After another pleasant journey on the Greyhound, (I sat in front of a man who was having a phone conversation about an ex-friend who just got out of jail - "He was let out with nothing but the clothes on his back, a bag of Cheetoes and a bible" - direct quote), I arrived in Nashville, the home of country music.
I feel every night spent out at the Toyota Country Music Muster listening to country rock, every performance I've seen courtesy of the School of Country Music and every time I've sung Keith Urbans' 'Love Somebody Like You' at the top of my lungs has prepared me for being in Nashville.
Even on a Wednesday night, Down Town was a side-show fair of bars bursting with people listening to local bands hoping to make it big. With some new friends I met at my hostel - AAE Music City Hostel (a winner) - we saw a cover group who were like a countrified beer garden band. The streets are full of buskers, some playing spoons and using a suitcase and a kick as their slapdash drum kit. Every corner boasts another leather boot store and everywhere everywhere, cowboy hats. It's like the Muster on uppers.
But as tantalizing as the music has been, I got to Nashville with only one thing on my mind.
Cowboys.
Ha, just kidding.
The one thing on my mind was - vegetables. Fresh fruit and vegetables. For days, I couldn't work out why I was so lethargic and tired until I realised, I haven't eaten vegetables in weeks (well, months if you gloss over the sad excuse for vegetables we got served at camp). My poor body has been running on bagels and granola bars and the occassional serving of pulled pork (my new favourite American pastime).
So armed with eyes bigger than my backpack, I made a trip to the Farmers Market on 8th and Jackson where I found manna from heaven. Beans, eggplants, peppers (capsicums), squash, cucumbers, onions, avocados, peaches, nectaries, apples, oranges, bananas and tomatoes as big as your face. And with the intention of eating it all, I arrived back at my hostel with enough produce to open my own stall.
And tonight, I'm cooking me a feast.
And then finding a cowbow.
Ciao for now. xo
Without a doubt, the best part about Nashville was the music. Every night offered a new buffet of talent. On my last night, I went and saw the Dirty Dozen Brass Band - a brass band from New Orleans who played southern jazz like you've never heard before. But it wasn't just about the bands in the bars. It was the people I was staying with at my hostel. Everyone harbored some secret talent for music and some of my favourite memories involve sitting around the hostel at 3 AM listening to these incredible musicians playing music just for the hell of it. I was exposed to some incredible people who have encouraged me and changed me and certainly left their treble cleff imprint on my travels, each in their own way.
