Memphis, TN: Day Three

This morning started productively – we were out of bed quickly and off up Union Avenue to the Denny’s in Downtown for a hearty American breakfast and that’s exactly what we got. I stared out over the intersection of Union Ave. and 2nd Street drinking hot black coffee loaded with sugar drifting in and out of Sam’s thick and deep morning voice slurring as he tried to wrap his brain around the concept of three pancakes to begin with followed by two at a time as part of the ‘All-You-Can-Eat Pancakes’ offer for four bucks. Describing food is probably a really boring topic, but the last Denny’s I’d been to had been opposite Old Town in Kissimmee on US-192 back in December 2008 and I remembered the service had been excellent and the food delicious and plentiful. We had the same experience here, despite our collective sleepiness. Sure enough after paying just $6 for steaming plates loaded with pancakes, syrup, fried eggs, biscuits and gravy I was alert and ready to do…nothing.

The stifling heat of the city had reached a new high, pushing 95F (35C) and 90% humidity. There wasn’t anything obvious to do until the evening and given that we had found that wandering out of the centre of the city meant traversing neighbourhoods we didn’t feel quite comfortable with (life without a car in America is the gauge of abject poverty it seems) we returned to the hostel where we filled an air-conditioned afternoon with swimming, the wonders of YouTube and its stand-up comedy archives, and sleep. We had something to wait for however, as that evening we were headed across the road to watch the Memphis Redbirds take on the visiting Portland Beavers in Triple-A baseball. AutoZone Field ballpark overlooked our hostel and we’d been waiting for this evening when we could lie back and bask in the wonders of the National Pastime.
We had met a fellow-traveller named Dominick at the hostel in Nashville (he was a tablemate during our impromptu and free steak dinner back in Music City) and had taken his number as he was shadowing our path through the South two days later. 34 years old and from Frankfurt, Dominick was a photographer by trade but had decided that he wanted to see America and was as eager and excited by all the sights we’d seen as us. We met him outside the ballpark just before the game, and with tickets in hand headed through the turnstiles.



There’s something wonderful about an American sports venue in the thirty minutes prior to tip-off/first pitch/coin-toss. The ballpark wasn’t full, in fact from a glance only 15% of its capacity could have been filled, but with baseball a crowd isn’t necessary. In the way that I imagine county cricket to be an enjoyable experience with just a few hundred people, the same applied to minor-league baseball. The ballpark was a particularly beautiful specimen, but AutoZone Field had a brilliant feature I hadn’t seen before that we had decided to try. Opposite home base where bleachers would be in a major-league ballpark, there was a grass-topped bluff, giving a panoramic view of the game and the entire ballpark. With the floodlights bathing the ground and its surrounding in light, the skyscrapers hooked overhead and it really was a fabulous evening to lie back on a blanket, chat and watch a game. Déborah and I discussed France and teaching French; my conversation turned again to Rach and how she was headed to Melbourne from Sydney as we spoke; Sam and Dominick talked; and we all enjoyed the phenomenon that is a breeze that feels like a hot, muggy hairdryer and an evening in May at 84F (29C).



(For those interested, a six-RBI 7th inning killed off Portland and Memphis ran out 7-1 winners)





It was then back to the hostel for bed and the start of what would be the most frustrating day of the trip so far.

99 days until I see Raquel.

Good night and good luck.