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!

The film that launched many a female fantasy -- including my own! -- about life in bella Italia.

Julia Roberts' character Liz laughs it up with Javier Bardem in beautiful Bali in "Eat Pray Love" (who wouldn't love THAT?). But why is there never a sistergirl starring in one of these American-woman-reinvents-herself-abroad cinema tales?

In a gorgeous summer film that's a come-to-life travel brochure for historic Verona and the Tuscan countryside, Amanda Seyfried's character lost a fiancee but found love in "Letters to Juliet." At least THIS film featured a beautiful black female extra as a guest at the film's Tuscan hotel. (Sad when that's a HUGE deal -- in 2010!)

For most folks, spending 10 bucks and a couple hours at the movies is all about passive entertainment. But sometimes, you encounter a cinematic gem that literally becomes life-changing, that totally alters the way you see the world. That one for me was 2003’s “Under the Tuscan Sun,” which inspired me, following a major surgery and reordering of life priorities, to quit my corporate job and pack my bags for fabulous Firenze (Florence), Italy.

Even now, if I’m flipping channels on the TV and “Tuscan Sun” is on, regardless of whether the film’s at the beginning, middle or end, I plop down and watch. And certamente, I own the DVD—and when I’m feeling the need for a bit of inspiration, I’ll view it again. I recently interviewed Under the Tuscan Sun author Frances Mayes  for a national Travel story, and that conversation took me back to those dreamy days of living in bella Italia.

 The latest movie buzz, of course, is about Julia Roberts’ “Eat Pray Love,” which hit U.S. cinemas earlier this month. As I’m sure you know (or have heard, whether you wanted to or not), this gorgeous travelogue-on-film it’s based on Elizabeth Gilbert’s monster best-selling memoir about ditching New York City after a traumatic divorce and subsequent love affair and spending a year traveling through Italy, India and Indonesia. (Her gig was WAY easier than mine, as her publisher’s book advance funded her year of self-discovery.) Personally, I never got past the “Eat” portion of the book, but perhaps that’s because I’m too Italy-obsessed to care about the rest.

But here’s what got me thinking: none of the films I’ve seen extolling the joys of traveling and/or relocating abroad has ever starred a black woman—or a woman of color AT ALL. (Please, someone, tell me if I’ve missed one.) Wouldn’t it be fabulous to meet a mocha-skinned sister chucking it all to chase her destiny in bella Italia or bodacious Buenos Aires? Now THAT’s a film I’d gladly pay over and over to watch! 

And we know these stories are out there. I met two INCREDIBLE African-American sisters in Italy, and we’ve become great friends over the years—in part because of this amazing shared black-girl expat experience. I know single black women who packed up their kids and traded their American lives for Parisian ones. Fierce black females making their way in the corporate worlds of London and Dubai. We’ve seen memoirs like Kinky Gazpacho, a great read from African-American writer Lori L. Tharps about her lifelong fascination with Spain—and how she ended up netting a husband in the process.

But those stories never get told on the big screen.

I don’t know—maybe a filmmaker’s tried to green-light a project but was told it was too “niche” and wouldn’t appeal to a broad audience. (But OF COURSE, we women of color are ALWAYS supposed to easily identify with everyone else’s stories.) 

I’d LOVE to know from you UrbanTravelGirls what films have whetted your appetite and prompted YOU to pack your bags for foreign shores, even if you didn’t plan a permanent vacation? What movies are must-adds to our Netflix queues?

And ALSO, share what overseas-adventure film you’d LOVE to see translated into a “sistagirl” version. Tell us—we’re waiting to be inspired!

U.S. First Lady Michelle Obama and adorable 9-year-old Sasha meet Spanish King Juan Carlos on the island of Mallorca, wrapping up their visit to southern Spain.

Young Sasha's got the European double-kiss routine down pat as she greets Spain's Queen Sofia.

Is Michelle Obama a classy First Lady or WHAT? Love the one-shouldered look.

I don’t know about you, but it’s absolutely thrilled me to see First Lady Michelle Obama taking 9-year-old Sasha on a mom-and-daughter holiday–and to SPAIN, no less! I don’t have kids, nieces or nephews, but if I did, I’d be booking us on some overseas trip as soon as they were old enough to appreciate it. And I’d be sitting them down right now  to watch video of adorable Sasha meeting the king and queen of Spain.  How it does my heart proud to see this darling young brown-skinned girl looking confident alongside her mom, realizing she’s a princess in her OWN right. Nothing like self-assurance, even when it comes in the package of a preciously dressed pre-teen.

I was super-proud and psyched last year when the President and Michelle took Sasha and Malia with them to Paris and London. I wrote then about how important it is for youngsters—and especially African-American ones, who don’t always see themselves portrayed positively in the American media—to travel abroad and experience life through a different lens. Just think of all the young black kids out there who see Sasha strolling the streets of Spain, visiting its treasures, meeting its royalty, witnessing the crowds of Spaniards eagerly seeking a glimpse of her and her glamorous First Lady mom. SURELY that’s got to have an effect on their individual and collective psyches, even if they don’t realize it now.  

I’ve loved reading about the Obama ladies’ trip since they landed in Marbella, on Spain’s sun-drenched Costa del Sol, earlier this week. They toured an historic cathedral in the southern Spanish city of Granada; took in a flamenco performance in the region where this legendary dance was born; toured the Moor-built Alhambra at night. The traveling half of the First Family and their friends stayed at Marbella’s Hotel Villa Padierna, a five-star Ritz-Carlton resort on the Mediterranean Sea. And while this was hardly budget travel, folks tend to forget that the Obamas are wealthy folks, thanks largely to royalties President Barack has generated from his best-selling books.

I’m not even going to start on the haters screaming that the Obamas’ trip abroad is costing U.S. taxpayers untold dollars, and that Michelle is somehow a “modern-day Marie Antoinette” for daring to travel abroad on a luxury vacation while America’s in a recession. As has been made clear, the Obama ladies and friends paid for their own stay in Spain, although granted, the Secret Service had to travel with them and they flew aboard Air Force Two. As far as I’m concerned, the complainers SHOULD be glad we’ve got a globally minded First Family that actually wants to see and positively engage with the world. 

And for THAT, all of us Americans ought to be proud.

Ahhh... freedom from hair issues! Here I am on a recent trip to Villefranche-sur-Mer in the south of France, in all my kinky-twist glory.

Here I am (far right) with a couple of girlfriends during a visit to the Vatican Museums in 2007. My hair was relaxed during this trip, but I still was lugging around multiple curling irons. NOT a way to travel light.

I can’t believe I’ve been writing this blog for nearly one year and am only NOW finally writing a post about hair. Yes, black women’s hair—sometimes our crowning glory, other times the thorn surrounding our crowns.

For sisters, hair is political. It’s sexual. And when you travel, it needs to be straight-up PRACTICAL—at least for me.

When I talk to black women about travel, the “hair thing” nearly always comes up—ESPECIALLY when we talk about traveling abroad. It’s as much of the discussion as, “Are there any black folks in (name-the-country)?” “Do they speak English?” And “Will my curling irons work over there?” Because unlike many of our sisters of other races, most black chicks don’t naturally have wash-and-go hair. No, after we wash it, we often need to blow-dry it. And sometimes straighten, then curl it. And PRAY we don’t get caught in a rainstorm or encounter high humidity or some other Mother Nature force that will have its way with our tresses. It’s WAY more drama than I feel like dealing with when I’m on the road.

I’ve been wearing my hair in two-strand twist extensions for the better part of five years. I’ve always had soft, super-fine hair that never had enough body, no matter how many layers my stylist cut into it or how much hairspray I used. So wanting to rock a more countercultural style to fit my “sistagirl-of-the-world” philosophy, I decided to ditch the straight look and do twists instead. I got all the volume I wanted, but more importantly, my hair ceased to dominate my day. I no longer worried about getting caught in misty rain (it actually needed the moisture!), or cared if the day’s humidity soared to 100 percent. And while in-between twist re-dos I’d sometimes have my stylist blow-dry and curl my natural hair to check out its growth, I could hardly wait to get those locks twisted again, if only for the mental freedom it afforded me. Which brings me to the point of this post.

Here I am this month at one of my favorite French bistros in Chicago, doing the highlighted blow-dried bob thing. It's cute, but WAY too much work -- and I'm tired of tuning into the morning weather report to determine whether it'll be a good "hair day" or not.

Little more than a week ago, I decided to do the blow-dry thing over the Christmas and New Year’s holiday, as I’d be away from my day job for nearly two weeks and would have time—for a change—for the straightening and curling required to keep my ‘do bouncing and behaving. (Not to mention time to visit the Egyptian-owned salon down the street from my downtown Chicago home.) But since I’m planning a brief trip to London and Paris early next year, I knew upfront I’d be all twisted up again before taking to the skies. No. 1, for the practicality of not lugging dual-voltage curling irons (can’t have those things frying when you plug ‘em in outside the States!), straightening cream, and all the other crap taking up space that could be occupied by another fabulous pair of shoes. And No. 2, I love the fact that until folks hear my American accent, I could be a twist-wearing sister from anywhere throughout the diaspora. Let ‘em guess I’m from London, or Paris, or somewhere in Africa. The natural style just makes me feel more at home in the world, even when I’m traveling in a country where black folks are few and far between.

I’ve often heard one friend repeat the adage she heard somewhere, “If black women could make peace with their hair, they could rule the world.” I don’t know if that’s the exact quote, but truer words were rarely spoken.

How much does YOUR hair and its care figure in when you travel—or does it? Do you find you’re received differently abroad when you’re rocking natural hair vs. blow-dried or straightened styles? Or is this much ado about nothing? Next, I’ll chat about where to find US if you’re overseas and need to handle your hair issues.

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!

During our trip to Florence, Italy, my friends Carol (far left), Karen (far right) and I embraced the Italian way of life. And as you see here, we found ourselves embraced right back by the super-friendly waiter at Grillo Parlante, a small, locals-only restaurant.

Visiting a country like France, Italy or Spain? Stop into a local market, like the bustling Mercat de la Boquería in Barcelona -- but ask FIRST before handling the merchandise. In many cultures, touching the produce -- or the designer bags and shoes before first asking permission -- is seen as rude (and in the case of food, simply unsanitary).

Knowing the social mores of a foreign country or city -- especially when it comes to dining, shopping and socializing -- can greatly impact the experiences you have when traveling abroad. Here I am, finishing lunch at the famed Ladurée tea salon in Paris.

At the recent Travel Blog Exchange conference in Chicago, a fellow blogger and I found ourselves discussing why African-American women—even those with the financial means and interest in traveling abroad—don’t do it more often. I often think about this, as I always feel it would be GREAT to see more sisters when I’m running around Italy or Spain either in a group or solo.

For many of us, it’s fear of the unknown. We don’t speak the language; we don’t know anyone in the country we’d like to visit. But in countless conversations I’ve had with African-American women over the years, it comes down to wondering how we’ll be perceived as black people. Even without realizing it, being black in America—whether dirt-poor, comfortably affluent like “The Cosby Show” Huxtables, or “movin’ on up” like the Jeffersons—means wearing the subconscious burden of potential discrimination on our backs like the latest designer dress.

Any time a salesclerk at a store is slow to help us, we often assume it’s because we’re black. Get a bad table in a restaurant? The hostess must be a bigot. Living in America, we spend more time than we’d like to admit wonder when the legacy of centuries of racism will smack us in the face. So there’s little wonder that when we DO leave the United States those of us who can afford to travel would rather jet off to the Caribbean, where islands teem with brown-skinned folks just like us, rather than potentially inviting discrimination (and in languages we don’t understand, no less) by flying off to Europe or South America or Australia.

But after countless trips abroad, I’m convinced that one reason we sisters sometimes feel we’ve been slighted overseas is because we don’t understand “how to be” (I’m borrowing this phrase from the book penned by author and Ebony Magazine Creative Director Harriette Cole) or understand how other folks ARE.

I think about a trip to Paris some years ago with two close girlfriends, when we often found ourselves stared at by Parisians in bistros and on trains. We laughed and talked loudly everywhere we went; after a meal, we’d whip out our compacts and lipstick and powder at the table. I figured those Parisians just couldn’t keep their eyes off these three beautiful black sisters out on the town. I later found out—probably years after the fact—that French women rarely reapply cosmetics in public. Instead, they slip out to the toilette to prettify themselves. And in a country where privacy is prized, conversations—even animated ones—are kept to a much lower decibel so that an entire room isn’t privy to a stranger’s every word.

That’s why I love Ricki Stevenson of “Black Paris Tours.” Besides showing folks on her half- or full-day tours where Josephine Baker, James Baldwin, and Richard Wright used to live, write and perform, she ALWAYS gives a little social primer first. She advises her guests to say, “Bonjour, madame” or “Bonjour, monsieur” upon entering a store or restaurant, and to always say “Au revoir” upon leaving. It seems like a small thing, but it’s HUGE to French people who pride themselves on their civil society. And like it or not, we do represent “our people” and our country when we travel abroad, so why not become positive ambassadors while we’re there?

But back to the confab between my fellow Travel Blog Exchange seatmate and me. She told me about some black friends who’d recently visited Paris and came home feeling they’d been ignored and treated rudely by the French. But she and I wondered: Did they do the small things, acknowledging the salesclerks when entering and leaving a store? Did they walk right into boutiques or up to a food market and start touching the merchandise without first asking permission? (I know—it sounds foreign to us in the States, but that’s what EVERYONE does in countries like Italy and France as common courtesy.) Did they at least TRY to speak a few words of French before launching into questions in English? (But Lord knows it’s not just us black folks guilty of doing that overseas!) And did they realize that just because waiters don’t hover over your table or return frequently as they often do in the States, they’re not being rude but giving you unhurried space in which to slowly savor your meal?

Just as we don’t like it when foreign tourists stand too close to us on American buses and streets, we should do a mental role-reversal when we travel to OTHER folks’ lands and try to find out what’s appropriate and what’s not before we board that plane overseas. Now if we TRULY feel we’ve been discriminated against, then we should by all means speak up and complain. But let’s not automatically assume that every perceived slight has a racial tinge to it. A little understanding can go a long way to shrinking global differences—and to ensuring that your trip abroad is a fabulous one!

I’d love to hear from you: Have you ever unwittingly found yourself violating some “social code” overseas? How did you find out that your behavior was outside the norm—and were you able to change it during that trip? We’ve all been there, so please share!

But being a journalist who’s always searching for the sociological meaning and truth behind current events—and goodness knows this is the biggest global one since Barack Obama was elected president of the United States—I see Michael far beyond the off-the-charts performances, fantastically creative music and videos, and even the eccentricities that defined his later years.

Over the past few days, I’ve heard it stated by everyone from the Rev. Al Sharpton to former “CBS Evening News” anchor Dan Rather that Michael Jackson’s most lasting legacy to the world won’t be the impressive fact that he “desegregated” MTV back in the early 1980s. Not that he revolutionized the music video medium as we knew it. But the fact that he was the first African-American artist to achieve true global superstardom without constantly reminding folks he was black. These social critics—and I concur—changed the world by paving the way for global audiences to embrace and accept Chicago Bulls basketball phenom Michael Jordan. Multimedia mogul Oprah Winfrey, another black star who found her fame in my hometown Windy City. Golf genius Tiger Woods, who while still early in his career has permanently redefined his sport. And the third member of the Chicago trifecta, President Obama, who has ignited the world’s imagination in a way unlike any politician in my 40-year-old lifetime.

Now you say, what does this have to do with international travel? I say it has EVERYTHING to do with it.

Those of us who live in America often forget that what this country exports better than anything is its popular culture. Folks from Dublin to Dubai, from Buenos Aires to Beijing, form their impressions of America—and most certainly of AFRICAN-AMERICANS—from the musicians, actors, and more recently politicians we set upon pedestals. So when those of us African-Americans who DO travel go abroad, much of how we’re greeted has been shaped by the cultural forces that came before us. As I’ve written before in this blog, foreign nationals on cruise ships, regular folks in France, Italy, Turkey and Greece seem to feel an affinity for us (and perhaps these days for Americans of all colors) because of President Obama, a black American man of whom we can all be proud.

And long before any of us had ever heard Obama’s name, there was a performing sensation named Michael Jackson who made it “cool” to be black in countries where they’d probably never seen an African-American up close-and-personal. So beyond the music and the Moonwalk, those of us who consider ourselves citizens of the world can thank MJ for breaking down barriers long before we and our passports made it overseas.