[Picking up from Friday afternoon...]
As we walked along Broadway earlier, I was given a flyer to a place called ‘Hay There’ where they supposedly had draught beers on for $2 a go. Cha-ching! It was right across the road from B.B.Kings so we hurried over, trying to hide our chuckles as the alligator-wrestling bouncer eyed our English driving licences with intrigue. The beers came in plastic glasses, they weren’t English pints, but we didn’t care. Also didn’t care about giving the barmaid a dollar tip which she earned by saying, “Yeah?”, passing across two pre-filled glasses, and saying, “Thanks, Y`all!” I lurve this town. I also loved the band they had playing at the back of the bar beneath a colossal American flag; it was more rock than country, and it was just a tiny bit too loud, but boy could they bang out a tune! We resisted the urge to dance, but I reckon we were about one drink away from getting up and stompin` down. Although it was a rough `n` ready place, the atmosphere was full of happy Friday night vibes as the rednecks “danced” at the foot of the stage, some of them looking like they’d come straight off their combine harvesters which they’d parked along the next street. And one thing we noticed was that Nashville fashion for ladies seems to be summer dresses and cowboy boots, but we wisely refrained from taken any photos, lest we breach the good ole southern standards of etiquette. Even the lavatories in this place were pretty darn good (which is important when it’s still 90 degrees outside after dark).
It was around 2 p.m. when we finished our dip in the pool
(no diving, no “whirlpools”, no fun) and the temperature clocked its high of
the day at 109 degrees...ONE HUNDRED AND NINE??? That’s, like, 43 degrees in
decimal! The weather forecast segment on the local TV channel normally lasts a
couple of minutes, but today it clocked up over 20 as the host quoted records
held since 1952 and scarily predicted it might be even higher tomorrow. Today Nashville was the hottest place in the whole country, even beating Arizona!
Apparently we are right in the centre of the “ring of fire” and it’s going to
be at least Thursday before the edge of that ring moves over the city and they
get a thunderstorm. We’ll be long gone by then.
It was Friday night and, despite the heat, we wanted to hit
the Nashville nightlife (there hadn’t been much to see in the day, hopefully
after dark it would be more entertaining). Nevertheless we staved off the
hunger pains and waited `til seven to head out, trying to walk reasonably quickly
while resisting the urge to perspire. We’d picked up a flyer in the hotel lobby
for a place called Jack's Bar-B-Que that looked to have the ideal combination
of low price and high popularity. And it turned out to have both, with a big
queue to get served, standing beneath the large ceiling fans which acted as poor
excuses for aircon. Feeling the when-in-Rome vibes, Tim and I both ordered a
Tennessee Pork Shoulder, and for some reason I got a side order of mac `n`
cheese. But all in all it was a damn fine meal, boy! Yeehah!
Before...
After...
Next stop was B.B.King’s Blues Bar, which is a chain of five
venues across the country which the great man has probably visited once in his
life. It was a classy place where you can get a table to see the show, or just
linger by the bar which ran the whole length of the venue. We lingered, as is
our custom. Ever since we got a deal on Blue Ribbon beers for a dollar each in
Philadelphia our opening line to bar staff has been, “Do you have any specials
on?” When they say no, it then gets a bit embarrassing as we ask what their
most “economically-priced” beverage happens to be – invariably it’s Bud, Bud
Lite or Miller Lite (“American crap”) which usually comes in at $4 - $5 (plus
the tip, of course).
So, we bought our Miller Lites and made conversation while
waiting for the show to start (at this point we still have things to say to
each other). As soon as he heard our quaint accents, the guy on the next bar
stool spun around and enthusiastically asked us where we were from. Cue the
usual come-from-England, crossing-USA-to-travel-world, lots-of-fun,
you-guys-are-so-lucky, etc., etc. This guy was from Wyoming (population 550,000,
total area 12 times the size of Wales) and was living in the back of his truck
and heading down to Austin, Texas to start grad school. Texas had been the big
unanswered question for us for some time – do we stay in Dallas, Houston, San
Antonio, Austin or Fort Worth? Mr. Wyoming had plenty of positive things to
say about Austin, so it’s currently top of the list, but it all depends on how
quickly good old Greyhound can get us there. The other recommendation this guy
made was that we head next door to the Coyote Ugly bar (you may have seen the
film, I only caught the trailer). He said that he was happily sitting there
minding his own business as the craziness took place around him, when suddenly
the waitress grabbed his bottle of beer, shook it up, then sprayed it all over
him! If he’d only been privy to our economical beer policy then he’d have known
that was a recommendation we weren’t prepared to take him up on!
The band started playing, the noise level went up and
it was too loud to talk to our new friend (he staggered out after a couple of
songs, looking a little tipsy), but the music was great. Soul, blues, funk,
jazz – it had it all (no idea who the group was though). All this time we have
been sitting there making our Miller Lites last, telling the barmaid no when
she asks if we’re ready for two more. During a break in the band’s set, a large
guy and two girls arrive. I spot that there’s only two stools next to Tim and a
free one next to me at the end of the bar. I suggest to Tim that we move along
and Tim gestures to the guy that him and his lady companions have all the seats
they need. We continue to talk (remarkably, still with stuff to say to each
other). Suddenly the barmaid puts two more beers in front of us and we look at
each other in bemusement – “Did you ask for another beer?”, “I didn’t ask for
another beer!”, “Did she mishear what we said?” She gestures to the large guy
and says that they’re courtesy of him. REALLY? We give the guy a barstool and
he buys us both a drink? We look his way and match his gesture of cheers with our
bottles. Is he Nashville's criminal kingpin flashing his cash? Is he trying to
impress his two ladyfriends with the size of his wad? Who cares! I just LURVE
this town! And then it hits me – damn, should have ordered an expensive beer in
the first place.
[We didn't go in here!]
As we walked along Broadway earlier, I was given a flyer to a place called ‘Hay There’ where they supposedly had draught beers on for $2 a go. Cha-ching! It was right across the road from B.B.Kings so we hurried over, trying to hide our chuckles as the alligator-wrestling bouncer eyed our English driving licences with intrigue. The beers came in plastic glasses, they weren’t English pints, but we didn’t care. Also didn’t care about giving the barmaid a dollar tip which she earned by saying, “Yeah?”, passing across two pre-filled glasses, and saying, “Thanks, Y`all!” I lurve this town. I also loved the band they had playing at the back of the bar beneath a colossal American flag; it was more rock than country, and it was just a tiny bit too loud, but boy could they bang out a tune! We resisted the urge to dance, but I reckon we were about one drink away from getting up and stompin` down. Although it was a rough `n` ready place, the atmosphere was full of happy Friday night vibes as the rednecks “danced” at the foot of the stage, some of them looking like they’d come straight off their combine harvesters which they’d parked along the next street. And one thing we noticed was that Nashville fashion for ladies seems to be summer dresses and cowboy boots, but we wisely refrained from taken any photos, lest we breach the good ole southern standards of etiquette. Even the lavatories in this place were pretty darn good (which is important when it’s still 90 degrees outside after dark).
An aside – American toilets have got it going on (if you’re
having your lunch or cannot stand the smallest reference to the scatological,
you’d be advised to skip this paragraph). I went to Spain a lot in my early
twenties and saw public toilets that were not of this Earth. Those pathetic
little European flush mechanisms were powerless against the human waste that
attacked those u-bends. But here in the states I have yet to find an unholy “restroom”.
Sure the Greyhound Gents are not the places you want to hang out in for longer
than 20 seconds at a time, but the toilets themselves are always clean. Why? Because
they are full of water. They’re like ponds! But those ponds clear everything
away with nothing left over. I think I should stop now (can you tell it’s a slow
afternoon?), but I think I’ve made my point. Sometimes it’s the little things
that make a holiday worthwhile.
We walked home from Hay There with a slight ringing in our
ears and the fulfilment of a fun evening deep in our hearts. Nashville at night
was better than Nashville during the day. It’s now Saturday afternoon and too
hot to be outside for longer than 15 minutes at a time. We’re camped out in our
hotel room at the moment, but it gives us time to get things done (the hand
washing’s hanging up from wall to wall and drying while we give the mega-turbo-aircon
a break). Although we’re not doing much with the day, it’s good that we’ve got
this third night in Nashville because up until now it was getting a little too
hectic – two nights in a city is okay if there’s not much to see, but it gets
tiring when doing overnighters on the buses in-between stops. So, there ain’t
gonna be much more to write about our time here, but stay tuned for the next instalment
in Birmingham, Alabama, followed by three nights in New Orleans. However, it
may take a little longer than usual to get the next entry up on the blog, so
please bear with me and know that it’s just a temporary delay and I’ve not
camped out permanently in the best little whorehouse in Texas.
Luv to you all, keep on truckin`!
No comments:
Post a Comment