namely you had to prove ownership. Since many homes had been passed through generations, deeds weren't available.They went to city hall looking for assistance only to find that ownership registration documents were stored in the basement which, guess what...was flooded. Talk about a Catch 22. No home to call their own and no money to rebuild. This is the situation in the 9th district. I'm not sure exactly how but a little matter of inheritance tax also prevented people from returning to their homes.

Fats Domino, the famous R & B man, with income second only to Elvis according to our bus driver, refused to leave the 9th ward when Katrina struck.  He was rescued and his house rebuilt in 2009. Not sure if he lives there but there's no mistaking who it belongs to.










Apparently the French Quarter has never flooded.The bus took us away from the 9th ward to a middle class area that was also flooded...different story there. No sign of empty streets and boarded up residences, plenty of new homes in evidence. I guess their deeds were readily available.


A heartening thing is that volunteers continue to work to rebuild.There is an invitation in the Official Visitors Guide 2010 and an organisation called Katrina's Angels still recruiting, at:.http://www.katrinasangels.org/
We saw some on our tour.

Also famous people like Brad Pitt and Angeline Jolie have bought a residence on Decatur Street and  contribute to rebuilding. He has founded an organisation called 'Make it Right' to build sustainable and affordable houses.  Website: www.makeitrightnola.org







Note the colour of Brad and Angie's house. It is white which indicates English speaking folks in Creole code. According to our tour guide, Creoles paint their houses different colours. He pointed out many examples. Now I've been looking on line for proof of this and have not found it so was he having us on? I don't know. He also told us that Creoles invite you into their home via the bedroom door.



We drove by a project instigated by Harry Connick Jr another celebrity from New Orleans along with Branford Marsalis who have created the Musicians’ Village, a cornerstone of the New Orleans Area Habitat for Humanity (NOAHH) post-Katrina rebuilding effort. It  is designed to both construct a community and preserve a culture, and provide a home for both the artists who have defined the city’s culture and the sounds that have shaped the musical vernacular of the world: http://www.nolamusiciansvillage.org/about

While I'm on the subject of fame and all, must show you Sandra Bullock's pad in or near the Garden District which she and the now departed Jesse James snapped up for a couple of mill, and in which she now resides as a single mom. Couldn't help comparing it with my first residence as a single mom, a hot, small and noisy apartment in Pinetown, South Africa! It's not clear whether Sandra bought the place for altruistic reasons or because it was a bargain after the floods.

The latest disaster in the region, the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico does not seem to have affected the city except that they're buying their oysters etc from further afield. The estimated 4.9 million barrels of crude oil washed up further east in Mississippi and Florida.

That's all for now. Will get onto the subject of New Orleans renowned cemeteries next blog.









 

I swear I saw Blanche Du Bois but... where was her creator?

It was the second day in New Orleans; the faded face, bleached hair (or was it a wig?) too much eyeliner, skewed lipstick and a gentle accent. She sold us our tickets for the city tour, 'thank you so muuch for visiting aar wonderful city, we really appreciade it.' She made me feel like a kind stranger.

But let me back track. Early in the morning, we parted the hotel curtains and went into shock. It was raining, something we hadn't seen since we hit the shores of the USA. Krista was due to fly in at 10am and with Rand McNally's help, we worked out the route to the airport.  A minor detour before we hit the right road, following the signs to the airport telling us to keep in the left two lanes. Mistake: a mile or so down the road it told us to take the right turnoff... too late, we were faithfully devoted to the left lanes and traffic was heavy. An interesting discussion ensued as the driver, the navigator and the back seat driver offered three different opinions as to what to do next (not the first time this had happened). In the end the driver (Kathie) won out.

Louis Armstrong at N O airport

We arrived at the airport in time for Maxine to do the banking she had not been able to do the day before and we all sipped cafe au laits, discarding them half drunk, a) because we didn't like the flavour and b) there was too much of it. You cannot get a small cup of anything in this country.

New Orleans art

Krista's priority was beignets at Cafe du Monde. This time we chose Royal Street as our conduit through the French Quarter. It's full of art shops and gift shops, no adult entertainment anywhere. Probably walked past Truman Capote's previous residence at number 711, and Thornton Wilder’s pad at 623 Bourbon Street, the day before. (I dread to think what that has become.)

As I was to discover, there is little inclination to indicate famous authors' links to New Orleans. For instance, I was keen to see two of Tennessee Williams's early apartments in the French Quarter. The one at 722 Toulouse Street with its rose-coloured stucco walls, now houses The Historic New Orleans Collection. I don’t know if he is commemorated inside or not, since we didn’t go in. There is nothing on the outside however.

Courtyard of 722 Toulouse St

Another residence (623 St. Peters Street) where he started to write ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’ is a gaudy gift shop with cheap-looking long strings of beads hanging all over. Not a brass plate or even a paper notice in the window that Tennessee Williams ever lived there. Jeez, he won the Pulitzer Prize...twice for goodness' sake! Not to mention many other awards. The next day on our city tour, the guide casually pointed out Ann Rice’s address (1239 First) in the Garden District. He did not mention Tennessee Williams had also lived in the area, much to the shock and awe of the resident socialites who did not approve of the “flexible quality”  in his “sexual nature.” At least the city’s literary festival is commemorating TW’s 100^th year in March 2011, and after my suggestions in the survey they sent me, they might spring for a few brass plates or those famous blue plaques like they have in London to honor its famous writers. 

At least one author is acknowledged, although we didn’t find Pirate’s Alley from where The Nobel prize winner, William Faulkner shot his BB gun out of the window. Faulkner House Books is a new and used book store in the tiny place where he wrote his first novel. It is near the back of St Louis Cathedral, an institution that Lillian Hellman attended as a child. Famous for not only ‘The Children’s Hour’, ‘The Little Foxes,’ and my favourite, ‘Pentimento’ but also for her left wing activism. As a result of standing up to the House Un American Activities Committee in 1950, she was blacklisted by Hollywood movie studios for years. She had a long time relationship with Dashiell Hammett (he of ‘Maltese Falcon’ fame). Didn’t find any reference to her in the New Orleans tourist literature either.

As you may have guessed I love some of these authors, and witnessing New Orleans’ obsession with voodoo, death and cemeteries (especially near Halloween) can understand some of their obsessions, Ann Rice and her vampires for example.

At last we reached Cafe Du Monde and ordered their famous doughnuts without holes, aka beignets. They discourage you from wearing black on account of all the icing sugar that billows out every time you take a bite.

They are very good and it is quite a conveyor system they have churning  them out. Glad we weren’t there at the height of the tourist season, it was busy enough as it was. A jazz trio was playing on the sidewalk. At last... the sound I was expecting to hear all over New Orleans, Dixieland jazz.

While there we spotted the ticket office and encountered the aforementioned Blanche Du Bois look-alike.

Made our way to the French Market; lots of pumpkin and squash on display and big luscious peaches which I would have loved to buy but no one was around to pay my money to. Wallets, sarongs, jewellery etc. are also sold there.

Glimpsed St Louis cathedral as we wended our way to Decatur Street and lunch. Sampled more Italian-New Orleans cuisine, namely a Mufaletta sandwich.
A recipe goes like this

• 1 loaf Mufaletta bread (or Italian bread)
• 1 cup olive mix
• 1/4 lb sliced ham
• 1/4 lb sliced mortadella
• 1/4 lb sliced Genoa salami
• 1/4 lb sliced provolone
• 1/4 lb sliced mozzarella

The key ingredient is the olive salad mix, ideally spread on the bread an hour or two before eating so it soaks in. They are huge, and delicious. We shared  a whole one between four of us, but you can order a quarter or a half. Same thing with the po’boys, a classic New Orleans sandwich on French bread; you can purchase a foot long or half a one. We shared a shrimp po’boy. The shrimp is fried.

 

We needed a rest after all that eating and walking (11,507 steps) 

The evening saw us board a street car for the first time. It runs straight past our hotel, down Canal Street to the waterfront, ideal for reaching the SS Natchez for our steamboat cruise.

We watched the sun set beyond the bridge, and the starlings wheeling around the Sheraton and the Marriott hotels, drinking our beers, wondering if we were ever going to cast off. The first dinner seating was over by the time they cranked up the paddles. We had chosen the second sitting at 7.30. Jazz played on one of the upper decks and we helped ourselves to the buffet roasts etc. Nothing gourmet but adequate. 

At some point the band played ‘Petite Fleur,’ a composition written and played by Sidney Bechet, New Orleans born, and an old favourite of mine. Took me back to our digs in Sheffield in 1960, bopping around the living room. 

Way down yonder in New Orleans

After a 6877 Pedometer day we were ready for a car ride, a long one, 358 miles according to my Google sources, most of it on the I-55.

First stop was a rest stop. It looked new, part of a government project to stimulate the economy judging by the signs we saw on the roadside. Very swish and a nice surprise. They even supplied coffee, $1.00’s worth (in a polystyrene cup of course.) Hey, we can't expect too much improvement in one project can we.

Found another Jackson, this time in Mississippi. Drove around looking for a bank, didn’t see one! It’s supposed to be the biggest town in the state and the capital to boot, but not much was going on there.

We were hungry and took the plunge trying out Shoneys, a chain of diners we’d been seeing all the way along our road journeys. Didn’t know what to expect but pleasantly surprised to see a buffet and plenty of choices at reasonable prices. Seemed like most of the town’s disabled enjoyed it too. One by one, in wheelchairs and crutches, accompanied by carers they filed in, a sort of Lourdes eating place. They knew the staff who knew them just as well, lots of greetings ‘how are yas’ etc.

Not long after that I became one of them temporarily when I trapped my thumb in the car door. Dripping blood I found some ice in one of the vending machines in the service station, wrapped it in paper towel and a plastic bag. I had full range of motion so knew it wasn’t broken. Later, using eye makeup remover pads (hadn't used them for anything else thus far) I padded it and Maxine wrapped plaster tape tightly around to stop it bleeding. (I’d purchased the tape and scissors on my Darwin-Broome trip for blisters, very handy to have with you on a long trip.)

The first question out of people’s mouth’s when they discovered we were doing a road trip was ‘Have you got GPS?’ followed by a look of horror when we told them we did not, we were using maps. You actually hardly even need maps driving the freeways of the USA, and by now I’d discovered a new best friend, Rand McNally’s website whose instructions we followed getting in and out of destination cities. Very easy. We switched to the I-10 as instructed and found The Clarion Inn, Canal Street New Orleans, our new home for the next three days.

We had a room with 3 double beds, and after a cup of tea (we’re so English!!!) hit the streets. Our hotel was within walking distance of the French Quarter. I was keen to see the famous Bourbon Street. 

New Orleans but NOT Bourbon Street!

 Oh my! I was not prepared for it to be so seedy, and not a lick of jazz played out from the open doorways. Instead sleazy looking men touted for business in their adult entertainment hovels. My romantic image, fuelled by jazz records of said street and the likes of ‘St James Infirmary Blues’ and ‘Basin Street Blues’ was shattered. It was enough to make you want to write the blues.

My glum, disappointed soul cheered up when we found Primo’s restaurant. They offered sample dishes of typical New Orleans fare, Jambalaya, Shrimp Letouffe, Red beans and rice, and Gumbo, all delicious, followed by bread pudding ( a common dessert in NO) This one had raisins and small pieces of peaches in it. It was delightfully moist and light.

After booking a steamboat cruise for the following evening, the sound of music and festivities caused us to detour on our way home. Turned out that New Orleans Fire department was promoting their 2011 calendar full of hunky firemen. Maxine lined up to buy one for her daughter (a calendar not a fireman) and get it signed by the real live hunks in attendance. Meanwhile we sipped on free wine and enjoyed the scenery!

 A large flock of starlings intrigued us too. We saw them them again the next night when aboard the SS Natchez.

expand the pic and you'll see them!

 

No wonder Maxine and Kathie fell asleep reading their books, (I took pictures) it had been a long day, a  6 - 7 hour car ride and 7729 steps.

Graceland at last

A migraine induced by overall dampness in the hotel and little airflow in the bedroom did not curb my enthusiasm at the prospect of a tour of Memphis and a visit to Graceland. I popped a pill and soldiered on. For once I got dressed up, make up, the lot. Wanted to look my best to visit the King.

The first fascination was Willy our driver; he repeated everything, not boring but in a sing song way, a cross between a preacher and an auctioneer. For the first but certainly not the last time we learned that ‘the Mississippi river, yes the Mississippi river, was the third longest in the world, that’s the third longest, second only to the Amazon and the Nile, the Amazon and the Nile.’ Get my drift, do you get my drift? 

Like Nashville, health is big business here, and one of our stops was at St Jude hospital of which Danny Thomas the famous entertainer, was a generous benefactor. I say 'was' because he died this year but his daughter Marlo carries on the fund raising etc.

We passed the block of flats where Elvis and his mum and dad lived when they first moved from Tupelo where he was born, Definitely cheap housing in those days. Not so now apparently.

Willy pointed out the spot from where James Earl Ray shot Martin Luther King. We stood with our own quiet thoughts in the sunshine outside the Lorraine Motel looking at the be-wreathed balcony where Martin Luther King was standing when he was killed. It is now a museum. Our visit was brief, unlike the woman's who has been picketing the site for 22+ years day in and day out. 

 According to Wikipedia:
The last resident of the motel, Jacqueline Smith, had resided there since 1973 as part of her work for the motel as a housekeeper. When faced with eviction for the museum project, Smith barricaded herself in her room and had to be forcibly evicted.
The neighborhood surrounding the Lorraine Motel was a lower-income, predominantly black area. At the time, the area had run-down homes that rented for $175 a month. The homes were demolished and later replaced with more expensive apartments and condominiums, as part of the rejuvenation of the downtown area.^[2][3][4]
Smith stated that the Lorraine "should be put to better uses, such as housing, job training, free college, clinic, or other services for the poor...the area surrounding the Lorraine should be rejuvenated and made decent and kept affordable, not gentrified with expensive condominiums that price the people out of their community." She has also stated that Dr. King would not have wanted $9 million spent on a building for him, and would not have wanted Lorraine Motel residents to be evicted.^[3][5]

Food for thought.

And then onto food for lunch at the Rum Boogie Cafe on Beale Street. I ate fresh tasty catfish, with potato salad and green beans (at last some veggies!) The place is festooned with guitars signed by famous people (including Elvis) who played them. 

 I couldn't wait to wander up and down the street I'd been reading about in 'Last Train to Memphis' to look in the windows of the tailor where Elvis bought his clothes in the early years. He went for pink and black in a big way, occasionally wearing other colours that marked him out as 'different' if not down right suspicious among his peers. Even as a young man he had a sense of destiny, and was not afraid to follow his unique style. B. B. King’s club and a lone blues singer in a courtyard lent the right atmosphere to a place already vivid in my imagination.

Then onto the bus for Graceland at last, the main reason for this trip. Willy told us that Elvis bought the property from a doctor on condition that he would not change the name (named after said doctor’s beloved aunt Grace). Do a Google search and you will find many different explanations, none of which mention a doctor or an aunt. Who knows? Who cares? I’d always thought it was named after Elvis’s mother but since she was called Gladys that doesn’t wash!

After enduring a bag search, the obligatory photo outside the gates of Graceland (painted on a wall) and being fitted with headphones we boarded the bus that takes you to Graceland. One is not allowed to walk up or down the driveway, even though it’s close on the street and the gates are open. We were also not allowed to go upstairs in the house. Given that Elvis died up there one can understand; it would be somewhat ghoulish to stand at the bathroom door staring in to where he was found, allegedly sitting on the toilet. How ignominious for such a great star.

As it is he is buried in the meditation garden with his mom and dad, and grandma. In addition Elvis’s stillborn twin brother is commemorated with a small plaque. He’d been buried in a pauper’s grave, and when they went looking for his remains they couldn’t find them.

Luckily once we were in Graceland we could wander at will in the designated areas taking as much time as we liked, with the head phones as guide, except... mine quit half way round. It didn’t matter that much. I wasn’t so much interested in the interior, but it  struck me how homey it was, garish in places, over the top kitsch, but comfortable, not at all grand. The grounds were beautiful.

After the house tour we waited in the hot sun to be returned to the tourist complex, went inside the Lisa Marie plane with its gold plated this and that, had another ice cream and dashed into the automobile museum; Elvis sure liked his cars. 





With barely 5 minutes to spare before catching the bus to our hotel, we walked across the road to take our own photo of us outside the real gates of Graceland. It felt almost naughty, dashing out from under the restraints of the tour companies to do our own thing. 

Apparently a new tourist complex is going to replace the existing one; fitting I suppose for the ‘second most visited, I said second most visited House in America.’

On the road to Graceland

No dramas at breakfast this time. We hit the road at 8.30am listening to the CD of my new best friend, Jason Link. He's not bad on the ear. 

Actually he loves me. I know that because he kissed me twice (the others got only one kiss) and he wrote that he loves me on his $10.00 CD I purchased at the bar where he was singing, our final stop on the city tour of Nashville.  But...I had to let him down gently; I'm a travelling gal, need to keep moving. 

The first stop was a happy happenstance. We'd been planning to stop for coffee at Jackson, Tennessee but missed the exit. Instead we took exit 80A off I-40 which led us straight to Casey Jones village. According to its website on http://caseyjones.com  it is 'the best whistlestop between Memphis and Nashville.' And so it proved to be.

It comprises a series of buildings, a couple of them looking like log cabins, one of which houses the 'world famous Brooks Shaw's Old Country Store.' We'd never heard of it but it made an indelible impression, especially the food. Kathie's eyes lit up when she saw their beef brisket and declared she was going to have some. Bear in mind we were only an hour or two from breakfast.

Kathie's beef brisket

Maxine and I settled for coffee and shared peach cobbler, all delicious. While lining up for our food Maxine got into conversation with a tall, well dressed black woman who told us she had been at a party the night before where one of the family members dropped dead of a heart attack. She'd been comforting people she hardly knew all night. He was only 45. I'd got her all wrong, given that it was Sunday morning, I thought she'd come straight from church. 

peach cobbler

Of course Casey Jones is a tourist trap, and I bought a few bits of Elvis memorabilia there.







I took over the driving for the first time, all the while telling myself  'keep right, keep right.' I had hardly been at the wheel but a few minutes when the navigator (Kathie) fell asleep and the back seat passenger nodded off too. Good job driving in the US is so easy, especially when you stick to freeways as we did.

Via my netbook and thanks to free wireless access, we'd booked a Comfort Inn again, a bigger suite (2 toilets) after making sure there was also refrigeration in the room. A step up we thought until we stepped over a towel mopping up what must have been a bit of a flood the night before, to enter the lift. In the interests of heart health we took the stairs when we could but even that was fraught with occupational hazards, one of the hand rails was broken. The best thing about the hotel is its location, only 3 miles from Graceland. After a cup of tea and pastries filched from the Best Western Breakfast bar back in Nashville, we drove there to do a recce before our official tour the next day.

To the accompaniment of Elvis hits blaring from the loudspeakers, we explored the lobby of the Heartbreak Hotel, (it has Elvis films playing 24/7 on an old style TV)






We saw the King's 2 aeroplanes, the Lisa Marie and a smaller one, ate an ice cream in the fifties-style ice cream parlour, and made some purchases in the inevitable gift shops, all over priced. We  hoped to take pictures of ourselves outside the famous Graceland gates but couldn't find the house. The next day we kicked ourselves when he discovered it was across the street!

Ice cream parlor at Graceland tourist complex

 We were so tired that night we ordered in from Marlow's as recommended by the hotel. Fried green tomatoes appealed because of the movie and the fact that I'd never eaten them before. Alas! These were not the finest examples because like the southern fried chicken, they were coated with thick breadcrumb batter. They sat heavy on our stomachs but didn't stop us from sleeping. Maxine was so tired she slept in her clothes all night!

It's hard to know why we were so weary, given that it was a short driving day and we didn't do much walking, only 3561 steps. Maybe it was mental tiredness, and the warmth, the temperature was around 85 degrees Fahrenheit. It could also have been the oppressive damp atmosphere in the hotel. Dreamt about seeing Graceland the next day.