Nashville is a funny place. It was only ten years ago that Nashville real estate wasn't worth much at all, a kind of place where people came to live if they didn't have much coin and wanted to be in a pretty spot near a medium sized city. Forward ten years, after many investors came and bought up the little houses by the dozens, flipped them and marketed them as the new, attractive place to live, and you've got yourself a city who isn't quite sure of her place in the world. A country music mecca, for sure. A big town that hasn't lost its roots (evidenced by cowboy hats and boots pretty much everywhere you look), but has outgrown its 'town' status. There's a great demonstration of the rich versus poor lifestyles that are unfortunately the great American reality. Green Hills & Berry Hills - full of glamorous malls with shiny marble floors, filled to the gullet with shops like Louis Vuitton; leafy green tree-lined streets with stately homes manicured within an inch of their fence lines. Then hop on the interstate north-west and you'll find dirty, run-down and abandoned shopfronts, streets lined with more rubbish than foliage, and the ever-present feeling that you shouldn't leave your purse in your car even if you're going to be leaning against it while you wait for a friend to run into the shop for gum.
There's the glitz of Broadway and the general feeling that Nashvillians are trying to promote the city as a glamorous heartland of country music, where dreams come true and celebrity flocks to those who seek it. Next door to the Country Music Hall of Fame you have a sign telling you not to 'feed the animals' (perhaps they weren't the exact words), as the homeless population line up to beg for your coin with their parlour tricks or genuinely good attempts at busking musically. Businessmen move through Church St in their impeccable suits, sharing the sidewalk with folks in well-worn jeans and broad, dusty Stetsons, and men walking with slightly less purpose, the tell-tale signs of their life on the streets showing in the dirt staining the cuffs of their thread-bear pants. It's a city I've grown quite fond of, and am certain to return to in a future visit. Not least of all because on our last night in Nashville, we discovered the gay district, and it is just as full of character and charm as any other I have ever visited. 'Twas truly a pity I was incredibly tired, as was Donna, because we had gone to Mad Donna's (no, the irony isn't lost on us) for dinner, only to discover we'd found probably the best neighbourhood in which to hang our hats for a couple of hours. We came for Drag Bingo, and unfortunately were both so utterly tired by the time we had full bellies, we chose to head back to the hotel to have an early night before Donna flying home in the morning, and me moving down the Civil War trail.
Before Mandy left us (sad panda..) the three of us took a trip to Belle Meade Mansion, and did a guided tour of the mansion itself. Fascinating stories to be heard here, but what really delighted me was the connection with my beloved Franklin. As it so turns out, the McGavock's daughter (remember them from Carnton Plantation last year?) wound up marrying the son of the people who owned Belle Meade, and they lived happily together in the mansion, raising their family. The grounds were simply breathtaking. Huge expanses of green, green grass, hundred year old oaks, ash and pine (among others) dotted throughout the property, their huge limbs stretching out, providing wonderful pockets of shade on the soft lawns. As we were leaving, I spied a red cardinal (I believe it is the Tennessee State bird) flitting through the grass, and gave chase to try to capture him on film. He was a wily little thing, and ended up leading me over to a couple of wild bunnies, and successfully distracting me with their cuteness. I did, however, get a couple of passable photos of him, his brilliant red a stark contrast to the brilliant emerald of the lawns. The crowning jewel in the wildlife spotting, however, was the chipmunk we witnessed sprinting from one hidey hole to the next. I was so excited I think I may have lost powers of coherent speech as I struggled to get my camera out of its bag and calibrate the appropriate settings (SLRs might take great shots but bloody hell they're hard work when you want a quick snap!). Alas - he disappeared down a little hole Mandy pointed out to me before I was able to photograph him. His cousins, the squirrels on the eastern lawn, however were quite happy to pose for many photographs.
Our last night as a trio was spent at Bluebird Café, which is an absolute gem, tucked away in the suburbs of Nashville. It seats only 100 people, so it is not only wise but essential, to make a reservation. There are no bad seats, so if you do go and are allocated 'the bar' - be happy as you are within easy calling distance of the bartender, and are only two metres from the artists. Four men sat in the round, three guitarists and one on keyboard, and took turns at performing a mix of their own music (much of which has been 'cut' by high-profile artists such as George Jones, Keith Urban, and I believe BB King was mentioned), music they had collaborated on, and music they played to honour the late George Jones. For those of you who believe I do not like live music venues, you were proven irrevocably wrong Saturday night. For three hours I was captivated and ran the full gamut of emotions, from joy to sadness. I was driven to tears over a couple of songs and had to go outside for some very frosty night air to clear my head. The good news is they pipe the music out the door so I didn't miss anything. The last song played was 'Maniac' from Flashdance - performed by the original songwriter. Who, by the way, I got a photo of. Very grainy, because it was simply too dark in the bar to get a good one, but he posed for me and I was a little star-struck. Once I get myself organised, I will post a gallery of photos and upload the link, and you too can peer at the face of musical genius. It was just loud enough to feel ensconced, but not so loud I couldn't hear Donna & Mandy when they leaned over to tell me something. Perfect.
Sunday afternoon we hugged and kissed Mandy goodbye as she drove off to her family (darn children..) despite our threats of stealing her keys and taping her to our hotel room. Donna and I were a little morose at saying goodbye to her, and spent Sunday in a kind of mourning, sitting side by side in our hotel beds watching TV and intermittently talking rubbish.
On Monday Donna and I decided to embark upon the journey into Kentucky, to pay a visit to Mammoth Caves. They've certainly earned their name, as one of the world's largest single cave system. We did a deep cave tour 350 feet under ground, squeezing through shafts that were honestly a little concerning to me, given some of the larger Americans on our tour (I had visions of vasoline being liberally applied to their sides). After getting over my initial feeling of claustrophobia and panic, it was quite pleasant, other than the incredibly over-awed American woman directly in front of me on said squeezy trail (so I couldn't get around her darnit) gasping and yelling excitedly "oh my gohd!" pretty much every single step she took. Donna suggested it was the first time she'd left the house. I can only surmise. There were some very pretty formations at the end of the tour, but again, with so very little light it was hard to capture decent photos. I did get some good photos of Donna however; upon loading them into my laptop and going through to weed out the terrible ones (oh so many) I discovered I was a bit of a stalker on the tour, and nearly every photo I've kept has Donna in it. In a way it's good though, as it gives some sense of scale and perspective to the otherwise ambiguous shots of rock and 'gaps'. The best part of the trip to Mammoth Caves I have to say, was the wildlife spotting. The land above and below is all National Park, and so it is protected from hunters. On our way in I nearly peed from excitement because I spotted a turkey on the side of the road. Yes, a turkey. But he was oh so cute! I gave Donna my camera and she got some great shots while I called out 'turkey turkey turkey!' at him to make him turn toward us and fluff up his feathers. My calling got us that reward - and a greater one - he let out a very loud 'gobble gobble gobble!' which made me squeal with delight. I'm easily pleased. On our way homeward, I screeched to a halt as there was a deer standing in the middle of the road. She wasn't there for long, and before I knew it I was camera-at-the-ready, stealthily tracking her through the woods on the side of the road. I needn't have worried about stealth, as it turned out, she was just as interested in me as I was in her. At one point I thought she was going to charge me, because she lifted her head, stared straight at me and took a few steps towards me. Just curious, as it turned out. I got some excellent photos of her - by 'some' I mean around 100. I kid you not. I fixed my camera to 'continuous burst' mode and just keep pressing the shutter button. That was an awful lot to sort through when we got home that night.
I dropped Donna off at Nashville airport feeling quite sad for our time have come to and end. I was a bit at a loss as to how to proceed with my day, whether I should wait for Prince's Hot Chicken to open (11:30am) or whether to just head South to Franklin. I took Donna's advice and did just that. For a refresher on why I fell in love and where I visited last year, see here .
Take care,
M x
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