A City Breathing with Music
Nashville. The capital of Tennessee, this city is known by the affectionate nickname “Music City USA.” As the holy land of country music, it’s a place where music lovers gather from around the world. But Nashville’s charm extends far beyond music alone. Southern hospitality, rich history, and distinctive food culture make this city something special.
The Cumberland River cuts through the city, surrounded by rolling hills where brick buildings stand alongside modern high-rises. Once an important stronghold during the Civil War, Nashville has grown into a representative city of the American South, where innovation and tradition exist in harmony.
I came to this city not just to listen to music. I was drawn by something beyond words, a compulsion to breathe in the air of this place.
Day 1: Under the Lights of Broadway
I landed at Nashville International Airport just past three in the afternoon. Rather than renting a car, I took a rideshare into the city. The driver was a cheerful man in his fifties who asked, “First time in Nashville?” Outside the window, gentle hills rolled past. The afternoon light in October was soft, and the leaves on the trees were just beginning to change color.
“You like music?” he continued. “In this city, no matter where you go, you’ll hear music. That’s the soul of Nashville.”
After checking into my hotel downtown, there was still time before evening. I dropped my bags and immediately headed out into the city. Broadway is the heart of Nashville’s music culture. Most of the buildings lining the street are live music venues, bars, and restaurants, and even while it was still light out, music was already flowing.
The first place I entered was one of the historic honky-tonks. A honky-tonk is a saloon where you can enjoy live music. When I opened the heavy wooden door, the sound of guitar and fiddle washed over me. A three-piece band was performing on stage, and locals leaned on the bar with their elbows, drinking beer. I sat at a table in the corner and ordered a local IPA.
The band’s performance was surprisingly good. I couldn’t tell if they were professionals or semi-professionals, but the passion in their playing was genuine. Between songs, the male vocalist called out, “Anyone here from far away?” Several audience members raised their hands and shouted where they were from. When I raised my hand slightly, he smiled and said, “From Japan? Welcome to Nashville!”
After soaking in the music for about an hour, I walked down the street looking for dinner. As dusk approached, the neon signs of Broadway began lighting up one by one. Different music poured from each establishment, mixing together to create a unique soundscape.
The restaurant I chose specialized in Southern cuisine. The menu featured fried chicken, biscuits, grits, and Nashville’s famous hot chicken. I ordered hot chicken with mac and cheese and collard greens. Hot chicken is, as the name suggests, fried chicken coated in spicy seasoning—a dish that originated in Nashville. When the food arrived, I was overwhelmed by the portion size. Meals in the American South are always generous and abundant.
The moment I took the first bite, heat spread through my mouth. But beneath that, the flavor of the chicken and the complex notes of the spices were addictive. The creaminess of the mac and cheese helped temper the heat. Watching a family at the next table laughing together happily, I slowly savored my meal.
As night deepened, Broadway grew even livelier. I entered another honky-tonk, this time sitting at the bar. An elderly gentleman sitting next to me asked, “Is this your first time in this city?” When I said it was, he told me he was born in Nashville and began talking about the city’s evolution.
“It used to be a quieter place,” he said. “But the music has never changed. In every era, music is the heart of this city.”
Listening to his words, I felt the strange embrace this city offered. The warmth of welcoming unknown travelers as if they were old friends. Perhaps that’s what Southern hospitality is.
I returned to the hotel near midnight. Through the window, I could see the lights of downtown, and music drifted faintly from the distance. Lying in bed, I felt myself dissolving into this city.
Day 2: Through History and Nature
Morning began with coffee and biscuits at a café near the hotel. Biscuits are a Southern staple—a soft, bread-like pastry made with buttermilk. Eaten with gravy, they have a simple yet profound flavor. Sitting by the café window, watching people pass by, I spent a slow morning.
In the morning, I visited the Ryman Auditorium. Built in 1892, this building once served as the home of the Grand Ole Opry, the legendary country music radio show. The red brick Gothic-style building has a solemn quality, like a church. In fact, it was originally built for religious gatherings.
A female tour guide told us about the building’s history and the legendary musicians who had performed here. Hank Williams, Patsy Cline, Johnny Cash. Countless names had walked this stage. I was given the opportunity to stand on the stage and look out at the seats. In this space soaked with thousands of musical memories, I quietly closed my eyes.
After leaving the auditorium, I walked along the Cumberland River. A promenade runs along the river where people jogged, walked their dogs, and read on benches, each spending time in their own way. Across the river, I could see the stadium of the NFL’s Tennessee Titans. The October breeze was pleasant, and the wind coming off the water brushed my cheeks.
Lunch was at a diner popular with locals, a bit away from downtown. The menu featured “meat-and-three”—you choose three meat dishes and two sides. I selected pulled pork, fried catfish, and meatloaf, with cornbread and green beans as my sides.
The diner’s atmosphere was homey, with regular customers and staff exchanging jokes. The pulled pork was tender, coated in sweet and tangy barbecue sauce. The catfish was fried crispy in a cornmeal crust, with the delicate flavor characteristic of river fish. There was no tourist-oriented performance here. Just people valuing their daily meals.
In the afternoon, I headed to Centennial Park, home to a replica of the Parthenon. Built for the Tennessee Centennial Exposition in 1897, this structure is a faithful reproduction of the original in Athens. Why a Greek temple in Nashville? It’s because the city has been called the “Athens of the South,” aspiring to be a center of education and culture.
The Parthenon standing in the vast park was more magnificent than I’d expected. White columns gleamed against the blue sky, and inside, a massive statue of Athena was enshrined. On the surrounding lawns, families enjoyed picnics and children ran around. I sat on a bench and watched the scene for a while. This temple quietly testified that Nashville, known as a music city, also values scholarship and the arts.
In the evening, I visited the area known as Music Row. Here, numerous recording studios and music-related businesses are concentrated. Walking down the street, I could see the historic Studio A building and the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum. I didn’t enter the museum, but even viewing it from outside conveyed that this city is the center of the music industry.
Dinner was at a small restaurant in the East Nashville neighborhood. This area has recently gained attention as a creative zone where artists and young people gather. The restaurant I chose served creative cuisine using local ingredients. I ordered fried green tomatoes as an appetizer and roasted Tennessee duck as my main.
Each dish was refined, a modern interpretation of traditional Southern cooking. Yet at the foundation, I could feel respect for Southern flavors. The chef occasionally emerged from the kitchen to exchange words with customers, which left an impression.
At night, I attended a bluegrass concert at a small venue. Bluegrass is traditional music born in the Appalachian Mountain region. A five-piece band with banjo, mandolin, fiddle, guitar, and bass played with incredible speed and precision. The music was intense and full of joy.
Most of the audience were locals, stamping their feet and clapping along with the songs. I naturally moved to the rhythm, swaying my body. Music transcends language barriers. That night, I truly understood this.
Walking back to the hotel through quiet streets, I reflected on the day. History, nature, food, music. Everything about Nashville felt organically connected.
Day 3: A Morning of Farewell and Lingering Echoes
On the final morning, I woke leisurely. Since checkout wasn’t until noon, after breakfast, I decided to walk Broadway once more. The street was quiet, as if last night’s commotion had been a lie. Cleaning trucks washed the streets, and shop workers prepared for the day. Seeing both the night face and morning face, I felt I glimpsed a bit of the city’s daily life.
I visited the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum just after opening. The vast exhibition space carefully displays the history of country music. Old guitars, costumes, records, and countless photographs. Each had a story, each had a life.
What left the strongest impression was the exhibit on early country musicians. Many came from poor rural backgrounds, and music wasn’t just entertainment—it was part of life itself. Joy and sorrow, everything expressed through song. I understood that such purity lies at the foundation of country music.
By the time I left the museum, it was nearly noon. My last meal was at a Mexican restaurant recommended by a local. Nashville has diverse communities, including many Mexican immigrants. The tacos were authentic, the tortillas handmade. At the end of my journey, I once again realized this city’s diversity.
In the car to the airport, the driver asked, “How was Nashville?” I thought for a moment before answering. “It was a much deeper city than I expected.”
“That’s right,” he laughed. “This city grows on you the more time you spend getting to know it. Come back again.”
Waiting at the airport gate for boarding, I looked back on these three days. Music, meals, conversations with people. Everything blended together in memory, creating one journey’s landscape. Nashville was richer, more complex, and warmer than I had anticipated.
As the plane took off and I watched the city grow smaller through the window, I said farewell to this city in my heart. But it wasn’t an ending—it was a “see you again” for someday returning.
What Felt Certain Despite Being Imaginary
This journey doesn’t actually exist. I never walked the streets of Nashville, never ate hot chicken, never listened to music in a live venue. It’s all real only in words—an imaginary journey.
Yet Nashville as a city certainly exists. The Cumberland River still flows, music still rings out on Broadway tonight. The Parthenon still stands in the park, and people still enjoy Southern cuisine. And the hearts of people who warmly welcome unknown travelers are certainly there too.
The wonder of imaginary travel is being able to feel as if you’ve visited a place you’ve never been. Through words, we can transcend time and space. And that experience, even if fictional, leaves something in the heart.
Someday, the day may come when I truly visit Nashville. At that time, how will the memories of this imaginary journey overlap with real experience? Confirming that might be one of travel’s pleasures.
Travel isn’t just about moving from place to place. It’s about opening your heart to an unknown world and touching the lives people lead there. Even if it’s imaginary, that essence doesn’t change. If these three days in Nashville can plant a small seed in someone’s heart, it becomes something beyond imagination.
I hear music. From far away, from a city in Tennessee.
