Headed out of Nashville, we drove south to Memphis. We were intent on all things Elvis, but ended up singing Paul Simon most of the way (or I did, for a good ten minutes till Jordy calmly asked me to put the radio on). It was yet another stop on this road of plenty where we felt obliged (though by this stage, a little less inclined) to eat dry rub ribs and Tennessee BBQ. We washed it down with a cold pitcher of beer and went to bed feeling full and content, hoping it would prepare us for the day ahead, at the home of the King.
Graceland at anytime must be amazing, but at 11 AM on a bright sunny morning it had us giggling like school children. The tour was as cheesy and full of relics as you could hope, and the volume of shagpile carpet (floor and walls) and high density print fabrics (couches and ceilings, too, actually) was nothing short of spectacular. We loved the audio tour for it’s interviews and live recordings, and I sighed at the wonderful movie posters in all range of pastel and technicolour.
It was amusing and interesting and sad all at the same time. It was also home to an overwhelming array of giftshops – I suppose everyone wants a little piece of the King, my shiny little fridge magnet included.