For utterly inexplicable† reasons, Nashville has a Parthenon**. It is made of pebble-dashed concrete, built on land awarded to some woman for covering some Injuns in boiling water, and is probably not as impressive as the one in Greece. It did, however, give rise to the best sign ever:
$10 for bike rental at this hostel... and it'd be worth it.
Nashville in numbers:
Red necks acquired: 1 (note to self: buy Stetson)
Number of times killed crossing the road due to instinctively looking the wrong way: 0, but subject to change
Number of times a native assumed†† I was Irish: 1
Number of times I have had to pronounce "tomatoes" wrong because I could not otherwise make myself understood: 1
Number of Confederate flags seen: 0, disappointingly
*Technically it is day 2 in Nashville and day 3 in America but no-one wants to read about a 10-hour layover at JFK followed by 16 hours sleeping
†Well, OK, I'm sure there are reasons. But that would involve me looking it up on Wikipedia and then coming back here to explain them, and it seems easier to outsource the workload***
**I'm going back tomorrow to hack the marbles off. These foreigners can't be trusted to look after 'em, after all.
††This seems to happen to a lot of people. I'm guessing that calling someone English off the bat is a deadly insult round these parts
***Although as that second sentence suggests I went ahead and did some "research" on Wikipedia anyway