Memphis

Although I don't own a single Elvis Presley record, I've always had a thing for the King. When Paul Simon sang, "I'm going to Graceland, Graceland ... Memphis, Tennessee," I wanted to pack my bags and go along for the adventure.

With apologies to the die-hard Elvis fans out there, I must admit it's the kitsch factor of Graceland that has always intrigued me -- the Polynesian-inspired Jungle Room with its green shag-carpeted ceiling; the gaudy mirrors and bright blue and purple decor; the shag-a-delic Lisa Marie jet; the display of bejeweled jumpsuits among the collection of best-selling gold and platinum records; and the imagined smells of those artery-clogging peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches being fried in the 1970s-era kitchen.

This spring, my husband and I made our first pilgrimage to Graceland, the result of being the highest bidders on a three-day, two-night trip to Memphis auctioned off at a Hamptons charity benefit.

Although Graceland certainly lived up to every one of my expectations, it was Memphis -- a city credited with being the home of the blues and the birthplace of rock and roll -- that won my heart and made me want to return.

We discovered that 36 hours was not enough time to fully explore this laid-back city on the banks of the Mississippi River. Oozing with Southern hospitality and a retro kind of charm, Memphis is a place where you can hear world-class R&B music on neon-lit Beale Street, experience the differences between "wet" and "dry" pork barbecue, buy voodoo dolls and lucky mojo potions, and savor a wide range of sights, arts and sports. It's no wonder that Memphis is featured in the title or lyrics of some 400 songs.

The flavor of the city
Wanting to make the most of our visit, we timed our arrival in Memphis for around lunchtime. Although a 1955 pink Cadillac wasn't available at the car-rental counter, we were happy to pull away in a red Mustang convertible with two miles on the odometer. It took only 15 minutes to drive downtown to make our 3 p.m. reservation on the Memphis Duck Tour. Currently used to haul tourists around, the ducks are World War II-era amphibious vehicles that once transported troops and supplies from ship-to-shore. Having taken similar duck tours in Boston and Washington, my husband and I knew it would be a great way to get a feel for the flavor of Memphis.

As we boarded the odd-looking vehicle, our tour guide, Captain Cueball, passed out Wacky Quackers, kazoo-like duck bills that we were encouraged to toot frequently during the tour. In only an hour, we learned interesting trivia (did you know that the roaring MGM lion lived at the Memphis Zoo?) and historical facts about Beale Street, the National Civil Rights Museum, Sun Studio, the Gibson Guitar Factory and AutoZone Park (home of the Triple-A Memphis Redbirds), as well as other landmarks.

The second half of the tour included a "splashdown" into Wolf River Harbor for a short tour of the mighty Mississippi and a skyline view of the city. Playing "Jailhouse Rock" as we passed the downtown prison, and "break dancing" by tapping the vehicle's brakes repeatedly, Captain Cueball warned us, "The jokes only get worse, folks, unless you quack-up."

Hokey? Yes. Fun? Definitely.

After the tour, we made our way to the nearby Peabody Hotel to see ducks of a different sort -- the famous Peabody mallards. Every day since the 1930s, hundreds of spectators gather in the grand lobby to watch five well-trained ducks frolic in the Italian marble fountain. With much pomp and circumstance, the ducks march down the red carpet from the elevator to the fountain at 11 a.m., and then march back to the elevator at 5 p.m., when they are whisked up to their penthouse home on the hotel's roof to bed down for the night.

Working the red carpet with the aplomb of Victoria's Secret models, the ducks stop and strike poses for their adoring fans. By the time we arrived at 4:30 for the 5 p.m. "show," the red carpet was already lined three or four deep with camera-toting tourists, all jockeying for the best viewing position. While I squeezed my way into the line, my husband wandered into Lansky Brothers, an apparel shop in the Peabody lobby that gained fame by outfitting Elvis with hipster fashions in the 1950s.

Taking a cue from Captain Cueball (aka David Morrison), we followed our noses to another nearby Memphis institution, The Rendezvous, a restaurant tucked down a Dumpster-filled back alley between the Holiday Inn Select and the Best Western. Charlie Vergos opened the Rendezvous in 1948, and his family still runs it. Famous for its dry ribs -- seasoned with a proprietary rub of oregano, garlic, salt, pepper, chili powder and paprika -- the restaurant is considered by fans to be the very essence of Memphis barbecue. Like dutiful tourists, we ordered the recommended charcoal-broiled pork ribs, served with a side of beans and vinegary slaw, and weren't disappointed. We even brought home jars of the seasoning and hot barbecue sauce ($3.50 each).

Sated and tired, we drove 15 minutes to Lonely Street, where we checked into the Heartbreak Hotel, a retro and somewhat campy place that pays homage to Elvis' first million-selling record and is conveniently located across the street from Graceland. We were upgraded to the 1,100-square-foot Graceland Suite, a diminutive replica of Elvis' beloved home, complete with a jungle room den, living room, dining room and billiard-inspired bedroom. Unfortunately for us, the Burning Love Suite, awash in red and gold, was booked. Regular guest rooms in the 128-room hotel have blue-and-gold harlequin bedspreads and televisions that play Elvis videos around the clock. In the summer, guests can swim in the heart-shaped pool.

Over continental breakfast at the hotel the next morning, we met a lovely family from Ireland who was celebrating the husband's 40th birthday with a trip to Graceland. Like us, they were there for the novelty of the experience.

Visiting Graceland is akin to visiting Disney World: lots of lines, lots of tourists, lots of mediocre restaurants and lots of souvenir shops filled with future yard-sale tchotchkes. But like Disney, it's an experience you'll never forget.

A shrine to the King
In 1957, a then 22-year-old Elvis bought the Colonial Revival-style mansion for $100,000 as a refuge for himself and his parents after his meteoric rise to fame. This shrine to the King has remained largely untouched, a nostalgic look at how he lived until his death there on Aug. 16, 1977. The tour ends in the Meditation Garden, where Elvis and his family members are buried. Dozens of flower arrangements from loyal fans still arrive every day to adorn the graves. Because this year marks the 30th anniversary since Elvis "left the building" for good, the annual Candlelight Vigil, held in front of the mansion this Thursday, is expected to draw tens of thousands of fans and media from all over the globe.

My husband and I also spent several hours exploring the Elvis After Dark exhibit; the Lisa Marie and Hound Dog II jets; the Sincerely Elvis Exhibit; and the Automobile Museum -- all across the street from the mansion at Graceland Plaza.

Our short Memphis visit also included a memorable stop at Sun Studio, a small recording studio where musical history was made time and time again. Elvis was discovered there; "Rocket 88," claimed by some to be the first rock-and-roll song, was recorded there; and everyone from Jerry Lee Lewis to B.B. King and Johnny Cash recorded some of their greatest hits there. The studio's midtown location afforded us an opportunity to drive through some of Memphis' swankier neighborhoods, including Central Gardens with its stately old oak trees and historic mansions. Unfortunately, the Pink Palace (which houses the Pink Palace Museum, the Union Planters IMAX Theater and the Sharpe Planetarium) was closed when we arrived at its gates. The lavish mansion was built in the 1920s for Clarence Saunders, founder of the Piggly-Wiggly grocery chain, but he went bankrupt and no one has ever lived within its pink marble walls.

No trip to Memphis would be complete without a visit to the shops, restaurants and nightclubs on Beale Street, Tennessee's most visited attraction and said to be one of the most visited streets in America. A center of African-American culture and commercial activity during the segregation era, Beale Street also pays tribute to W.C. Handy, the Father of the Blues, who made his home there from 1905 to 1918 and whose tiny memorabilia-filled home is now open for tours. Our next visit will include a stop at the National Civil Rights Museum, which tells the story of the civil rights movement and is housed at the nearby Lorraine Motel, where Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated in 1968.

We had fun exploring A. Schwab, a variety store founded in 1876 and Beale Street's oldest existing establishment. With wooden floors and old-fashioned cash registers, the store is a trip back in time. The store's motto is: "If you can't find it at Schwab's, you're better off without it." It's the kind of place that carries everything from size 74 men's pants to girdles and lye soap.

Another funky Beale Street store we fancied was Tater Red's Lucky Mojos and Voodoo Healings. The crowded aisles are filled with voodoo dolls, Elvis busts, rubber chickens, Nixon key chains, Ex-Wife Stay Away oil and Jesus pencil toppers. We ate at the King's Palace Café, one of Beale Street's older clubs, and split the $23.95 Cajun Feast while the Memphis Groovettes performed in the background.

For dessert, we walked down the street to Dyers Burgers, a retro diner with turquoise-and-red booths and a stainless steel counter that's gained notoriety not for its food, but for its grease. Legend has it that the cooks use the same grease, thankfully strained daily, that Elmer "Doc" Dyer began using in 1912. Indeed, the crust of the cinnamon apple dumpling we ordered tasted vaguely like burgers and French fries. We resisted the urge to pour ketchup on our dessert, and left much of it on the plate.

With clubs open until the wee hours of the morning, we spent our last night at B.B. King's Blues Club, which draws A-list performers and loyal nightly crowds. We lucked out with a seat by the window and settled down with a Bull Weevil, a potent $9.99 concoction of vodka, rum, gin, tequila, grenadine and lemonade, while dancing to the smoking music of the B.B. King House Rockers. Special guest Clarence Dobbins, a singer from Nashville with a deep Barry White-like voice, got the room worked up with a sultry version of Marvin Gaye's "Sexual Healing."

We felt the ghost of Elvis lingering nearby.