It seems cities radiate their souls. Something moved inside us, as soon as we saw Chicago from far away. For instance, I updated my Facebook status saying it looked delicious, even before we got into the city. Then we walked the streets for hours, and we were right: it is delightful. Chicago and we liked each other a lot. Exquisite architecture, wonderful people, marvelous music, classy streets… And no one is obese. Really. Girls are beautiful, people are having fun, the streets are alive… What else can you expect from a city of this size? Especially after seeing ‘ain’t-saint-at-all’ Louis and Memphis…

But don’t expect anymore of Chicago in this entry. You will have wait for tomorrow or the day after.

Where were we?

On our last day in Memphis, we left the hotel early. Of course, everywhere was closed. So Fikret and I took some photos, chatted, and wandered around. Then we went to the Sun Studios – Sam Philips’s studio. The place where a bunch of blues, rhythm and blues musicians became famous, and on top of them all, where Elvis came up from underground…

And of course, the studio management takes every possible advantage of this history. Every sellable item has Elvis’s name on it. So be it. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we are actually in the Sun Studios.

Here is a short list of the names that signed contract and recorded in this studio: Ike Turner, Howlin’ Wolf, Junior Parker, Little Milton, B.B. King, James Cotton, Rufus Thomas, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins, Roy Orbison, Warren Smith, Charlie Rich, Jerry Lee Lewis…

The story is well-known. Elvis comes in as a young man and records the two songs, “My Happiness” and “That’s When Your Heartaches Begin”, as a birthday gift for his mother. The exact date is July 18^th, 1953. However, it is not clear how this story can be true when his mother’s birthday is April 25^th. We ask, and nobody at the Sun knows it

A fatal mistake of this kind is very commonly repeated in the Elvis stories told in our country, too. Because it says “mama” in the song “That’s All Right Mama”, which Elvis became famous for, our genius music writers jump to the conclusion that this must be the song he wrote for his mother. First of all, he recorded it a year later. Secondly, and more importantly, it was not written by him but by Arthur Crudup, in the Forties.

Anyway, it’s too much bragging, I think… Back to our tour: We, and the other visitors whose ages were either 12 or 70, were guided through the studio by a young and jokey guy. The studio was very impressive. All the equipments were in working condition and we were allowed to touch them. And I didn’t hesitate to touch. I even took an arty photo by bringing the picture of my hero Howlin’ Wolf hanging on the wall and Elvis’s microphone together in one frame. But I am not confident when Fikret is around so I won’t upload it here.

But it was after the tour that the young lad spoiled it all. It turned out that he had recorded an album and he begged me to buy it and tip him. He wasn’t talking directly to me but telling this to everyone. Well, what difference does it make? I was ashamed like someone next to me was being rebuked. I wouldn’t give him a dime after seeing this, of course. There are proper ways to do it, you know. Like in ‘our’ Delta, the musicians put a bucket in the middle, and the ones that like the music throw money in it. And the ones who don’t like it don’t stay long in that place anyway, since it’s not possible to bear the village music and those archaic places unless you like it.

We left the Sun Studios feeling bitter and a bit excited. We didn’t jump the chance to have our photo taken singing to Elvis’s microphone. These are touristic gestures, I know, but how many times can you get the chance to touch that microphone?

I – unlike someone we know very well who is sure to be offended by this comment – am not one of those who despise Elvis. He is our father, our king – long live! He’s unique.

Talking about Elvis reminded me of Greenville, and a conversation we had with Dominick. While we were drinking in his apartment, Dominick told us that he had seen Elvis live. It was one of his last concerts from his ‘Fat Elvis’ era. He was fat, but he was still a king, you know… Anyway, he had had a scarf in his hands, one of the many that he had been using to wipe sweat from his face. Then when he had thrown one of them to the crowd, it had fallen in Dominick’s hands who had been working in the balcony. He said after he had seen the ladies fighting to get it, screaming down below, and he had thrown it back to them. At this point of the story, Anne came between and said “You fool, how could you do that?” Then, inevitably, I jumped in to Dominick’s rescue by saying “How many times in life can you get the chance to throw a scarf to hundreds of screaming girls?” Well done, Dominick!

Luckily, my interpretation of the situation got more supporters And Dominick – I don’t know if he wanted to back me up because he liked me or my interpretation – said he finally found the proper answer to the ones who made fun of him because of the way he had reacted then.

After the Sun Studios, we did a stupid thing and got on one of those famous steamboats. And of course, there is a modern motor on every boat, and an archaic wheel which turns freely while the boat goes on the river. The age situation of the people is similar to the ones in the Sun Studios – either above sixty, or their grand children, and no one in between… We couldn’t figure out where the parents of those kids would be.

But the kids were in the same state of mind with me and Fikret. This was Chinese torture which went for an hour and a half – a meaningless tour on a muddy river. A talkative guy kept telling some uninteresting stories. The grand parents kept tugging the almost weepy kids, saying “Oh look, look how the wheel turns.” And we were almost weepy, too. Anyway, Fikret complained enough about this yesterday, so let me stop. The tour ended before I hurt myself.

After we got back on the shore, we paid a small visit to Graceland, saw Elvis’s plane and other stuff, and went back to the Beale Street. There wasn’t much to do other than going in and out of bars. Not a proper mood for rakı.

After we spent the night, by dawn and with new hopes, we set off for St. Louis.

The road is long. Teresa keeps dragging us to the modern highways. But we are determined to keep up with Highway 61. And Highway 61 has kept getting smaller and smaller through the years – almost a modest road… After a joyful ride, we arrive at a hostel even the name of which is attractive: Huckelberry Finn!

The Finn has an owner, who tracks his own words to save up his calories. He is intended to not to say one unnecessary word. And he is obsessed with Mark Twain. He insisted that we went to Hannibal. But I warned him that he was wasting his calories, and he stopped when he realized I was right.

We checked in this ridiculous place without taking a look at the rooms. We thought, there was a bed, a wifi, so the bathroom outside the room wouldn’t be a problem. How could we know that the room hadn’t completed its evolutionary process? And the wifi mentioned was very far from the actual location. $30 per person for nothing

I have stayed in very bad places – in Turkey, in Iran, in India, in Nepal… I stayed in a dormitory alone in Algeria. But, oh God, I have never seen a place worse than this.

St. Louis is a grid planned city. It’s the door to the west of the USA. Everything is neat. The problem is, the soul of the city was injected out of it. I apologize to the people of St. Louis, if they think I am exaggerating. But they should walk out more on the streets. It’s like everything here is the confirmation of the Zappa song, “America Drinks and Goes Home.” And it is supposed to be the city of William S. Burroughs and Chuck Berry.

After we wandered around in Downtown for some time, and visited the ‘famous’ Gateway Arch, the door to the west, we took to drinking rakı and forced ourselves to sleep.

In the morning we checked out, running away from Huckelberry Finn.

Now we are drinking rakı in our sweet home Chicago. We hope it will get better from now on and we will have more to tell about.

Now we leave you with Robert Johnson, the guy whom we visited and drank rakı by the grave of, singing “Sweet Home Chicago.”
http://www.imeem.com/artists/robert_johnson/music/AaulvDGP/robert-johnson-sweet-home-chicago/