36 Hours in Atlanta

Atlanta’s spiritual mission is spelled out in the civil rights landmarks along Auburn Avenue, the historic Black business corridor just east of downtown where the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. grew up and later preached. Start at the old brick chapel of Ebenezer Baptist Church, which is overseen by the National Park Service (free admission). Find a seat in the pews, close your eyes and listen to recordings of King’s sermons from the 1960s that play on the sound system. Walk a minute east to see the crypts of King and his wife, Coretta Scott King, before continuing past an elegant stretch of Queen Anne-style houses, among them M.L.K.’s birth home (currently closed for renovation). End your walk with a fresh-fruit cup (from about $5) from LottaFrutta, Auburn Avenue’s beloved pan-Latin frutería.

The Atlanta Braves’ 2013 decision to leave the struggling Summerhill neighborhood, just south of downtown, for a new stadium in the suburbs was met with lusty boos by city dwellers. Since then, however, all kinds of cool things have sprouted along Georgia Avenue, the neighborhood’s main street. Have a pilsner (about $6) and a chat at Halfway Crooks, a quirky and welcoming beer hall. Shop for wine and gifts, like a set of Willie Nelson-themed cocktail napkins ($54), at Press Shop. Nosh on jalapeño johnnycakes (part of a $12 bread plate) at Southern National, an upscale import from Mobile, Ala. At Little Bear, an unpretentious but daring small-plates bistro, a sorbet of scuppernong, a beloved Southern grape variety, incorporates hints of coffee, corn and ají dulce, the habanero’s mellower cousin ($8).

Atlanta’s famous hip-hop scene has long been tangled up in its strip club culture, but there are other, less prurient ways to feel the 808s rattle your teeth. On Edgewood Avenue, Harold’s Chicken & Ice Bar, a popular spot for gizzards and giblets, becomes a joyous, bumping dance club on weekend nights, attracting a crowd of 20- to 40-somethings. Usually at the controls on Fridays is Chris Marks, who spins records under the moniker CM the DJ. Atlanta hip-hop has evolved to contain multitudes — by turns socially conscious, psychedelic, ruminative, daring and just plain weird. But Mr. Marks’s ecstatic sets (no cover) are built for dancing, and tend to feature an array of Southern drawls from Memphis to Texas to just down the street.