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!

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!

Standing in front of Rome's famed Trevi Fountain is my brother-in-law Dave and fellow former Italian expat friend and now-best-selling New York Times author Kelly E. Carter. This February 2005 photo is from my living-in-Italy days, during Dave's and my sister Monetta's visit.

There’s nothing like reliving old memories—especially those that have shaped you into the person you are today. And last week, thanks to a fabulous Chicago-based Travel radio show, I got the chance to reminisce about my sistagirl-living-abroad-in-Italy experience from five years ago!

The hour-long show, which airs from 11 a.m.-noon U.S. Central time on Fridays, is called The Traveling Eye, and its programming is especially designed to appeal to upscale African-American consumers and travelers. It’s hosted by two dynamic sisters: my Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc., soror and Chicago radio legend Bonnie DeShong and travel specialist and Advantage International President and Founder Ja’Vonne Harley. Listen to THEIR show and before it’s over, you’ll want to be online or on the phone booking some fabulous getaway. And some advertisers don’t believe that black folks travel—and travel in style? Along with WHUR-FM in Washington, D.C., Bonnie and Ja’Vonne are leading a tour of nearly 100 folks to Egypt and Dubai in February—and this nearly two-week trip is SOLD OUT!

During last week’s show, Bonnie and fill-in host Gene Harley asked me and a super-bad American expat sister named Tiffany Zunker who’s lived abroad for half her life to share thoughts on why we first got interested in living abroad. (In my case, listening to tales from my world-traveling aunt Sophenia and visiting my friend Javan on a U.S. Army base in Germany during grad school.) What I felt when I first stepped off the plane in Florence, Italy, as a new resident and not just a tourist. (Totally excited and ready for the adventure!) Whether I ever felt lonely. (Now that’s hard to do in Italy unless you turn yourself into a recluse, as family-oriented Italians will embrace you and often treat you like an extended member of the family!)

How I dealt with my hair (got my two-strand twists hooked up regularly in Florence by a sweet Nigerian stylist in the back of her brother’s barber shop) and (far more of it in Florence than in the States, that’s for sure!). As I joked, sisters often head to Italy believing the adage that “Italian men LOVE them some black women!” The reality is that Italian men adore women period—which is a way-welcoming thing to black women, who don’t always feel celebrated in American culture.

Want to hear the whole show? Click here! (Skip the lead-in newscast and start listening at about 3:15.)

Dishing about my fabulous adventure made me homesick for Italy, and longing for another live-abroad experience. You know me—have passport, will travel!

If you want to catch TODAY’s “Traveling Eye,” listen to it live on Fridays from 11 a.m.-noon U.S. Central time on the WVON/1690 AM The Talk of Chicago” website and click the flashing “Listen Live” icon.

Here I am in my two-strand twists, visiting an archeological site in rural eastern Turkey near the Armenian border. My carefree hair made a culturally challenging trip way less stressful.

During a break from a wine-tasting tour, I'm standing in front of the Pont d'Avignon in the lovely Provencal town of Avignon. And this is me some days AFTER my stop to a black hair-care supply shop in Nice. Thank goodness black folks literally live everywhere!

Late last month, I wrote about the “hair issues” we black women often face when traveling abroad—and promised to offer some tips about handling these when you’re overseas.

When I first traveled to Europe in the late 1990s, visiting a friend who worked on a U.S. Army base in Germany, I was doing the relaxed hair thing, toting multiple curling irons and assorted lotions and potions in my always-overstuffed suitcase. But once I started hitting the road with friends, all those curling irons became a royal pain. What a hassle to constantly be plugging in, moving irons from one room to the other, waiting for them to cool down before you could pack them, etc. And then there was always the issue of “what if it rains?” 

Now that I’ve been wearing two-strand twist extensions for most of the past five years, that’s no longer a concern. BUT, I have gotten overseas and much to my dismay, realized that I forgot to pack my favorite olive oil sheen or softening lotion. This, my friends, can be a challenge—especially since overseas trips tend to last for more than just a weekend. 

But if you find yourself in a city—especially in Europe—and have arrived sans products, I’ve discovered that black folks and Arabs (who frequently have similar hair textures as ours) often live near the city’s main train station. Perhaps it’s the “immigrant effect,” the fact that newer arrivals to a place often live close to the vehicles that bring them. So if these folks first arrive via train, inexpensive housing in the surrounding area might be their first stop.

When I lived in Florence, Italy, between 2004 and 2005, I (mercifully) found the Nigerian-owned barber shop/salon where I got my twist touch-ups done a couple streets away from the city’s Santa Maria Novella train station. (My young stylist Nina would hook up my twists, while her barber shop-owning brother took care of the African and Arab bros in the adjoining room.) I know that Africans live near Rome’s massive Termini station, as I once found myself strolling through the ‘hood in search of an Ethiopian eatery.

And when visiting the south of France last spring, I didn’t pack my Organic Root Stimulator olive oil sheen spray (as usual, my bag was too full and something had to give). But I figured that once I got to the more cosmopolitan town of Nice, surely I’d use my limited French to find some black folks and some hair spray. So after leaving the city’s main train station, I walked half a block to an Internet café with an Arab guy at the counter. Grateful he spoke some English, I asked, “Where can I find a salon for people with hair like this?” as I gently fingered my twists. OF COURSE, there was one right around the block—and hanging out nearby on street corners were African and Arab men,  just as brothers often do here in the States. It was like I’d never left the South Side of Chicago.

Not only did I find a salon owned by a kind African woman, but she directed me down the block to a black hair-care supply store where I found EVERYTHING I needed, and then some. I’ve made a mental note of the salon’s and store’s street so next time I’m in the south of France and need a hook-up, I am SO there.

Which leads to my next point: do some research BEFORE you leave home. You aren’t planning to find yourself in a massive rainstorm on your next trip, but what if it happens and you aren’t adept at wielding a flat iron and fixing your OWN ‘do? Might be wise to have the name and phone number of a salon in the place you’re going. Think of it like stashing just-in-case antibiotics or a first-aid kit. If you’re headed to Central Europe, EbonyPrague.com can take care of your hair. If you’re going to the UK (thankfully, with black folks galore), check out ItzCaribbean.com for a host of hair salons throughout the metro London area. And if you’re traveling elsewhere in the world, BlackGirlTravel.com, where founder Fleacé Weaver creates and leads customized tours for groups of African-American women to countries around the world, you’ll find salon listings from Amsterdam to Hong Kong to Dubai. Talk about hooking a sista up!

And just as our moms always told us to use a clean bathroom whenever we found one (since the next ones might be few and far-between), if you’re strolling down some foreign street and see a either a black/ethnic hair salon or barber shop, drop in and ask for a business card. You may not be planning to get your “hair did” in Madrid, but if your curling iron suddenly blows out or a downpour trashes your bob, you’ll be glad you know where to get your ‘do back on again. Think of it as “hair insurance.”

I’d love to hear YOUR tips—as well as about your overseas hair experiences and how you handle your tresses on the road. Feel free to share!

My mom Gloria stands just outside the Rome Baptist Church during our April 2007 trip to the Eternal City for our friend Monica's wedding.

A view from just above the entrance to the Rome Baptist Church, which stands in the charming Piazza San Lorenzo in Lucina, just off one of the poshest shopping streets in town.

Here's Holy Trinity Anglican Church in the gorgeous French Riviera city of Nice. This multiethnic congregation welcomes English-speaking worshippers from all over the world.

I don’t know about you, but I’m often more psyched about going to church on the road than hitting a bunch of must-see museums and boutiques. Although mornings and I have never been friends, when I’m overseas, I make a point of finding an English-speaking service, whether I need to hop on a subway or bus or use my own two feet to get there. I enjoy the religious aspect of worship but for me, it’s also about experiencing local culture in one of its most authentic and expressive ways.

A friend from work recently left on her first trip to Italy, and besides sharing the names of fabulous trattorie, ristoranti and shops, I suggested she stop into St. James Church, which I used to attend during my days of living in Florence. Introduced to St. James by artist friends Louise LeBourgeois and Steven Carrelli from my very own Grace Episcopal Church in downtown Chicago, I found this congregation a beacon of warmth, welcome and friendship. And while its Episcopal worship style is much more “high church” than at Mt. Calvary Baptist which I attended as a kid on the South Side of Chicago, it’s full of international people who speak English – no small thing when you’ve spent the rest of your week struggling through broken Italian! (I still get misty-eyed when I get its weekly e-mails and way jealous when I read about its “day trips” to Assisi and other historic towns.)

One reason I fell so hard for St. James was the soulful singing of the world-traveling Florence Gospel Choir, led by Virginia native Nehemiah Brown. Forget about that old American adage that “11 o’clock Sunday morning is the most segregated hour of the week.” Nehemiah had these Italians, Germans, Brazilians, and a few African-Americans singing gospel classics so passionately they might as well have been in a church in Philadelphia or L.A. (Check out one of their videos here.) And on Sundays when the choir sang, I was transported back to the South Side, where my dad Farnell was a minister of music at Covenant and Baptist churches for nearly 40 years.

Even if we don’t go regularly now, many – if not MOST – of us black folks grew up going to somebody’s church. Besides, even if you’re not super-religious, there’s something special and sacred about being in a house of worship – ANYBODY’S house of worship – even if it’s not a faith tradition you follow. 

It’s all about the idea of FELLOWSHIP, the bringing of people together. That’s why — even if you’re shy or traveling alone — it’s so neat to stop by the “coffee hour” or whatever gathering is held AFTER the service. It’s there you’ll meet church members, many of whom are expats living in their chosen countries and eager to chat about their overseas experiences. And you’ll meet fascinating fellow travelers who, like you, have found sanctuary in this same holy place.

My mom Gloria, a Sunday School teacher for more years that she’d probably want me sharing on this blog, and I love to do this. When in Rome for an Italian friend’s wedding last spring, we made our way to the Rome Baptist Church (no joke!) in a lovely small piazza just off one of the chicest shopping streets in the Eternal City. We sat in on a Sunday School class taught by a wonderful African teacher, met fellow students from South Africa, Nigeria and the States, and enjoyed a morning worship service in the same city where St. Paul was imprisoned, wrote letters that later became books of the Christian New Testament, and likely was martyred.

We did the same thing last fall before leaving Barcelona on a Mediterranean cruise. Taking a cab up this Spanish port city’s winding hills, we found ourselves at the small yet super-friendly St. George’s Church, an Anglican/Episcopal congregation filled with members from across the globe. Not only was this a church I would have been HAPPY to call home if I lived in Barcelona, but these were smart, well-traveled folks who were just as down to earth as any we’d ever met. (And coming on the heels of Barack Obama’s election as president of the United States, we found ourselves embraced by folks who just wanted to talk about the miracle America had just pulled off!) The service itself was spirited but deeply moving, bringing tears to our eyes as we realized the oneness of worshippers, no matter where they live or where their churches may stand.

Now that I think of it, I’ve checked out Holy Trinity Anglican Church in the French Riviera town of Nice. I’ve attended worship at London’s famed Westminster Abbey, where Princess Diana’s seen-all-over-the-world funeral was held. And any time I’m in Paris on a Sunday, I stroll past the super-posh Four Seasons Hotel George V to the American Cathedral in Paris, where I dream of worshipping when I’m someday living in the City of Light.

But in the midst of all the sightseeing in foreign lands, it thrills me to know that God is the same all over the world, that praises are going up in different languages and dialects and still reach heaven the same way.

And that, in the words of my former Baptist pastor, is something to shout about!