Heading downtown...

Today, as I planned to walk from my hotel to the Music City Convention Centre in downtown Nashville, I heard there had been a homicide on Friday in the early hours of the morning. An international traveller had been stabbed in the head and was robbed of his iphone. The police did take a man into custody, according to a news report. I'm guessing that, in the UK, the newspapers would probably have used that well-worn phrase "no arrests have been made" but this isn't the UK, it's the USA and, credit where credit's due, there's always a strong police presence, which is reassuring to the general public, especially after a murder has taken place.

My hotel, the Moxy (see previous article) is a fair way from the convention centre where I was due to meet my colleague and, sadly, for the Moxy, more disparaging stories from the hotel without wardrobes. I was advised to take a cab or an Uber and avoid any possible incident with Nashville ne'er do wells. Unfortunately, my Uber app, which is rarely used, didn't seem to work so I asked the receptionist if she could call me a cab. "You're a cab," she said...alright, she didn't say anything of the sort, that was my little joke. But what she did say was, "We have a cab company, sir, but they never turn up if we call them." It's not what you want to hear, is it? The hotel has a cab company, but when anybody calls them they don't bother turning up. What kind of a cab company does that and what sort of hotel allows the situation to fester and become so commonplace that the receptionist on the 'front desk' openly tells customers that it's really not worth booking a cab as they never bother to turn up. 

Well, I'd better face up to facts and hit the mean streets of Nashville and just hope I'm not accosted by an axe-wielding nutter. I started to walk along a street that would become (if it wasn't already) Broadway. A few yards into my journey I thought I'd download the Uber app as my one wasn't working properly. Perhaps I'd find somewhere with free wifi as I don't want to be charged a fortune by the phone company. So I darted into a coffee shop called something like Badass Coffee, ordered a tea (I don't like availing myself of the services of a foodservice operator without in some way giving them business) and sat down with a view to getting the app installed on my phone. There's a little notice on the service counter with the wifi password on it so I keyed it into my phone only to discover that it didn't work and I really couldn't face any kind of engagement with the counter assistant so I decided (again) to continue with my walk. "Just checking, but is it safe to walk into downtown from here?" I finally asked. "Yes, it is. All is fine during the daylight hours, but I wouldn't do it at night," she said and I realised that Nashville is just like anywhere else. Walk around late at night or in the early hours and basically you're asking for trouble. So I resolved to continue with my journey, but first, as I'd been drinking tea all morning – I had around three cups in Biscuit Love and another one here in this Badass coffee joint – I thought it best to answer the call of nature and not later find myself trying to walk cross-legged or, worse still, having to dart behind a tree or bush to take a leak.

I walked towards the passageway that would lead me to the restrooms (as they say politely here in North America – in the UK it would be 'the bogs'). When I reached the door there was a keypad affixed to it, meaning I would have to go back to the service counter and ask for the password (how humiliating!). When I got there the girl behind the counter recited a list of numbers and added 'plus pound'. Plus pound? She didn't really elaborate and when I got back to the door of the restroom I couldn't see any £ sign and had to return to the counter. "You mean the hash tag?" And that was just what she meant, the door opened, I answered the call of nature and I was ready to continue my walk through the mean streets of Nashville. Except that they weren't at all mean. I had no troublesome encounters whatsoever and reached my ultimate destination (the convention centre) without incident.

I was, however, simply amazed that stuff wasn't working: my Uber app (which I later successfully uploaded) then the password for the Badass coffee shop's wifi and then the toilet door confusion over whether the push-button code had a £ sign or a hashtag. 

What was great about today (Sunday) was Nashville's Gibson Garage, a shop full of expensive Gibson and Epiphone electric (and acoustic) guitars. I can't play a note and nor can my colleague so we decided not to be imposters by buying a Gibson tee-shirt and instead walked to an area of Nashville called The Gulch where we found a fantastic English pub. I ordered a burger and fries, my colleague opted for a shepherd's pie, both very tasty, and then we continued to swan around the downtown, merging with the merry folk of Nashville. I remembered a cartoon I used to watch as a kid and a horse called Quick Draw McGraw who used to hit his enemies over the head with an acoustic guitar. That's it, I thought. I don't need to pack a piece, all I need is buy an expensive Gibson Les Paul and if anybody should dare to steal my iphone I could shout "El Kabong!" and land my guitar squarely on the head of the robber. The problem, of course, is that I might end up seriously hurting the bad guy – or perhaps the 'badass' – and then find myself in the slammer or, even worse, on Death Row, my feet shackled as I make my way to the visitor window where, with the help of a Bakelite telephone receiver, I can talk to my family from the other side of some heavy duty plexiglass or whatever it is they use to separate prisoner and visitor.