Roadtrip Day 8: Shackin Up in Clarksdale, Mississippi

We left Memphis and headed towards the “birthplaces of the Blues,” Clarksdale, Mississippi.  It was a gorgeous day out and the first thing of note which we saw was miles and miles of cotton fields laying out before us in the fertile Mississippi soil.

Cotton fields

We also saw some original Mississippi billboards. This looks like something that would be a parody of a Mississippi billboard, not an actual one!

Our accommodations for the next two nights were to be at the Shack Up Inn, a unique Clarksdale offering where you stay in an individual sharecropper shack.  Take a look at the website, it looks pretty “fun” in a unique way, right?  Well, I knew we were in for something *interesting.*  At the very least, I was happy to hear they took dogs, and after our problems finding a place to stay in Memphis and the resulting sketchy Red Roof Inn, I was relieved to find anything!

We pulled in to a lot with what looked to be a bunch of old abandoned buildings on it. Here was the lobby:

Shack Up Inn Lobby

The Lobby also has a Juke Joint inside, home to many live blues concerts. How convenient, you can just stumble on over to your shack afterwards!

Shack Up Lobby

At this point, Earl was giving me the “where exactly did you book us?!” look of exasperation, however once we checked in and were shown to our shack, we learned we had nothing to fear.

Here was our personal shack, which I might add was very cute and cozy inside, with a big comfy bed and surprisingly nice private bath:

Our (Love) Shack

And some of the other shacks on the property.

Shotgun Shacks

A bit worn out, the very first thing I did upon arrival was snuggle into the quilted bed and take a nap with puppy.

Self portrait with Linus

The Shack Up Inn was almost completely full when we booked, however it felt rather isolated and very peaceful. Earl and I were able to sit in the swing on our porch swilling a couple beers, gently swinging in the cool Mississippi night without seeing any other guests. Even when exploring the property and plantation grounds we hardly saw anyone.
The view from our porch:

Dreams of Elvis

After resting up a bit, we moseyed on to downtown Clarksdale for some chowhounding and site-seeing. First thing we saw was the “Crossroads” of highway 61 and Highway 49. This is where blues legend Robert Johnson supposedly sold his soul to the Devil in exchange for guitar and blues mastery.

Crossroads of 49 and 61

We then went to satisfy our cravings for southern fare at Hicks, where Eugene Hicks and his wife Betty have been making tamales for 40 years. Walking out of the car, we were bummed to see the restaurant was open only for drive-thru. Well, some guy who was taking out the garbage overheard our conversation and approached us. “Why come on over, I’ll let you guys in,” he drawled. It turned out to Eugene Hicks himself! He unlocked the empty restaurant and sent a waitress to help us.
We split an order of some of the best tamales I’ve ever had. Earl had the tips and I had the ribs. DEEEELISH.

Ribs, tamales and tips at Hicks

The tamales were just so darn good, we got another half dozen for dessert. They were just spicy, meaty, and sooOO flavorful. We didn’t feel piggish doing so, after all, Bill Clinton and his entourage famously scarfed 35 dozen of the husked-wrapped delicacies. We left an offensively large tip before waddling out as a thank-you for opening the restaurant just for us. The waitress was beside herself for us to come back the following day, which Earl threatened he just might do (if Earl had his way our diet would now consist solely of Hicks tamales for breakfast, lunch and dinner).

That evening we were a little beat and just hung around our shack having a low-key night.