Day 1 - Memphis

            After an excellent evening hanging out for my good friend JT’s 21^st birthday, as well as heading to a hip hop / dance show at The End, I arrived home around 3 AM, as my cheesy bean and rice burrito from Taco Bell was settling in my stomach.  A quick shower and last-minute packing - - - I was out the door at 4 AM to head to campus to jump on the bus. We loaded up quickly and were on the road just a few minutes after 5 AM, which queued everyone to crash for a while, since a good portion of us had not slept at all the preceding evening.

            Memphis brought to mind a lot of contradictions in my mind.  As we walked into the Peabody Hotel, I was overwhelmed at the hundreds of people in the lobby waiting to see five ducks walk on a red carpet for ten seconds.  I had visited this place once before, the preceding fall for a Southern Culture class. I distinctly remember seeing a couple there last time, with a much more vacant lobby - - the two were in denim from head to toe, sipping on two glasses of wine, staring blankly into space with rather unhappy looks on their faces - - I couldn’t help but immediately be depressed and wonder about the situation.

            What I feel happened to them is that they were sold a means to experience Memphis, to experience the Peabody Hotel.  Apparently, it was to sit by the duck fountain and sip wine. Trite, unfulfilling madness.  However, we see this everywhere in the mass tourism loop.  This system must be praised for its expediency in helping vast amounts of people to “experience” certain places or things.  The question has to be asked, “Isn’t there so much more to (insert location) than this, than what the Chamber of Commerce recommends?”  Trust me. There is love in the attitude I push forth. I just don’t think most tourists are really satisfied with their experiences either. There is a growing consciousness of the poison from the rationalized, efficient, cattle-herding beast that is mass tourism.

            After lunch at the rather vacant Blues City Café, I thumbed around in some of the stores and chatted with a couple people on Beale Street, to try to get a better hold of what Memphis might be saying about itself and its people, as well as why people had come from, say, Germany to visit this place.  What I found in observing the artifacts in the shops was, like in most places, a need to take a trademark of Memphis (or the US, or the South) back home with you, a sense of letting others know that you had been there, and that, perhaps, you were more cultured – hence, acceptable – because of this experience.

            Dr. Stepnick started a conversation with a few guys on Beale Street, to which I, and a few other students, chimed in.  We told them what we were doing, about how we were traveling through 40 states in 40 days and trying to get some part of a hold on what we cherish as Americans, what unites us and what divides us. So, we asked, “What is America to you?”  Before getting to the answer of this question, I want to describe the group of guys to you – five guys, two African American men and three white men, all from Florida.  They had come to Memphis for fun to come gamble at some of the nearby casinos and enjoy Beale street nightlife.

            One of the guys answered the question, to which they all agreed, was freedom.  “Freedom to make a buck,” one said as he pointed to a young African American boy dancing on the street for cash about half a block away.  Then, another guy starting speaking about how, only in America, you can choose to be any religion you like, whether Muslim, Christian, Buddhist, Atheist, etc. One of the African American guys spoke up and said, “Yeah, it’s not really that free,” following with details about how he has been mistreated as an African American, like him and his fiancé going to a restaurant the previous week and being served only after two white couples came in later than they did.  His fiancé, who he called a radical, said something to the staff at the restaurant and the couple was dismissed.  The group of guys began to laugh about voting for different people in the previous election, and that, regardless, they all had the same president.  One of the most intriguing things in this conversation was when the African American man telling the story of him and his fiancé said, pointing to his friend, “Well, we’re together… you know… well, haha, we’re not together, but we’re together,” obviously referencing that their friendship was strictly platonic. This is interesting in that there was obvious ideals that there was something wrong with being gay in America, which sheds light into the debates over gay marriage in the current day.  For some reason in this country, it is not okay to joke crudely about women or minorities, but, for some reason – I think this is due to the lack of legislation for gay marriage in this country, and, the time for equality for this group to settle into the  American consciousness – it is still okay in America to make jokes and “otherize” the gay population.  My hope is that it will only be a matter of time until this changes.

            The rest of the afternoon was spent at Graceland, where we were cattle herded through queue lines, tourist buses, and through Elvis’s home. Everywhere we went and at every corner, there were more ropes marking where we could not go, signs noting what we could not touch, and staff directing the herds to keep moving.  The impersonal nature to the whole thing made my skin crawl, as it did many others.  Also, the veneration for Elvis, almost to the point of divinity, was something I could not get into, though many around me, many of which spoke different languages, were immersed.

            After a quick gasp of air and discussion at the bus around 5 PM, we headed out on a driving tour of stratified Memphis, where we saw multi-million dollar homes, as well as downbeat trailers, all within extremely close proximity to each other.  We ended our drive in Germantown, where we went to Rashina’s parents’ home for authentic Indian cuisine.  After hanging out with their dog Pinto, enjoying great conversation, and multiple platefuls of potatoes, curry, rice, and samosas, we heard stories from the Bhulas of growing up in South Africa and close relatives who enjoyed the company and companionship of Ghandi in the fight for equal rights, one uncle of whom received a haircut by the human rights hero while serving a 2-month stint in jail for standing up to the British.  We ended the dinner with some chai tea, ghulab jamin, and hugs goodbye.