We weren't sure what to expect from Memphis, so were pleasantly surprised to find it one of the more raw, real and, in its own way, quaint cities we have come across. It had the same culture, deep love of music and historical pride of New Orleans but showed it in a more humble, subtle, bluesy way.

We were in Memphis just long enough to check out some of the major cultural sights and appreciate the tasty eateries which have come to define this city. We learnt pretty quickly that the question of 'which is the best BBQ place?' is a very personal one with the potential to break up friendships. Being peacekeepers at heart, we decided we'd have to try out a few. Our recommendations took us to eating Cornish hen at Cozy Corner, to triple smoked dry-rubbed ribs at Central BBQ and eventually to Gus' Fried Chicken. All were fantastic, although we felt we would have appreciated these tender, perfectly spiced meats even more if we hadn't spent the last week doing the same thing in Texas and Louisiana! All the same, Gus' Fried Chicken really was the best fried chicken we have ever had, and we will probably forever dream about eating it again, just as the locals warned!

Partly to remind ourselves of the negative consequences of eating too much fried chicken, but more for the novelty, we made sure to visit Graceland, the old home of Elvis himself. Although there was no mention of his rumoured love for battered poultry, for the King of Rock and Roll his house was unexpectedly humble and homely. Most of the house had been kept with its original décor, including a very simple, traditional kitchen and dining room, and some funky green shag-carpeted walls. Other rooms had been altered to showcase Elvis' collection of costumes, medals, records and fan art. There was even a section displaying all the cheques Elvis generously donated to various charity groups and individuals over the years, demonstrating a very sympathetic humanitarian side to Elvis we never knew about. The whole place was unreal and we couldn't help but leave with a little bit more love and respect for this iconic original rock star.

With one day left we had to choose between visiting some of the original blues record studios, or the National Civil Rights Museum. Considering we were in the very city that Martin Luther King Jr. was shot, and we had already given ourselves a good dose of musical education in Graceland, we chose the latter. The setting couldn't have been more penetratingly real and symbolic. Between the preserved motel where Martin Luther King was shot, and the motel from where the shot was fired, the whole place demanded respect, reflection and reverence. It was very creepy, peering out of the bathroom window used by James Earl Ray and seeing the Lorraine Motel across the street, practically unchanged. Although most of the museum was about the assassination and related conspiracy theories, it also demonstrated the African American people's continuous struggle for equal rights. We couldn't help but feel a little disappointed though. While clearly advocating for the right of all Americans to be equal, and demonstrating the hardships that many other minority groups around the world are suffering from, it failed to acknowledge the Indigenous American's plight for these same rights.

To lighten things up again after all that heavy stuff we checked out a strange old Memphis tradition at the nearby Peabody Hotel. Every day at 10am a family of ducks waddle out of the elevator and down a strip of red carpet into the foyer's central fountain for a good day of splashing about. We tried to catch them for their grand exit back into the elevator at 5pm, although we underestimated just how popular this event is. We could barely see a feather through the swarms of tourists crowding around! It was a good laugh either way, and we spent some quality time afterwards exploring the elaborate hotel interior like we had money to waste.

We saved Beale Street for our grand finale and were not disappointed. Equally as notorious as New Orleans' Bourbon Street for musical talent and free flowing beer, Beale Street was as interesting as it sounds. There were some seriously talented musician's bluesing their way into hopeful stardom. One such singer we saw by chance was little Olivia Kay, a 10 year old from Oklahoma City who had persuaded her parents to escort her to all the Karaoke bars of Tennessee in the hope of securing a record deal. She may have only been four feet tall and still sporting baby teeth, but man could she sing! It was hard to fathom how such a young face could have such a deep, passionate voice. She quickly drew a crowd of intrigued passers-by in from the street, and we made sure to get her autograph as we are sure that she will be the next Brittany Spears.

So, up early and away and driving again, we are now on our way to St Louis to watch a game. After all, it wouldn't be a road trip of the States without going to an American Football match!