And now for something completely different, as we trundled down Highway 61, (the ‘Blues Highway’) on the road trip to New Orleans.
Next stop, Clarksdale.
Clarksdale has two things to recommend it. It’s the heartland of Delta Blues, and it’s still in it’s raw state. Nothing fancy here.
The salubrious accommodation of Washington DC was a distant memory as we pulled up at the Shack Up Inn. Yes, it really is called that.
Off to meet the locals, as a local blues band was setting up on stage.
We could have been from another planet, but that didn’t matter, as we were welcomed, and promised a great afternoon’s entertainment: although Johnny Cash flipping the bird in the background was not indicative of the atmosphere of the joint. Quite the opposite.
With a roar, the blues band took off soon after, which was the end for Gracie; to be honest all our ear drums were fluttering with the raw metal sound, so we scampered to the outside beer garden, to continue boogieing to the set.
The next morning, at sunrise, was a good time to look around.
We had landed in a time-warp of sharecropper’s shacks, cotton fields, and 1954. It was so refreshing.
Everyone slept well.
And then we hit the road….
Next stop, Natchez, one of the oldest established towns on the Mississippi.