I didn't fall down on my knees, but I took lots of cheesy photos and looked very much like the archetypal British blues tourist. Oh well.
For those who aren't aware of this historic location, "the crossroads" is where Highway 61 and Highway 49 meet, and is where Robert Johnson ("King of the Delta Blues") is said to have fallen down on his knees, and made a pact with the devil in return for becoming a master blues guitarist. Nobody knows if this story is actually true, but it's another great tourist trap just like Sun Studios in Memphis. A far cry from my vivid imagination of this sacred spot, the crossroads are now surrounded by a petrol station, a second hand furniture store, and a couple of greasy American diners. The local authorities have managed to stretch to a kitch-looking sign which consists of a couple of Gretch electric guitars (despite the fact the Robert Johnson would have been playing an acoustic in the 1930s) lit up above a sign which simply says "The Crossroads". Another illusion shattered.
Aside from this, we've had great fun cruising round the Mississippi Delta in our Ford Mustang, gently nodding our heads to the strains of Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf et al on the stereo. Pictures to follow...
Last night we pulled up at a classic Deep South BBQ restaurant in downtown Clarksdale, where everybody was bending over backwards to help us. Everyone is exceptionally friendly here - we've been told on a number of occasions that it's a pleasure for us to be here, shortly followed by "aaaahhh love yeer accccseeent, where ya fraaam?" Cue some Hugh Grantesque blustering from us, and they're eating out of our hands. Great stuff. Anyway, back to the restaurant, as I was driving I wanted to know if I could have a beer with dinner, so I thought I'd ask the waitress what the drink driving laws were in Mississippi. Ever keen to help, she got straight on her "cell phone" and asked a few questions. After she'd hung up, I asked who she was talking to:
"That waaaas the powlice" she said.
Slightly alarmed that she'd now tipped me off, I asked what they said to her.
"They saaaid yawu can drink as muuuuch as yawu laaaike, as laaoong as yawu don get caught"
Imagining the Dukes of Hazard now waiting for me outside, I decided to stick to the coke.
We've been doing more "cultural" things which I won't bore you with, aside from the fact that each new town we pass through seems to claim to be the "home of the blues". I've also found out there's quite a family of blues forefathers to remember:
W C Handy - "The Grandfather of the Blues"
Muddy Waters - "The Godfather of the Blues"
BB King - "The King of the Blues"
Koko Taylor - "The Queen of the Blues"
Robert Johnson - "King of the Delta Blues"
I'm sure these honerable titles must have been settled after a huge lawsuit between all the estates.
Tomorrow we leave Clarksdale for Jackson, needless to say via some significant Delta Blues sites. We met someone tonight who comes from there, and she told us to make sure we go to Finnigan's, but I think coming all this way to go to an Irish themed pub might be a little frivilous. Hopefully we'll find some more live blues (no bands full of 12-year-olds please) and accommodation in a classic American "motel" with a neon sign which has a couple of letters missing. I expect nothing less.
