Countdown to my French departure ….

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Ahhhh... now THIS lovely breakfast-on-the-balcony (at the charming 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.
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!

ENFIN (FINALLY)!! France, HERE I COME!!

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I'm all smiles at this charming restaurant in Nice, France. I'm even MORE thrilled to be spending 2012 in this fabulous country!
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.
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 19th 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.
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, near many of the apartments I've rented during stays in the City of Light.
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!

Tips for sisters on ‘hooking up’ their hair when traveling abroad, Part Deux

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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.
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!
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!

Black women traveling abroad: Learn a foreign country’s social mores, customs before you go

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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.
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.
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 make or break your overseas trip. Here I am, finishing lunch at the famed Laduree tea salon in Paris.
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!

Have black Americans REALLY traveled until they’ve visited Africa?

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Over the years, I’ve visited nearly 30 countries in North America, South America, the Caribbean, the Middle East and Europe (where I’ve traveled so many times I’ve completely lost count).

But I’ve never been to Africa. And as an African-American, that sounds pretty pathetic.

Places on the continent are always on my mental “to-do” list, West African countries like Senegal and North African ones like Egypt and Morocco. But I haven’t made it there yet.

I started thinking about this during President Barack Obama’s recent trip to Ghana. Sure, he was there to send a message to the African world about the United States’ ongoing support—albeit with conditions that included self-responsibility—but what impressed me most about this native son’s return to his father’s home continent was the fact he took his wife Michelle, daughters Sasha and Malia, and First Mom-in-Law Marian along on the trip.

While we know the Obamas have visited Africa before—going to Kenya to meet the president’s relatives—this trip had to have especially important significance for First Lady Michelle, her mom and even the girls, as all are the descendants of both African-American slaves and white slaveowners. Visiting the “Door of No Return,” where mothers, fathers and children were violently and permanently separated from their homeland and shipped across the Atlantic as chattel, must have been mind-blowing. It’s a horribly painful part of American history, but as black folks, it’s ours. And it’s important for us to own it—and in the process, make that reconnection to the continent that often feels far away and foreign to many of us.

Which brings me back to my original point: Can we black Americans really feel well-traveled if we’ve never set foot on African soil? I’m starting to think “NO.”

While unlike President Obama, who knows his ancestral country and village, most of us don’t know specifically from where our foreparents hailed. We generally assume it was someplace in West Africa since that’s where most slaves sent to the New World lived, but can’t claim that direct connection to Senegal or Guinea or The Gambia. Still, many black folks who have traveled to these places describe a sense of feeling “at home” once they arrived, as if those centuries-old mystical links broken during the Middle Passage somehow felt restored.

But I’m curious what you guys think. For those of you who HAVE visited Africa—and I’m talking anywhere on the continent—how did it change you and your outlook on who you are? Did you feel like you had “come home?” And how important was it for you to make that reverse trip across the ocean?

As for me, I think I’m going to start planning that African journey now.