Memphis – people in Nashville had warned us about this place. Very dangerous they said. And we hear Trump is sending in the National Guard. The people in Memphis hit back and say Nashville is all polished and commercial and we should come to Memphis if we want to be a bit more laid-back and gritty. Yes, there’s rivalry between these two great music cities and we’re now in Memphis to find out more.

Memphis actually feels quiet, a little bit down-at-heel, and no buzzy city-centre – at least not one that we can find. It feels like this city had it’s time about fifty years ago or more.

We’re staying in the Peabody Hotel, a huge place that seems to spread over multiple blocks of (what was once?) prime real-estate. We check in and we all get talked into upgrading our rooms. A few minutes in the upgraded rooms is enough to convince us to downgrade again. Strangely enough, we are very happy with the downgrades. It seems we know our place.

The hotel has a rather strange daily tradition. On the rooftop of the hotel lives a small family of ducks. At 11am the ducks come down in the lift to the ground floor, where they march along a red carpet to the fountain in the centre of the hotel reception. They splash around in the fountain until 5pm, when they make the return journey back to the roof. The march is a piece of theatre that attracts the crowds, and presumably brings in punters to the hotel – especially the ones with kids.

The tradition started back in the 1930’s when the General Manager of The Peabody returned from a weekend hunting trip in Arkansas, a little worse for wear on the Tennessee whiskey. He thought it would be funny to put some of the left-over decoy ducks (it was legal back then to use live ducks as decoys) in the Peabody fountain. It was a gimmick that the hotel residents seemed to like and became a hotel ritual – apparently now internationally famous, even figuring in ‘Trivial Pursuits’.

For duck lovers who will want to know that these endearing creatures are not being exploited for the entertainment of posh humans, I should make the following clear:

– The ducks live in ‘The Royal Duck Palace’ on the roof, which is a $200,000 structure made of marble and glass and includes a small house – a replica of the hotel – where the ducks can nest with a soft, grassy front yard.

– Each team of ducks serves only for a period of three months before retiring from duty and returning to the farm where they were raised, free to live as wild ducks.

– Duck is not served in any of the hotel restaurants.

Anyway, I’m only telling you this as a point of (questionable) interest. We don’t actually see any of this duck marching – there’s better use of our time in the hotel bar.

Next day we are off to find the famous Gracelands – the home of Elvis Presley. To be honest, although I’m a big fan of Elvis’s music, Gracelands has not been on my bucket list, but since we are in the area we need to tick it off.

When we arrive at the Gracelands Tour Reception we proudly show off our ‘VIP’ tickets expecting the full treatment – only to find that there are two levels of ticket even above VIP – including ‘Ultimate VIP’! But we are happy with our lot and board the little bus to take us across the road to ‘Gracelands’. We have to go through the usual introduction process, watching the video, etc. – so enthralling that I don’t remember a thing about it.

It seems Elvis was quite the home-loving guy and lived here with his mum and dad. We’re not allowed upstairs because, or so the explanation goes, ‘the family’ (whoever they are now – hard to understand who’s left judging from all the gravestones in the garden) sometimes come back for a sleep-over. Seems unlikely to me.

We join the slow progress of visitors snaking through the relatively small mansion. There’s a wide variety of Elvis’s decorative tastes on show. We get to see the kitchen complete with the latest 1970’s labour-saving gadgets,  the snooker room adorned with beautifully designed fabric stretched across walls and ceiling, the jungle room – a Polynesian-themed room with bamboo furniture, a waterfall, and tropical plants, and the chill-out room where Elvis could watch four televisions at the same time.

Then it’s round to the front of the house to join the queue to shoot the inevitable ‘Photo in front of Gracelands’. There’s a short driveway in front of the house where a mini-bus dropping visitors passes at about two miles an hour every ten minutes or so. Not a big safety hazard you would think but the Gracelands Guide has had the training and takes her job seriously. “Think of this driveway as the ocean”, she tells us authoritatively , “and the minibuses as big sharks”. So we have to be very careful – and we’re all grown-ups too.

(Just to keep on the right side of trade descriptions I should make it clear that the photo of Margaret and me in front of Gracelands has benefitted from Richard’s clever use of technology to cancel all the other visitors.)

After Gracelands its back across the road to tick off the other Elvis Experiences. There’s the huge showroom with Elvis’s collection of Cadillacs, Lincolns, Stutzs, Rolls…….; there’s the almost as large showroom of his very expensive collection of jumpsuits, black leather suits, gold lamé suits,……; there’s ‘Lisa Marie’ – the big Elvis aeroplane that we can take a walk through, and his little aeroplane that we can peep inside; there’s the room dedicated to Elvis’s influence on the music scene, and the world in general; there’s the history of Elvis in the army and reviews of his film career. And of course the Elvis Store where we can buy anything and everything from Elvis socks to an Elvis leg-swinging pendulum clock.

We are sure that round the next corner will be another great hall where we can discover more aspects of Elvis, but by this time we are Elvis’ed-out  and, with some sense of relief, we leave.

Later in the afternoon I take a walk to explore this dangerous city. It’s just a short walk from the Peabody Hotel to the Mississippi river and I take a stroll along its banks, enjoying the sunshine. What a huge river this is and it’s still over 300 miles away to its destination – the Gulf of Mexico.

I’m wandering along and I pass a big guy, working out in the park by the river. I offer a cheery greeting and in return I get a belligerent look and a ‘whad yu say?’ response. At this point I recall the bit about ‘Memphis’ and ‘Danger’, and increase my speed – but in a controlled way, without breaking into an obvious run.

For the rest of the walk I’m minding my own business. That is until I come across the ‘white party’ preparations. Actually, that’s ‘white’ as in ‘black’. A nice lady preparing a table explains it to me: ‘White’ parties are held in major cities across America – Chicago, Detroit, Austin,………and tonight, in Memphis. They have become a fixture in black culture as a celebration of beauty and community. Everything about the party is white – the table coverings, the serviettes, the chairs, and the people – the dress code that is – strictly white. White represents purity, cleanliness, unity, and harmony. Sounds like a good party.

On the way back I’m wandering down Beale Street when I hear some good music coming from a cosy pub courtyard. Seems like a good opportunity to relax, have a beer and enjoy the sunshine. I text the others suggesting they join me. There’s a strange miniature helter-skelter structure in the yard with a couple of live goats half-way up. Seems a bit weird. Then I notice it’s an Irish bar – not sure if that’s significant. Anyway, the music is good, the beer is good, and when they finally join me, the company is good. And one of the goats has disappeared by this time.

We’ve been away for a few days now and Richard is starting to suffer Vindaloo withdrawal symptoms. I don’t immediately associate Tennessee with curry restaurants, but Richard manages to find one for the evening, just a short Uber ride away. The young driver tells us she used to work at Gracelands and was there one day and Michael Jackson popped in. Her mum didn’t believe her.

After the curry its back to the Peabody for our final night in Memphis. Our room has one of those doors to an adjoining room, not so well sound-proofed. I sleep well but Margaret is kept awake by the guy in the next room relating to his mates the drunken details of his conquest following the wedding party on the rooftop bar. (Not sure if it was the noise or the curiosity that kept Margaret awake.)

Next stop Natchez. I wonder what that will be like?