Checking out...

I'm beginning to wish I hadn't been so harsh on the Moxy Vanderbilt hotel. I was a little miffed that there was no wardrobe and no desk and, I hasten to add, no 'tea and coffee making facilities' but, on reflection, I'm wondering if it really matters. Why the change of heart? Well, I was sitting in what I've named 'the common room' listening to live music last night, feeling, it has to be said, fairly chilled about life when it struck me that their might be method in the Moxy's madness. Not having a desk was, I'm now thinking, quite a good move as it gets people out of their rooms and downstairs mingling with other guests, the environment is buzzy and for some – me included – I find it easy to focus on writing if there's a little hubbub going on.

Reception area, The Moxy hotel...

The pegs on the wall instead of a wardrobe? I got by fine and I spent so much time drinking bottled mineral water that I really didn't want for a cup of tea. In fact, on that score there was always Badass Coffee down the street; I ended up in there a few more times and almost finished my Eric Ambler novel there, but in the end I finished it here at the Moxy, sitting in one of their easy chairs in, yes, 'the common room'. So while my review on Trip Advisor moaned about no desk and no wardrobe what I'm saying now is that it doesn't really matter. I actually get what they're trying to do here and it works. The only thing that doesn't work is the food and beverage operation, that needs vast improvement, but everything else is fine.

As I think I've written somewhere else, hotels become a home from home, a sanctuary and I always look forward to getting back to the room and crashing out. I've been hitting the sack every night at 8pm mainly because, when you're on your own there's little to do other than shut down and go to sleep. I've been getting between six and eight hours' sleep most nights and haven't really noticed any bad effects from jet lag.

I sit here now, writing this article downstairs, listening to music from the Moxy sound system and I'm going to miss the place. I'll certainly miss my room. The shower was fantastic, the bed was comfortable and the hotel's close proximity to Biscuit Love across the street has made it all worthwhile.

Wall decor in the Moxy Hotel Vanderbilt, Nashville

I have to check out by 11am and my flight home isn't until later this evening, 2125hrs to be precise. I'm going to have to leave my case here and come back for it, which isn't a huge deal and the plan is to wander a little around Nashville. People are saying that East Nashville is a little quirky so I'm going to head over that way, if the UBER allows it. Yesterday I keyed in "East Nashville" and the system simply didn't respond, possibly because my destination was too vague, but today I'm giving it another try.

The Moxy Hotel Vanderbilt from the outside...

I'm wondering whether it's worth going to the Gibson Garage for one last look at the place, but I don't think I will. Buying that Grabber bass – a friend informed me today that Krist Novoselic of Nirvana used to play one – is not a good idea, even if it is worth far less than music retailers in the UK are charging. As already explained, it'll cost me to get it on the plane and then there's the risk of damaging it. So that's out of the question.

Nashville is a great place, a bit of a party city, granted, but you don't have to partake and I certainly didn't. The last thing I wanted to contend with was a hangover or worrying whether I'd said anything (or done anything) I shouldn't have. I've been there and done that and I have many T-shirts to prove it.

People often think that international travel is jam-packed with glamour, but as the photo accompanying this article proves, it's not. Invariably (in fact, most of the time) the view from my hotel room leaves a lot to desire, it's never anything to write home about and is, invariably, the view of a car park or some unattractive high rise buildings.

I can't say I'm looking forward to a nine-hour flight back to blighty, but at least it's direct. There's nothing worse than flying into Chicago O'Hare en route to somewhere else, be it Pittsburgh or, like last year, Columbus, Ohio, and then, as a result of huge queues at O'Hare missing the connecting flight. Direct is best, so the thought of not having to board an internal flight fills me with joy. I get on in Nashville and get off in London, simple. I do hope there's no old lady with a sneezing fit sitting next to me or any Americans wanting to apologise for Donald Trump, although I will accept their apology if they do.

I'm sitting here in my new Carhartt jacket feeling very pleased with myself. Normally I don't bother with myself when I'm abroad. I might buy others stuff and then get told it's the wrong size or the wrong colour so this year I thought I'd treat myself and I think I did well. I'm sure it'll last me a long time and it's ideal for the UK weather, although I wouldn't want to get it wet. That said, I'm glad I wasn't wearing it yesterday. There was a massive electric storm, there was heavy rain hammering the roads and sidewalks and I had to take shelter outside of Badass Coffee before walking back to the Moxy. I'd been chilling in Badass reading the last chapter of Eric Ambler's The Mask of Dimitrious. I've now read two Ambler novels, the other being Epitaph for a Spy, both were good and I'm on the look-out for more but couldn't find any in Parnassus Books in Nashville and instead bought an Alan Furst novel. He's supposed to be very much like Ambler in style, but I'm not convinced. I'll see if I can read a bit on the flight later, but I doubt it very much as I always focus on everything going on around me, there's little time to read.

A 'Southern Benny' for breakfast

When I reach home it'll be 0630hrs in the morning for me, but it's only 1230pm in the afternoon for most English people. In other words I might be a little jet-lagged, but let's see. Sometimes it's not as bad as I think it's going to be.

I've caught the eye of a Snickers bar and might well have to buy it, but perhaps I'll resist as, well, I was about to say it's nearly lunch time but it's only 1029hrs so no, there is time to indulge. I haven't really eaten a lot of sweets on this trip so I might well hold out. And I have to ask myself: do I really need to eat a chocolate bar? The answer is a firm no, I don't. So I'll resist the temptation and get on with my life.

I've checked out. Incidentals of just $52.00, that's the beauty of not drinking alcohol, the bill is never gut-wrenchingly expensive. One thing I will say about the Moxy is the staff are really friendly. I'm going to miss the place despite moaning about no desk, no wardrobe, no tea and coffee-making facilities and so forth.

Biscuit Love – brilliant for breakfast when the hotel fails you...

Biscuit Love, Nashville, Tennessee, USA – it's great!

It doesn't matter which way you look at it, the best part of the hotel experience has to be the breakfast, it's the most important meal of the day and, done properly, it sets you up for the day ahead and makes you love the hotel you're staying in. That's why, when you suddenly find that the hotel you're staying in DOESN'T offer a decent breakfast you get a little depressed. Not suicidal, far from it, but a little down in the dumps, and it's important to rectify the situation as soon as possible.

Biscuit Love, it's the best!

The thing is, these days, a lot of hotels have dispensed with the idea of breakfast – a major faux pas if you ask me and as much of a sin as dispening with wardrobes, desks and tea & coffee making facilities. How very dare they! Well, they do so you'd better get used to it.

All is not lost, though. Perhaps the first port of call for hotel residents on the look-out for a decent breakfast outside of their chosen place to stay is the coffee retailers. I'm sure that Starbuck's, Costa, Caffé Nero and all the independents out there offer something, even if it's just a Danish and a cup of tea or coffee.

Last year, in Columbus, Ohio, I was staying in a wonderful hotel, the Aloft, on the outskirts of town. It was a great place with plenty of quirky things going on, but they thought (wrongly) that it would be really quirky to dispense with breakfast. Big mistake, but it didn't put me off the hotel because, while quirky in some respects it was comfortable and, crucially, it was across the street (make that the parking lot) from an excellent Starbuck's where I would find myself every morning having a pretty decent breakfast. Naturally it became a routine, every morning.

So, here I am in the Moxy Vanderbilt, Nashville, downstairs writing this because there's no desk in my room, but let's say no more about that (I've said enough), let's instead talk about the seriously sub-standard food and beverage operation here; I know, I've mentioned it before, many times, but let's discuss it again but this time in the context of the hotel breakfast. The limited menu, which seems to be mainly pizza-like food items that can go in the bar top grill oven I've been talking about, makes the whole idea of waking up and looking forward to breakfast a bit of a no-no, that excitement simply isn't there – or is it?

Across the street from the Moxy Vanderbilt is a place called Biscuit Love. Yes, Biscuit Love, it's wonderful and it serves an amazing breakfast that's a cut above what you'll get in a coffee retailer like Starbuck's or whatever. The vibe is good too, there's decent music (probably because we're in the Music City) and the staff are bright and breezy and always have a smile for anybody who walks in; there's merch too, which gives the place a little added cred in my book. I've been going there since I arrived, by-passing the Moxy's poxy menu and crossing the street, confident that I'm going to get a warm welcome and, of course, a decent breakfast.

This morning, having been going there since Sunday morning, I was offered a free breakfast for my loyalty. I was bowled over by their generosity and ordered my usual: an omelette and an English breakfast tea, but not something you'd find in your average British greasy spoon, something far, far better, the omelette being served with roasted potatoes. Perfect! And the tea is out of this world, served in a glass teapot with an infuser, it's just the best and it knocks the Moxy's offering into a cocked hat.

I think hotels need to be careful. If they don't watch out they will become the fly in the ointment of their own existence and will have to sit back and watch their slow but inevitable decline. People won't put up with hotels that don't have desks or wardrobes or breakfast purely for the sake of being 'quirky' and instead they'll head for the nearest Air B&B. I was earwigging a conversation yesterday when I discovered that one company had put its representatives in a house for the duration of a big industry event, they all got their own rooms, they could cook their own food if they wanted to and when it came to breakfast, well, they'd just have to ensure they had cereal and fruit enough bread for toast and what have you. Who needs a hotel breakfast? Nobody, especially if it's very poor like the Moxy offering.

But there are now dedicated breakfast operators outside of the coffee retailers. Biscuit Love is one of these operators, it has a few stores in the Nashville area; and then there's The Brekkie Shack in Columbus, Ohio, a short walk from the Aloft hotel. Alright, not as close as the Starbuck's across the parking lot, but worth the extra few yards.

I think we'll be seeing more dedicated breakfast operators over the next few years as foodservice operators twig on to the trend for hotels that don't offer what they're supposed to. What's next, I wonder? Hotels with half a dozen sleeping bags in the room and nothing else. "Hey, they can watch TV on their iPads, they've got iPhones so we don't need to give them a landline and just shove a few pegs in the wall, there's no need for a wardrobe or, for that matter, a desk. They have laptops don't they? Well, they don't need a desk, they can use their laps, and if they want tea and coffee we'll shove a couple of bean-to-up systems downstairs in the reception area."

I wonder how far it will go? It's a bit like when you go to the airport and are expected to check yourself in. I hate that because the price doesn't drop, you're just doing the work of the airline and they're quids in as a result. Perhaps one day you'll arrive at what looks like a field laid to lawn with a sign providing the name of the hotel and a man in uniform handing out tents and camping equipment. "Pitch up anywhere, and if you want breakfast there's a nice little joint down the road. There's no desks either, or wardrobes or anything. Oh, and that's £200 for the night."

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.