Walking in Memphis

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This trip was spontaneity at its finest. I decided Thursday afternoon to take the train down to Memphis, filled up my iPod Friday morning with every song about Memphis I owned, and was on the Amtrak Friday night headed south. I was ecstatic; not only was Memphis reportably 30 degrees warmer than Champaign (it was unbearable in Illinois), but as luck would have it that weekend was to be the weekend of the annual Beale Street Zydeco Festival. I love Zydeco!

It all seemed perfect. I would take the train Friday night, arrive at 6 AM in Memphis, grab breakfast and then explore the town before I'd depart again at 10:30 that night in order to be back in Champaign for the Indiana game Sunday afternoon. I boarded the train with nothing but my journal, some mittens (but only because Champaign was so cold), the first volume of my Civil War narrative, and an enormous appetite for the best barbeque in the world.

It was pretty dark, naturally, on the way down. I could barely make out the scenery from the lounge car, but I could see barges on the Mississippi and some of the countryside when it was pressed up against the train window in the form of a cutaway cliff. I was shocked to see snow in Kentucky; I thought it was supposed to get warmer as I went south, but I didn't worry too much.

I should have. By time I got to Memphis, the forecast was the same as Champaign's. My travel experience was pretty much akin to Marc Cohn's song Walking in Memphis, except you'd have to replace "touched down in the land of the Delta Blues in the middle of the pouring rain" with "touched down in the land of the Delta Blues in the middle of the pouring sleet." I was miserable. I walked from the train station to the Peabody for a breakfast I was so excited for in my skimpy little ballet shoes that were soaked within ten minutes. I got to the Peabody (the Mid-South's grand hotel) feeling extremely out of place, seeing how I couldn't freshen up after being on a train for 8 hours and walking ten blocks in the freezing rain. Nothing was open. The town, in shock of the unusual weather, shut down. That, and it was 6 AM. But I couldn't even find a CVS store or Walgreens along the way. It was bizarre.

Breakfast was amazing, as much as I felt out of place. After that, since I had no where to go, I cooped up in the basement of the Peabody for a few hours, writing in my journal, and all the while praying no one passing by would kick me out since I was not a registered guest. I was at one point tempted to give the hotel $50 so I could take a nap on one of their couches, but I was scared off when the hotel security was radio'ing each other about a bum they found camping out in the area around where I was. I couldn't risk being kicked out; it was freezing and I didn't want to put my sopping shoes back on.

But then, I remember something. I had brought my mittens, the ones with the string attatched to each hand so you don't lose mittens as I often do. And since I also had gloves, I chose to bite through the string connecting the mittens and wear them on my feet as socks. What a trip: there I was, basically stranded in Memphis in the nicest hotel in the Mid-South, wearing mittens as socks. As miserable as I was at the start--as much as I had started to truly regret my impulsive nature and decision to traintrip to Memphis--I was really starting to enjoy this trip.

Around 10:30, 12 hours after starting this monumental trip, I decided to go to the Peabody boutique stores and buy me some shoes. Since I was in Memphis, I thought some suede shoes would be just the thing, although I had to get pink Pumas since there were no blue ones. I kept my mitten socks on, by the way. They were really warm. Warm enough to let me go exploring around town.

M-Town definitely has an interesting vibe. I don't want to say it's dirty; it's perhaps more grimy with a definite charm. Beale Street is lit up with joints with neon signs all advertising blues and barbeque. It's wonderful. I made my way down to the Mississppi to catch a view of the river in Tom Lee Park, took some pictures, then took the trolley all the way up to Auction Avenue to see the Pyramid Arena, whcih is the third largest pyramid in the world and also taller than the Statue of Liberty.

After my little tourism bout, I was getting hungry for some good barbeque. I decided on Blues City Cafe (mainly because it was the closest place with heat to the trolley let off) and that decision was in no means a bad one. The ribs at BCC were awesome, as is the restaurant. It's like this hole in the wall, make shift place complete with an old aluminum siding roof and makeshift tables. See? Dingy, with charm!

Full from my first taste of the ribs Memphis is famed for, I decided to do a little more sight seeing and shopping. I walked up and down Beale Street to see W.C. Handy Park and was advised to go to A. Schwabb's in order to get my harmonica. After I did a little more shopping, I went back to the Peabody for the third time that day, this time to sit down and people watch. It was enjoyable for the most part, I could bear the cold wind rushing through the door every time a new guest came in while listening to the people around me. One group in particular was hilarious - I think they were a bunch of college friends reunion-ing and talking of all these sex scandals. Quite humorous. I love watching strangers. It's soothing to me, getting a glimpse into a life that is, for the most part, totally unrelated to mine. It for some reason makes me appreciate my own life so much more, and at the same time, makes me realize how big this world is.

4 o'clock came and went and for the second time today I watched the ducks in the Peabody lobby come out for their showing. They were so cute, just swimming around in the fountain. I watched the ducks for a little more, then went off to investigate the purchase of a blanket for my train ride back. This is how the Memphis blanket, my warm and lovely, big, orange Rendezvous blanket, came into my life. I really love that thing. By time I had found it in a Peabody gift shop, I figured it was time to go get my Zydeco bracelet that would get me into all the clubs that night boasting Zydeco bands and find some more food. I bought my bracelet from this guy Chas who later followed me into BB King's (my first stop, though there was a blues band there instead of a Zydeco group) to give me his number oddly enough haha. After BB King's, where I also had a lenghty conversation with a man about random shit and gay bars of all things, I went to Alfred's on Beale for the start of my Memphis Zydeco night and to get some of the best catfish I've had in my life, if not the best catfish I've ever had. Here's a tip: if you're hungry, go to Memphis... you will NOT be disappointed.

You will not be disappointed either if you ever get to hear Samo2Step, aka my first zydeco live band. There is this little 8 year old kid playing the accordian for all the world's gold. It was like, good night! But not exactly... after meeting some people and enjoying Samo's set, I went to Rum Boogie which is a fine establishment if there ever was one. I ordered some wings there; I didn't feel as if I could leave Memphis without doing so (though I had to take 95 percent of them home with me since I was so full). At Rum Boogie I heard an acoustic trio (JDH Highway, I believe) play Dixieland Delight and then I had the honor of seeing Willie Prudhomme & the Zydeco Express play for a bit. After seeing a bunch of ladies in tight leather pants dance around Rum Boogie, thanks to Willie shouting "This goes out to all you big butt women" (though the dancing here paled in comparison to Alfred's), I decided to go to King's Palace for my last hour and to see T.Broussard & the Zydeco Highsteppers. King's Palace is a real classy lookin place, and T.Broussard absolutely, straight up rocks. There was so much energy in that place. I saw some of the people I had met at Alfred's, and got to know a little bit more of the history of zydeco. I also got invitations to a dozen or so zydeco workshops from Louisiana to Chicago. I love making friends.

I did not want to leave. At all. But I had to... I reluctantly left King's Palace and said "later" to Memphis... albeit that took a while. I was on the train for perhaps 10 miles before we came to a stop so authorities could recapture a loose prisoner/insane person running around on the train. Luckily, for my benefit, they caught him in the lounge car right ahead of me, for it was a show for the ears. Even more lucky was I that I decided to cuddle up with my Memphis blanket instead of going to the lounge car to play my harmonica like I did later that night once the gentleman was escorted off the train. That took nearly three hours. We finally got into Champaign at 9 (instead of 6). It was quite an adventure.

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