These Bateaux Mouches boat rides down the Seine River may feel clichéd, but what a view of Paris! Here I am during a Chicago friend's recent visit to the City of Light.

So it’s been 4½ months since I first arrived in France, and in many ways, the time has crept by like “dog years.” That’s not a bad thing—rather, it’s pretty much what I expected by exchanging my comfortable, big-American-city life for a slower and much different one in a French village. On days when I’m at home writing an article or blog post, I could be anywhere; on days when I or take the 40-minute train into fabulous Paris, I’m in my favorite city in the world. I sometimes have to pinch myself when I round a corner and the Eiffel Tower pops into view, when I’m breaking off a fresh piece of a crispy crusted baguette after a stop at a boulangerie, or when I look out my front window in Samois-sur-Seine and remember that the river flowing outside is the same one that snakes through Paris. WOW.

A view of the incomparable Notre Dame cathedral from that Bateaux Mouches boat ride down the Seine. Sometimes I STILL can't believe that I'm able to savor joys like this without first getting on a plane -- just a suburban Paris train!

This is what I call the “Under the Tuscan Sun” or “Before Sunset” part of my French experience, when my days contain happenings—or involve real-life French people—that seem right out of a Hollywood script.

Ahhh... the film that started it all for me back in 2003 and helped inspire my first move to Europe. Sometimes, my daily life feels like a scene from this incredible film, one all about reinventing yourself abroad.

But although there’s much that’s fabulous about living in France, it’s not like every day is a holiday or that I’m constantly planning a last-minute vacation to some fabulous place (my Travel writing work notwithstanding). It’s real life, with all the pressures, challenges, errands and occasional hassles that go along with it—visits to the dry cleaners, La Poste, immigration office and other havens of bureaucracy.

What I’ve found—and what I’m remembering from my living-in-Italy-as-an-expat experience—is that the small daily victories are worth shouting about. I’m thinking about my first trips to the Institut de Beauté (beauty salon) in the nearby village of Vulaines-sur-Seine and being able to leave with a lovely manicure, pedicure and all-important au naturel bikini wax. (Think this is no big deal? Try making sure that LAST service turns out right in a language you can barely speak!)

Here I am this winter on rue du Bas Samois, an incredibly scenic street on which I travel to get to the center of town, where the boulangerie, post office and small library are housed.

Then there’s my first dared return of an item to a French store. I’d bought a teapot but needed to take it back to the large Carrefour supermarket, a big deal since that whole the-customer-is-always-right philosophy never made its way to France. Fortunately, I didn’t have to pull out my limited, preschool-sounding French repertoire of protests and explanations. And I was TOO proud of myself for being able to open my first bank account in the nearby “big town” of Fontainebleau all en français, as the helpful representative handling my file spoke about two words of English. And it went like clockwork!

Then there’s the HUGE acquisition of my titre de sejour, the pink laminated card that attests to my official residency in France. After starting the arduous and time-consuming process back in Chicago in November—and making several trips to nearby préfectures, or the police administrative offices, thanks to the invaluable assistance of an kind older French friend—I’m now legally able to stay in the République Française for at least three years—and an additional three if I choose to renew it. This means I can now buy into the world-renowned French health care system (sadly, I can’t do the same in my home country—but that’s another post/rant for another day) and can come and go from France as I please. Talk about EXHALING—I was floating on air after walking out of the Fontainebleau préfecture with this little treasure.

By nature, I’m a bit of an obsessive worrywart, someone who gets herself tied up thinking about “what if?” scenarios. But while I’m in France, I’m really trying hard to focus on life’s joys and small pleasures. You UrbanTravelGirls will love this one.

One day, I decided to stop in at this cool-looking independent wine shop called La Cave Avonnaise in the next town. Because the shop is a bit off the beaten path, I figured they’d know their stuff and would be able to advise me on some local purchases. So on my drive back to my flat, I stopped in and a cute and charming young Frenchman was working in the store. Sadly, my French is still terrible, but I’m in all-out “try” mode these days. So he helped me find a reasonably priced bottle of Champagne and an interesting rosé from an appelation not too far away from Samois itself. And after he rang up my purchase, he unexpectedly gave me un cadeau—a box of chocolate truffles as a gift. I thought he was encouraging me to BUY them, but he said, “Un cadeau—pour vous. Because you are so beautiful.” Then he introduced himself and said he’d see me soon. You SO know I’ll be back in there time and time again, stopping in often to pick up more wine. Now tell me WHEN something like that would happen in the States!!!

Can I just say that I love this country?

Even in 2012, many restaurants in France still close for the midday break or -- like long-standing Chez Fernand in Samois-sur-Seine -- are only open Wednesday through Sunday.

When you move abroad from the United States—and even when you move to an equally developed country—the adjustments you need to make in daily life are huge. That’s not to say that they’re BAD; they’re not. They’re just different. You might not find the same cough drop brands at the local pharmacist; out in the villages, you’re not likely to find a walk-ins-are-welcome manicure salon. But obviously, you’ve decided small changes like these are worth making in order to live the life you have now.

As I go about my daily routine, I’m finding that many of the experiences I have here in the lovely village of Samois-sur-Seine, in the surrounding towns, and 40 minutes away in Paris are nearly identical to ones I faced in Florence, Italy, when I lived there back in 2004 and 2005. Thank goodness this time around, I feel much more prepared to tackle the inevitable challenges that crop up on a daily basis. As anyone living abroad can attest, it’s during your first experience that you learn to juggle the truly unfamiliar until it becomes comfortable.

Both France and Italy are enormously popular with visitors around the world, in no small part thanks to the often slower, more tranquil—and dare I say “human”—quality of life you’ll find in both countries. Living in both countries has helped me realize that it’s neither necessary—nor at all healthy—to live a frantic, running-in-circles existence. That it really is possible to savor a meal without simultaneously reading, paying bills and taking notes for the next interview. And that it’s as important to accept a neighbor’s impromptu invitation to drop by for dinner or drinks as it is to crank out the next deadline assignment.

But tranquility comes at a price—especially for those of us used to 24-hour supermarkets, the-customer-is-always-right service, and same-day everything. When you’re an urban girl living in downtown Chicago, somewhere in Manhattan or perhaps in über-modern Montreal condos, the world is on-call, waiting to meet your every need. In cities and towns throughout France and Italy, not so much—but that’s OK. Here are several ways that my first expatriate stint readied me for the second time around in France: 

• Making the most of that midday break. It’s often tough for Americans to get used to the concept of stores, restaurants, and businesses shutting down in the middle of the day—or not being open at ALL on Sundays, which often is the only day many of us have to run errands. But you know, I kinda like this close-mid-afternoon-and-on-Sunday thing. For one, it helps you remember that the people working at the dry cleaners, serving your food at a brasserie or bistro, and baking your bread at the nearby boulangerie are real people with real lives. They like to eat lunch, just like you do. And on Sundays, they’d rather be spending time with their families than dealing with you and your fellow customers. That’s civilizing—and fair.

Don't DARE be in a hurry when going to La Poste or other businesses in France (or Italy). Life happens when it does ... and you learn to get used to it!

• Patience, please. As long as you remember that EVERYTHING takes longer to do than you think, you save yourself much frustration and stress. That quick trip to the post office? Not likely. Either the person ahead of you is handling some complicated transaction—or more likely in MY case—I’m lost halfway through mine because my French comprehension isn’t quite there. (This is why before I leave home, I consult my trusty French dictionary and/or grammar books for key terms that I’ll need to use at La Poste, at the mobile phone store, or at the shoe repair shop. Unfortunately, these aren’t the words you generally learn in once-a-week French classes back in the States.) You’re better off doubling the amount of time you expect an errand will take—and while you wait, pull out that French grammar book and take advantage of the free time.
• Better plan ahead. Let’s face it, folks—the United States is a procrastinator’s dream. So you forgot to take that dress for tonight’s cocktail party to the dry cleaners’ last week? No worries—drop it off before 9 a.m.; get it back by 4. Need new heels put on those fierce stilettos? Sure thing—you’ll get them back in 10 minutes AND while you wait. Going to a networking event but forgot to take enough business cards? Just e-mail the file to a print shop and they’ll have them printed up the same day. Life does NOT work like that here. If you get lucky, you might get your goods back by the end of the week IF you show up Monday morning. But it’s hardly the end of the world. If nothing else, it just forces you to get organized and take care of business Monday through Saturday if you really need something done.
• Be engaged—and be seductive. That doesn’t mean you go around throwing yourself at the postman or the guy at the butcher shop. But even in 2012 in both Italy and France, customers still actively engage with the people serving them. I’ve always found that a genuine smile goes a long way—especially when you don’t yet speak the language well. In Florence, if I walked past the corner café, phone shop or the cleaners, I’d wave and briefly chat or exchange pleasantries (in broken Italian, mind you), because it’s simply uncivilized not to do it. And once I’m out and about more in France and get to know business owners, I’ll do the same. What a nice habit to develop, especially when you live and work alone as I do. It’s all about making a human connection. No one’s explained this better than Elaine Sciolino, the Paris correspondent and long-time Paris bureau chief of The New York Times, in her provocative book La Seduction: How the French Play the Game of Life, believing that seduction is “the ever-present subtext for how the French relate to one another.” As she writes in a chapter called “Make Friends with Your Butcher,” “… there should be pleasure in the process of getting something done, whether it is being served a steak frites or buying a cell phone.” Indeed.

Ahhh ... the pleasant Vicolo del Canneto, a narrow street where I lived when in Florence. It's here that this Type A Capricorn finally learned to appreciate slowing down (well, at least in theory!).

• Learning the language. In my younger days, I was a much quicker study when it came to figuring out foreign languages like Spanish, which I studied in elementary and high school and at university. I took several language courses before moving to Italy, but none of it seemed very helpful once I landed on the ground in Florence (a city where you can easily speak English much of the time because of ever-present tourists). Still, I struggled through it. Found kind-hearted Italians who’d let me practice with them. And s-l-o-w-l-y, eventually, the impasse broke and it all started to make sense. It still does—so much so that I’d feel comfortable traveling solo through Italian regions where I’d be unlikely to run into English speakers. With much more study and actual TALKING, I know I’ll someday get a grasp of le français and will no longer have to plan out conversations minutes before speaking. Still, you should have seen my glee when discovering yesterday that the shoe repair man at a nearby cordonnerie was actually Italian! We instantly switched from French to italiano, allowing me to comfortably chat and build instant camaraderie with this friendly signore.  

If these Italian-French experiences can remind me to slow down, savor life and not just speed through on auto-pilot—regardless of where I decide to call home—they’re lessons worth learning.

The program from the singing legend's Saturday funeral.

For the past couple days, I’ve been listening nonstop to one of the soundtracks of my childhood: straight-up, good old-fashioned African-American gospel music. And for that, I can thank Sister Whitney Houston, whose Newark, N.J., funeral at the New Hope Baptist Church was broadcast live around the world on Saturday, giving fans like me who never knew her a chance to say farewell in the way that we black folks do. In a “homegoing service,” one that focuses on the heavenly destination of the person being celebrated.

So sitting here on the other side of the world, in a quiet French village far, far away from the urban center that is Newark, I watched Whitney’s funeral on CNN.com and “had church” right here, all by myself. Such is the power of modern Internet technology—and the far more enduring power of gospel music and the Christian source from which it flows.

Forgoing a huge public spectacle, Grammy Award winner Cissy Houston instead took her internationally famous daughter back home to New Hope, where young “Nippy” got her start singing in the junior choir. (How many of us went to churches with such choirs back in the day? But almost none of us had a future Whitney up there singing solo!) Cissy herself still directs the church’s Youth Inspirational Choir, has been an active leader in New Hope’s music ministry for decades … and in her wisdom allowed a single video camera to record and share the hours-long homegoing service through live video. What a tribute to Whitney, whose soulful gospel singing was downright angelic.

Pastor Marvin Winans (center), surrounded by several musical members of the Winans family, shared their hit "Tomorrow" with the worldwide funeral audience.

Pastor Marvin Winans—who officiated the service and delivered the eulogy—thanked Cissy for holding the service at New Hope. As he said, “That took a lot of courage. And because of that, you brought the world to church today.” What a blessing for folks like me—and millions of fans in every corner of the globe that got a front-row seat to an authentic, real-as-it-gets African-American worship service and gospel music celebration. (How many of you noticed the church nurses in their crisp white uniforms, doing what they do at black churches Sunday in and Sunday out? And did you see the one handing tissues to a teary Alicia Keys at the piano? It felt almost surreal.)

For me—the granddaughter of a black Baptist pastor and the daughter of an amazingly talented gospel organist and pianist—Saturday’s service took me straight back to my childhood church roots. In Chicago, I grew up with a dad who as a “P.K.,” or “preacher’s kid,” started playing piano at church while a pre-teen. For some reason, it seems that if you show any musical inclinations and talent and your father is a black pastor, becoming a musician at the same church is like a rite of passage. My dad Farnell played for the Sunday School at the Greater Salem Baptist Church when he was 12, then moved up to playing for morning worship by the time he was 14. Growing up on Chicago’s South Side, my sister and I constantly were treated to my dad’s gospel writing and playing, as he was the Minister of Music at the Oakdale Covenant Church for nearly 30 years. During that time, he recorded two albums with Oakdale’s choirs and one with a couple of like-minded gospel musician friends.

When my sister and I were kids, we’d sometimes accompany Farnell to choir rehearsals, where he would good-naturedly bark at the sopranos, altos, tenors and basses, imploring them to E-NUN-CI-ATE when they sang, knowing the power of gospel isn’t in its toe-tapping, sway-inducing sounds, but in the words.

Transported back home and back in time while watching the funeral on my laptop, I dabbed at my teary eyes. Donnie McClurkin’s incredibly powerful rendition of “Stand” did it, a song that has always touched me every time I’ve heard it sung at a church. And just as black church ministers will do, letting the “Spirit have its way” during the service, Pastor Winans called his musical family members to the pulpit to deliver an impromptu but right-on-time version of their hit “Tomorrow,” complete with an encouraging “Sing y’all,” from some listener.

The award-winning Rev. Donnie McClurkin delivered a powerful version of "Stand" during Saturday's funeral ... and what a message to Whitney's family and friends.

But thanks to Facebook and Twitter, I wasn’t watching the funeral alone. Although many of you know I’m not always a big fan of either, I was all over both of them during the service, sharing comments, posting “Amen” to others.

All weekend and even today, I’ve been on YouTube, searching for my gospel favorites like it’s Old Home Week. Songs like Tramaine Hawkins’ “The Potter’s House.” Walter Hawkins and the Love Alive Choir’s “Come by Here,” “Be Grateful,” and “Thank You (Lord for All You’ve Done for Me).” And who remembers the Hawkins Family’s “What Is This?” I felt like I was a kid, again listening to my dad’s former Senior Choir back at Oakdale.

Yolanda Adams "had church" at Saturday night's 43rd NAACP Image Awards while singing "I Love the Lord," a song Whitney Houston performed during "The Preacher's Wife."

If Saturday’s funeral wasn’t enough, Yolanda Adams tore it up at that evening’s 43^rd NAACP Image Awards with a choir-backed tribute to Whitney. Adams SANG “I Love the Lord,” a classic Houston made her own (along with the Georgia Mass Choir) for the soundtrack of “The Preacher’s Wife.” And did Yolanda preach that song?? Famous folks in the audience were teary-eyed and nearly testifying when the camera panned the crowd.

That’s what I love about gospel music: whether you’re filthy rich or lacking that proverbial pot, it’s a great equalizer. Those who allow the music and the Spirit’s message to touch their hearts find themselves responding, regardless of age, social class or race. And you don’t have to be a Christian to feel it, either.

We didn’t want to see Whitney go. But perhaps in death, sharing the soul-stirring gospel music she loved with the world was her greatest gift of all.

The "center" of Samois-sur-Seine, a village of just more than 2,000 residents, is quite small. But it's charming, as I'm sure this curious beagle would agree!

Here's the Samois boulangerie where I go for fresh baguettes and delectable pastries. You'd be hard-pressed to find a French town without one ... people need their "daily bread!"

When you decide to pull up stakes and leave your home country for a much different and far more challenging life on the other side of the world, you’ve already convinced yourself that the move will be a good one. So once you arrive at your destination and start settling into your new routine, you’re psyched. Every errand—whether to pick up a few items at the grocery store, drop off a sweater at the dry cleaners, or pop into the boulangerie for a crusty baguette—is loaded with the excitement of a 3^rd grade field trip. (Remember how jazzed we used to get about THOSE?)

Such is the grande aventure of moving abroad. And I’m officially residing in the “honeymoon phase” of my journey, when everything is new and different and COOL.

I landed in France on Jan. 2, having departed Chicago on New Year’s Day (leaving on the 1^st sounded apropos to me—what better day to launch one’s brand-new life?). Arriving in the lovely village of Samois-sur-Seine, where I’m living in a charming garden apartment with a view of the Seine River, I’ve begun the challenging task of figuring out just what the heck is going on. Fortunately, thanks to introductions from kind friends-of-my-new-friends and my new neighbors, I’ve already met a fascinating group of international folks—each with his or her own tale about how they landed in France and why they stay.

A few friends and neighbors are talented professional musicians, regularly performing at festivals and in clubs near Samois and on stages within Paris. Some are second- and third-career folks who’ve chosen to create businesses here. Others are housewives who are active in social and cultural organizations that make life richer for expatriates who call this place home. But they’ve all been willing to assist this stranger from Chicago, offering everything from coffee at their homes to assistance when I go to the daunting préfecture, or local police administrative office, where I’ve got to show up within two months of my arrival in order to receive my carte de séjour, or French resident card.

I’m guessing that after this foray into French bureaucracy in the coming weeks, my rose-colored-glasses phase will TRULY be over. This country, while loved for its many contributions to world culture, also is known for rules that seem designed only to confuse its people (not to mention foreigners like me!) and drive them insane.

But having done this move-abroad thing before, I know the honeymoon here in France won’t last. And that’s not me being my fatalistic self—it’s just the way it is. 

I remember how fabulous every single experience felt when I arrived in Florence, Italy, back in 2004. You’d have thought it was the first time I’d ever sipped a coffee, eaten a bowl of pasta, walked across a bridge, seen a museum, heard a note of classical music, experienced a kiss. Maybe it was the Renaissance vibe (or a delayed case of jet lag), but I couldn’t find fault with a single thing in bella Italia. But after a frustrating trip to the TIM mobile store—one that had me seriously doubting WHY in the world I moved to Italy in the first place—the I-love-everything-about-this-place jig was up. (Except that upon leaving said store, I bumped into a fine, Mercedes convertible-driving Florentine ragazzo who asked me out … so the “honeymoon” was back on!)

The reality is that no place is perfect—and adjusting to your new country, imperfections and all—is part of the experience of being an expatriate. You learn to take the good (I’ve already taken two train trips into Paris—one to watch a musician friend perform at a club, the other a daytime trip for lunch and a stroll through the Le Marais district) with the not-so-good (forgetting my français at the local Post Office, but managing to make myself understood, anyway). And you keep reminding yourself—as I did earlier this week when waiting at a quiet Samois bus stop, the peaceful Seine River just across the street—how crazy-fortunate you are to be living your life right now, right here.

And that makes the minor inconveniences TOTALLY worth it. 

Ahhh... La Poste and La Pharmacie, two staples of French life. I have yet to make a trip to the latter ... but I'm sure a linguistic adventure awaits!! (I'm NEVER without my trusty mini-French dictionary.)

I just LOVE this bridge, which crosses part of the Seine River here in Samois. And it's just across the street from my bus stop. What a peaceful view ... I'll never complain about waiting for the bus again!

Ahhhh... now THIS lovely breakfast-on-the-balcony (at the waterfront Hotel Welcome in lovely Villefranche-sur-Mer) says France to me! I need to think of scenes like these when I start stressing and obsessing about my upcoming move.

So I’m headed to France in a little over one week, and am alternately super-psyched, nervous, thrilled, stressed to the max, giddy with excitement, and worried. While part of me cannot WAIT to board that Iberia flight headed for Europe, my evil twin fears that I’ll spend all those trans-Atlantic hours obsessing about … STUFF.

Will my limited French-speaking skills make me feel (literally) like the “village idiot” when I get to Samois-sur-Seine, the picturesque place south of Paris where I’ll be living? Will I find enough freelance writing and consulting work to keep me challenged—but not so much that I end up overstretched and fall back into my workaholic ways? Will I finally meet a decent man who is what he claims to be—or will the language gap (and his sure-to-be-charming French ways and accent) make it that much tougher to figure it out?

When you decide to pull up stakes and move by yourself to the other side of the world, the tasks you need to handle before leaving home are LEGION. Everything from dealing with bank account transfers, long-stay French visa applications, endless doctor-dentist-optometrist visits, prescription orders, searching for international health insurance, laptop backups—not to mention the terribly stressful task of sorting, packing, and storing. What do I need to carry in the three suitcases I’ll take with me to France? What needs to be boxed up and shipped by the U.S. Post Office—and when? What needs to be banished to storage—and what do I need to get FROM storage and send overseas? It’s enough to make a chica lose her ever-lovin’ mind! (Usually, I just stop thinking about it and take a nap.)

I’ve even spent early Chicago mornings on Skype, calling black hairstylists at Parisian salons to find out if they can handle my hair while I’m in France. You UrbanTravelGirls KNOW there’s NO way a sister’s heading overseas without figuring out on the front end what she’s going to do with her ‘do!

If all this wasn’t enough, I needed to make an American Airlines “mileage run” out to San Francisco and back last Friday—all in one day. I know it sounds crazy, but I needed about 3,500 extra airline miles to maintain my elite status on American, which will be especially important next year when I’m traveling internationally—so I flew from Chicago O’Hare to San Fran Friday morning and less than two hours later jumped on a flight back home. I’m often rushing when I get to the airport and ALWAYS overpack, so I need the perks that come with being a “Gold” flyer—being able to check in at the always-shorter First and Business Class lines, to get on standby lists for earlier flights, to check bags for free. (Of course, it would be way easier to earn benefits without leaving the ground by racking up miles with something like an Aeroplan credit card that hooks you up with flight rewards, access to worldwide airline VIP lounges, and lets you sprint through priority check-in at airports. But that would be simple—and as you can tell, “simple” seems to be against my religion!)

I’m one of those strange people who actually ENJOYS moving—and I should, as I’ve lived all over the United States because of various newspaper reporting and corporate jobs. In the past, I’ve loved the process of researching where I’m going (it’s the journalist in me, I’m sure). Meeting new people. Starting a new routine. Discovering all the great things about my new surroundings. Maybe I’m getting older, but relocating is not nearly as easy-breezy as it used to feel. (Perhaps it just seemed way simpler because my corporate employers often were footing the bill for the entire move, complete with packing and unpacking all the stuff I transported back and forth across the country. Hmmm….)

But what I’m trying to remember—and take time for—during this hectic move-to-France process are PEOPLE. What I’m regretting is that I won’t have time to grab coffee, sit down over drinks, or relax over lunch or dinner with many of the folks that I’m truly going to miss during my time in Europe. Where I can, I’m trying to catch them at their offices—or even during workday coffee or smoking breaks—rather than miss seeing them at all. And with Christmas falling just before I leave—and many pals already heading home for the holidays—I’ll have to meet up with these travelers next year during my visits back home.

Before I moved to Florence, Italy, back in 2004, some of my good girlfriends threw a fabulous “Buon Viaggio” party for me at one’s downtown condo—and I got to say arrivederci to dozens of friends, colleagues and relatives at one time. But I didn’t want any such farewell for France (to me, it’s like I already had the big church wedding with the white gown … no sense in doing that twice!). So I’m hoping that when folks make their way to Paris or elsewhere in the French Republic, they’ll let me know in advance and we’ll get together on the other side of the pond instead.

Now THAT’S a rendezvous to get excited about!

I'm all smiles at this charming restaurant in Nice earlier this spring (I was in the south of France visiting a good friend in Villefranche-sur-Mer). I'm even MORE thrilled to be spending 2012 in this fabulous country!

I NEVER tire of seeing the amazing "La Tour Eiffel." This photo always reminds me how important it is to view life from different angles -- and that's EXACTLY what I plan to do in France next year.

Those of you who follow this blog know how much I love Europe—and that there’s a super-special place in my heart for France, where I’ve spent many incredible times over the past several years, from the north to the scenic south. FINALLY, I’m getting the chance to actually LIVE there … and I’ll be a mere 40-minute train ride from Paris, my favorite city anywhere in the world!!! The plan is to leave the States soon after Christmas and launch my “new life” in France—JUST in time to ring in the New Year!

Thanks to my very good friend Katherine (aka my “fairy godmother”)—and HER very good friend Hannah who lives near Samois-sur-Seine, a picturesque French village of about 2,000 people—I discovered this most magical place this fall. I’ve decided to take a “sabbatical” of sorts here, finally breaking away from the stress of super-long work hours and daily life here in the States. It is here in Samois-sur-Seine that French artists, writers and poets found sanctuary during the 19^th century—and I am convinced that this beautiful setting, with its serenity and charming scenery, will provide endless creative inspiration and offer the perfect “home base” for my writing.  

Ironically enough, I’d already PLANNED to move abroad next year—and after a great visit to Panama City, Panama, with my dad this past spring, I’d decided that Central American metropolis would be my next stop. I’d begun readying my downtown Chicago condo for rental and had jumped back into the frame of mind essential for one planning to ditch the comfort of America for the particular challenges of expat life. But when the opportunity arose to move to Samois, I decided to say OUI! without hesitation, as I’m confident that it’s ALL happening in divine order. While I don’t know exactly WHAT will happen next year in France, I can’t wait to find out. That’s what adventure is all about, isn’t it?

I’m a TOTAL big-city girl, one who loves and thrives off the energy found in the Chicagos, New Yorks and Londons of the world. But I truly can’t wait to settle into this lovely and peaceful village south of Paris, where my living quarters will look out on a lovely garden. I’m not being facetious when I say I believe that this move will be a literal life-saver. I’ve dealt with many stress-related health issues over the years—most stemming from my Type A, workaholic lifestyle here in the States. Having the chance to FINALLY relax, to write, to meditate—not to mention to shop in French fresh markets and boulangeries year-round, and actually having time to COOK what I pick up at these civilized places—will do wonders for my emotional and physical state. I’m convinced that once I get there, I’ll wonder why I didn’t pull up stakes and head back overseas years ago.

I plan to make regular pilgrimages to Shakespeare and Company, a legendary bookstore across from Notre Dame on Paris' Left Bank.

As you UrbanTravelGirl readers know, this “expat thing” isn’t entirely new to me, as I spent nearly one year living and working as a freelance writer in Florence, Italy, from 2004-05. But thankfully, I’ve learned from the time I spent there—both the good AND the bad—and expect to translate the knowledge I acquired into an even more fruitful experience next year in France. And thanks to technological advances, it’ll be WAY cheaper and easier for me to keep in touch with friends and family and clients back in the States (there was no such thing as Skype during my Italy days, when I routinely spent more than $300 a month on Internet costs alone!). Thanks to excellent low-cost airlines in Europe, I’ll be able to affordably see more of the Continent, even on short trips.

Because I’ll be living in an authentic small village, I’m VERY much looking forward to speaking French every day (although my tutor will tell you I’ve got a long way to go!), eventually becoming a fluent speaker of a language that both fascinates and humbles me with its complexity, beauty and grace. And I’ll be living in a lovely riverside setting that will inspire my creativity. While I’m there, I plan to write about African-American women and their nearly 100-year history in France, beginning with the French embrace of entertainer Josephine Baker back in the 1920s. I’m hoping to share the diverse and fascinating stories of those who call France home today.

This majestic statue, named after the French Republic, is one of my favorites in Paris. It stands in Place de la République, a square near many of the apartments I've rented during visits to the city.

I’m ALSO psyched because I’ll finally have time to blog more often—and I’m thrilled that you UrbanTravelGirls will be making the trek to France WITH me! I can’t wait to share musings on what it’s like being a single, 40-something African-American woman in France (and in Europe) during this time of intense global change. Since I’m a Travel and Food writer, I plan to hit the road when I can in search of great places and stories to share with readers back in North America. How are we Americans being perceived—and received—in countries around the globe? What do we as black women experience when we get out and about in this fascinating world of ours? I can’t wait to share it all with you in 2012 as I live out the mocha version of “Eat Pray Love,” “Under the Tuscan Sun,” or whatever other American-chick-moves-abroad-book-turned-flick you like best.

Here’s to a year of fabulous adventures for us all!

¡Hola, salut et ciao, UrbanTravelGirls!!! Lo siento, je suis desolé, et mi dispiace–in short, my apologies for having gone off the grid for awhile. My freelance consulting and writing has kept me très busy the past several months, but I promise that I’m back, ready to inspire my chicas to experience the world and let it experience THEM!!

Since I last wrote, I’ve had incredible experiences in Panama City, Panama, and am counting on loads more of overseas trips in the near future. (More on that later!) But I’ve also been living vicariously through the adventures some of YOU ladies have been having this summer… which leads me to this post. None of us is an island—and neither should we be, even when we love hitting the road solo (as you know I do). It’s one thing to visit a city or country on your own, but quite refreshing to see it through the eyes of those who live there. And even if you don’t happen to know anyone in Amsterdam or Hong Kong or Cape Town, chances are someone that you know DOES. That’s why it’s a great idea to find out in advance if folks you know have any local connections in the place you’re heading.

I always do this when traveling abroad (and try to make it a habit here in the States, too). Meeting people who live where you’re visiting widens your perspective—and gives you a local’s view of life in your chosen vacation spot. I recently did the girlfriend hook-up for two African-American chicas headed to Europe—both on first-time solo visits to Rome and London, respectively.

Renee, one of my faithful UrbanTravelGirl readers, wrote me months ago telling me she was making her first trip to bella Italia—and that she was rolling solo—and asked if I could give her the names of some local connections. I e-mailed two of my favorite and friendliest Italian bellas, Monica and Filly, who were only TOO happy to meet Renee for meals and hang out with her during her time in the Eternal City. Truth be told, I was jealous I COULDN’T be there – it sounds like they had a ball, hit it off, and hopefully will see each other when the Italian ladies next visit the United States!

And just this month, I did e-introductions between my Chicago sistagirl Carol and two friends-of-friends in London. Carol was making her first trip to the UK—and she was hesitant about doing it alone. So why not connect her to a couple of fabulous African-American expat women who are thriving big-time in London? Thanks to the graciousness of friends far, far away who were willing to share their precious weekend with a visitor they’d never met, these three ladies met for brunch at a delicious spot not far from Carol’s Kensington hotel.

I like to think one reason I’m here on earth is that I’m truly passionate about connecting people, whether it’s for jobs, for relationships—or during travel. Folks have graciously done this for me for years; now I enjoy paying it forward.

I recommend this friend hook-up whether you’re traveling alone, with family or friends, or your significant other. These “appointments” with friends of your friends add purpose and structure to your vacation days, which often can get bogged down with endless museum and monument visits. And when arranging our meet-ups, I always ask these friends-once-removed to suggest a meeting place that’s a favorite of THEIRS. You then get introduced to cool, where-the-locals-go eateries and bars in different parts of town—places that you wouldn’t likely stumble upon on your own.

As I wrote in a Today’s Chicago Woman Magazine/”TCW Travel Connection” blog post awhile ago,  I’ve found that often these friends-of-friends end up becoming great pals of mine along the way. When heading to Italy several years ago, a former Chicago journalist friend told me about Kelly Carter, another African-American female journalist who was living there. We connected in Positano, where she then lived, and have become great friends since. (She’s writing a memoir, Bellini for One, about her glorious two years living in Italy.) Kelly introduced me to her friend Stacie, a fashionista living in Florence—where I’d recently moved—and we developed a real friendship on our own. And the links in the chain keep strengthening.

I first met my now-good friend Kelly Carter (right front) in Italy back in Fall 2004 after an introduction from a mutual Chicago journalist friend. Here we were (each of us with a mutual friend) having drinks at a beachfront restaurant in scenic Positano, where Kelly then lived.

During a solo trip Rome this past March, Kelly sent out some e-mails to friends of hers living in the Eternal City, who agreed as a group to meet me for drinks one night. What a wonderful treat!! Not only did I get together with an inspiring group of Rome-based American expats, but Kelly also hooked me up Arlene Gibbs, with another friend-of-a-friend who turned out to be the screenplay writer for “Jumping the Broom,” the charming African-American comedy that swept U.S. theaters this spring.

When I visited Mexico City last summer for work, a priest friend from my downtown Chicago church made sure to connect me to a wonderful young friend of his in this massive metropolis of nearly 20 million people. The super-friendly Renato (a passionate traveler himself) met me one Saturday morning, took me on a tour of the capital city, and shared his insights about life here—and even invited his sister to meet us for lunch. So here in a metro area of more than 20 million people, a wonderful afternoon encounter with two of those people made Mexico City delightfully human!

These encounters not only enrich the time you spend “on holiday,” but often expose you to ideas and ways of thinking you’d NEVER discover at home. Because the folks you meet have already been vetted by someone you know, you’ve already got something in common, even if your day-to-day lives and experiences are completely different. I don’t know about you, but who WOULDN’T want to claim friends in different corners of the world? I certainly do. And like the old adage goes, “Make new friends/but keep the old/one is silver/and the other gold.” All of them are real treasures.

Ahhhh... "Beachfront Bliss," indeed! Here's the view from the Riviera Experience flat I stayed in during my recent solo trip to the South of France. Don't I wish I could sit here forever and contemplate life....

I like to think of vacations—especially those that take me abroad—as more than a chance to check out museums, sleep late, and struggle through whatever language is spoken in the country I’ve chosen to visit. Rather, I see them as fundamental to helping me work through “life issues” I’m wrestling with at the time.

I like to spend the hours on long overseas flights—whether to South America, someplace in Europe, or beyond—in the company of my trusty, well-worn journals. I absolutely cherish the time spent hurtling through the sky at hundreds of miles an hour. FINALLY—I’m not under pressure to immediately return e-mails or answer a mobile phone call I’d rather not take, anyway. So instead of mindlessly wasting time on some second-rate film, I pontificate. About WHO I want to be when I grow up. WHERE I want to be. And WHAT I want to do when I get there.

Then, once I arrive at my destination, I make it a point to spend at least SOME of my “holiday time” contemplating ME. And I like to do this in beautiful places. I know some folks think that the ambience of a hotel room or other lodging isn’t that big a deal, claiming that all you really need is a bed for sleep. I totally disagree, as surrounding myself with comfortable, aesthetically pleasing spaces boosts my creativity. And I like to visit locales that do the same. Take my recent solo trip to the south of France.

Thanks to the generosity of a vacation rental apartment-owning friend in the French Riviera town of Villefranche-sur-Mer, I spent several days in “Beachfront Bliss,” a gorgeous studio flat my friend Shelley calls “the ultimate beach pad.” With a seven-foot-wide window that sits RIGHT on the picturesque Bay of Villefranche—and that “disappears” into the wall, making you feel as if you’re sitting on the edge of the sea—it’s the PERFECT spot for contemplation. When I wasn’t working on freelance assignments from back home, I’d sit and happily stare out the window, a glass of chilled rosé in my hand, and THINK. I’d look at the gorgeous sailboats moored in the bay, wishing some dashing Frenchman would see me perched in the window and invite me out for a sail. (Of course, as someone who can barely swim, I’d probably need to take a boat safety course before I accepted such an invitation, no matter how fine the homme was!)

There’s something about water that’s restorative, something soothing that seems to inspire reflection and regeneration, no matter where you find it. That’s why after leaving the gorgeous Riviera Experience apartment, I reserved a waterfront room down the quay at the idyllic Hotel Welcome in Villefranche. I savored an early-morning breakfast, complete with flaky croissants and coffee served with warm milk, on my fifth-floor balcony while staring out at the blue sea and pondering my next life moves.

Talk about a treat -- an early-morning breakfast on the waterfront balcony at Villefranche's Hotel Welcome. Nothing like a view of the Mediterranean Sea to help put life in perspective!

Watching tenders ferry day trippers from the massive cruise ships that dock in the deep waters of the Bay, I reminisced about my OWN visit to this port city with my mom Gloria just a couple years ago. And wow, has my life experienced wild changes since then—some due in large part to my desire to see the world. Believe me, there are some more big ones on the horizon! You UrbanTravelGirl readers will hear about them in due time.

But tell me—where have you gone (or DO you go) to rediscover yourself, your dreams, your desires? And do you find it easier to do this when you’re far away from home? Do share!

Ahhh... can't get back to the lovely French Riviera town of Villefranche-sur-Mer next week. Planning my return to this charming place has been a pleasant trip in itself!

Does this look serene, or WHAT? I'll have a view like this out the window of my Riviera Experience flat in Villefranche before I know it....

For some international travelers, NOTHING compares to the moment of arrival, when they touch down in a new place and are ready to check out the scene. Others love arriving back HOME, posting their photos on Facebook and Flickr, sharing their travel memories with family and friends. But for me, a pseudo-obsessive Type A, what I love most about travel is the PLANNING that goes into crafting a trip.

Take my journey to Europe early next week. A wonderfully thoughtful friend in the south of France owns several beautifully furnished Riviera Experience vacation rental apartments and had a vacancy in one that overlooks the breathtaking Bay of Villefranche. During an e-mail exchange, she invited me to come for a visit. I thought her offer was far too generous and started to decline, but finally graciously accepted, as I’d LOVE to see her and return to one of the most gorgeous places on earth. And for me, a planner to my heart, that’s where the fun begins!

Because I’ve visited to the Côte d’Azur town of Villefranche-sur-Mer twice before—including a solo trip that rang in my 40^th birthday—I know how to get there from the nearby Nice airport. I know my way around Vieux Nice (Old Nice) and how to get to glitzy, jet-set Monaco. But there’s still so much to do and see on the French Riviera and beyond. My head is nearly swimming with the possibilities. Hang out inside the adorable studio apartment or in its private garden and write? Grab my shades and camera and stroll nearby towns? Or merely open the seaside window and nap to my heart’s content?

But since I’m going to be this close to Italy—less than an hour from the border, in fact—could I dare not set foot in bella Italia? And where to go? I STILL have yet to make it to Emilia-Romagna, the region many Italians admit has the best cuisine in the country. Should I make a stop in Tuscany, to stop in Florence where I lived for too short a time? Or head way south to Rome, the only city that rivals Paris for my undying affection, and visit my many friends there? Eventually, Rome won out, although I’ll only be there for three short days—not nearly enough time to spend leisurely catching up with folks. But three days are better than none.

For me, NO trip to Rome is complete without a swing past the Colosseum. No matter how often I see it, I never cease being amazed.

As I’ve been planning this south of France-to-Rome getaway for the past several weeks, many questions have crossed my mind: Head to Paris—my favorite city in the world—for a few days after leaving Villefranche? Take an overnight train and take in the romance of the rails on my way to Rome? Since I can’t get directly to Rome from Villefranche on the train, hit the road in a France rental car and pick up that overnight train in Dijon? Decisions, decisions!! (I finally decided to just take an hour flight to Rome to conserve my precious few vacation days… but you can bet I’ll be taking that overnight Artesia train on my next trip from France to Italy!)

I’d love to hear from you UrbanTravelGirls: What’s the best part of a holiday for you—the planning, the actual vacationing or the reminiscing? Perhaps I’ll become a convert!

Ciao,

I hope to spark conversation among African-American women who love (or WANT) to travel abroad, who are never happier than when we’re in new and challenging foreign environments. I want to hear your comments about my trips – and I want to hear about yours. Wondering whether it’s cool to travel solo to Paris, or how you’d be received as a black woman in Rome?  Put it out here and we UrbanTravelGirls will jump in and give you the scoop. Looking for some fab, locals-only restaurants and boutiques in Florence, Barcelona or Buenos Aires? I’ll dish about it and hope other chicas visiting here will also share.

So what are you waiting for? Get out there, hit the road, discover your own global bliss — and let’s chat about it!