Memphis, Washington D.C., Baltimore & Philadelphia

I have met many Americans, both at home and in the US, who have expressed surprise or confusion at my interest in American history and culture. Some have even joked, "What history?" Most Americans can trace their families back to the "homeland" on another continent, to a time when the United States was very much in its infancy, or even still a collection ragtag rebel colonies. In comparison to Old World nations, whose often romanticised histories seem to stretch back through endless centuries into distant, otherwordly eras, the US is sometimes seen as lacking the same cultural richness in its past, and by extension, often its present. Indeed, America has always been a composite of various other, older national cultures and peoples, and in a sense it is the nation's very modernity which characterises it in an international historical context. However, in relative American terms, the next leg of my trip felt steeped in history and heritage. It included the monuments and memorials of the nation's political epicentre; the birthplace of the flag and the site of Revolutionary War battles; and the city where the United States declared its independence.


But first I traveled through one of the most mythologised stretches of the country; heading north alongside the Mississippi River, through the "cradle of the civil war", bound for Memphis, Tennessee. Highway 61, immortalised in Bob Dylan's 1965 album, is in many ways indistinguishable from other major roads in the country, but seeing the sign still gave me a flurry of excitement. The bus passed through Clarksdale, Mississippi, heartland of the blues. Memphis itself has been invaluable in the history of blues and rock 'n' roll, offering a hub for aspiring musicians to launch their careers. The city was also a site of civil rights struggles in the 1960s. I spent an afternoon at the National Civil Rights Museum, housed in the former motel where Martin Luther King was assassinated. There was a stirring short film shown as part of the exhibition, which retraced the fateful few days in early April 1968 that King spent in Memphis supporting striking sanitation workers. King arrived in Memphis with increasingly menacing threats upon his life, and on 3rd April he delivered an impromptu, unscripted speech at the Mason Temple, the night before he was shot. Making allusions to Moses and a lost people, he once more implored America to live up to its heady ideals in the face of persistent racial injustice and poverty. His prophetic closing words seemed to foreshadow his impending death, while defiantly declaring that the black Americans will one day reach the Promised Land. His eyes had seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.

Just a few blocks from the civil rights museum is Beale Street, the heart of Memphis' famous music scene, where Elvis Presley, BB King, Muddy Waters and countless other performers honed their styles and launched their careers. Its glory years may have passed, but Beale Street still retains a party atmosphere with plenty of live music. The rest of downtown Memphis is rather sparse, however, and does not come close to the magnet for tourism or vibrancy of New Orleans, despite being a bigger city. My favourite experience in Memphis was the tour of Sun Studio, which remains pretty much unchanged from the 1950s, when Elvis, Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, Howlin' Wolf, and BB King recorded there. Later that day I enjoyed a plate of BBQ ribs while watching the epic Barcelona v. Chelsea match, surrounded by totally oblivious Americans. And I have reason to believe we all will be received in Graceland...if you stump up $32 to get beyond the gates of the Elvis' mansion. Feeling conscious about saving money I sat it out, instead reading some of the millions of gushing Elvis tributes scribbled along the 70 metre wall along the front of the estate. I was also amused to spot Heartbreak Hotel, which really is down at the end of Lonely Street. Memphis marked the end of a musical journey through the American South. Before I left home I felt inclined to agree with the proclamation that African American music is the nation's greatest and most "original" cultural export. I like the idea even more now, even if it is impossible to assess such a claim.

I had originally planned to travel to the east coast via Atlanta and the Carolinas, but starting to run short on time and money, I ditched any romantic notions of hundreds more miles on the American Road and caught a cheap flight straight to Washington D.C. Suzanne, who I stayed with in San Francsico, got me in touch with her daughter, Deborah, and her family, who put me up for a few days. From the suitably pristine and stately National Mall, I visited some of the free Smithsonian museums, inlcuding the American history, Space, and Holocaust museums, all interesting in obviously very different ways. And there are few sights more iconic that the view from the steps of the Lincoln memorial, where Martin Luther King made his "I Have a Dream" speech in 1963. I also caught a glimpse of the White House, but the roads around it were blocked off, presumably because Obama's helicopter arrived overhead, which got some people quite excited. The most enjoyable aspect of DC, however, was staying with the Christies, a really lovely family. Deborah's husband, Bill, has ingeniously built a mini sports bar in their basement, and we spent a couple of evenings playing pool and watching baseball and ice hockey. It was a good few days for Washington sports teams: the Caps beat Boston in the Stanley Cup play-offs (ice hockey), and fans of the Redskins were sent into frenzy over the drafting of highly-touted young Quarterback, Robert Griffin III, the great white hope destined the revive the fortunes of the flagging "franchise".

Next I traveled 40 miles from the attractive and touristy capital to the post-industrial port town infamous for a high violent crime rate...sound familiar? I might not have otherwise gone to Baltimore, but my mum's friend's son fronts a soul band there, so I thought meeting him would make it a worthwhile sojourn. Adam and his girlfriend Jenny picked me up in their band's van and we headed straight for a wedding party gig 30 minutes outside the city in woodland Maryland. We created the alibi that I was "the sound guy" if anyone at the party wondered who I was. Old Man Brown's rhythm & blues/gospel set made for a great night, and I struck lucky freeloading on the free food and drink. And it was a weird experience standing among the newlyweds' nearest and dearest as we watched a sugary-sweet powerpoint slideshow narrating their love story. Adam cringed and said, "Man, this is why at wedding gigs I just get really drunk", as he handed me a shot of whisky.

The next day Adam explained that some of the racial tensions in Baltimore are exemplified by its music scene. He said it was a shame in some ways that all-white Old Man Brown were probably the best soul band in the city. In Baltimore most black musicians come out of the church, and there is very little mixing between that world and the music scene in clubs and bars and so on. Adam said some black churches won't hire him for events even when he's the best available organ player, which he understands but finds frustrating when he needs the work. He explained he'd made efforts to bring together the two worlds, to collaborate with the best musicians and give them greater exposure, but with limited success. In a city 65% African American, most of the musicians peforming to the masses are white, and many of them are terrible, as we saw at a small music festival in the roasting sun the next day. Most were bands doing hackneyed covers, trying too hard to be rockstars. Jenny Leigh Band, Adam's girlfriend's group, were in a totally different league, pleasing the ground with her own country-rock and bluegrass numbers. My only full day was spent at the festival, so I didn't get a chance to see much of Baltimore itself, but enjoyed recognising a couple of spots that appear in The Wire. The day I left the city, Jenny left to Nashville for recording, so she's clearly making strides in her music career. In the meantime, however, she also works for the sports brand Under Armour, and was recently in London for a photo shoot with the Tottenham squad ahead of the launch of their new kit. She said that Gareth Bale acted like a complete brat, refusing to pose in the new shirt because it was too cold outside, only eventually cooperating after Jenny gave him a stern telling off. When she later apologised to manager Harry Redknapp, explaining that she hadn't known who Bale was, he warmly thanked her for doing something that he wasn't "allowed" to do! Perhaps Jenny has exposed one of the prime reasons why Spurs capitulated this season...

I continued north to Philadelphia, where I stayed with my friend Chandrima, whom I met volunteering at the Homeless World Cup in Rio two years ago, and her husband Tony. Chandrima and I wrote co-wrote an article during the tournament about women's street soccer programmes in some of the participating nations, and she was the first person I encountered during my travels who I had already met. She has established and runs a street soccer progamme of her own in Philly, which invites guys from the homeless shelter to train as part of a team twice a week, with coaches who organise the sessions. Chandrima invited me along to their Monday night session, where the theme "playing with your head up" as the theme, encouraging the guys to keep looking for opportunites on the pitch as in life. Later this year, Street Soccer Philly will take a team to the USA Cup in New York. After two months in the US, I was starting to miss playing, watching, and talking about football, so I loved staying with a fellow fan. We watched Man Ciy v. Man Utd in an Irish pub and discussed Chandrima's beloved Arsenal's Champions League hopes. Philly wasn't all about the fitba, however, apparently it's got some historic landmarks too. I checked out Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell, but was most impressed by the majestic City Hall, the laid-back atmosphere in leafy Rittenhouse Square, and the "Rocky" steps at the Museum of Art. Reading Terminal Market, a wonderland of dozens of different food stalls, was also a highlight. Perhaps the most distictive aspect of Philadelphia is its narrow downown streets, giving it a classically "East Coast" city look.

The varied attractions and experiences in these four locations, as well as the fun and interesting hosts, made this one of the most enjoyable chapters of the trip. And these cities rooted in folklore and legacy were a good lead up to the very biggest and most dazzling of the lot; the place where it all began for hundreds of thousands of immigrants, in search of a better life. Start spreadin' the news.