Sisters in Spain: Michelle Obama and Sasha wrap up mom-daughter trip abroad in style

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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.
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.
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 during her visit to southern Spain with daughter Sasha.
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.

Want to fit in as a solo female traveler? Meet the locals

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Do I look blissed out or what? Here I am at my favorite Villefranche-sur-Mer restaurant, Le Cosmo ... in a photo taken by my favorite waiter, one I've gotten to know during two trips to this gorgeous Mediterranean town.
Do I look blissed out or what? Here I am on the outdoor patio of my favorite Villefranche-sur-Mer restaurant, Le Cosmo ... in a photo taken by my favorite waiter, who I've gotten to know during two solo trips to this gorgeous village on the Mediterranean Sea.
Rather than just OBSERVING the scene -- such as this oneoutside the hip La Vinya del Senyor wine bar near Barcelona's famed Basílica de Santa Maria del Mar -- why not meet the locals hanging out here? Even simple conversations with a place's residents can make your overseas trip much richer.
Rather than just OBSERVING the scene -- such as this one outside the hip La Vinya del Senyor wine bar across from Barcelona's famed Basílica de Santa Maria del Mar, in the El Born district -- why not chat with the locals hanging out? Even simple conversations with a place's residents can make your overseas trip much richer.

Those of you who’ve visited UrbanTravelGirl know what a passionate ambassador I am for solo travel. So is Beth Whitman, whose Wanderlust and Lipstick Web site is a treasure trove of info for those chicas who like hitting the road, whether with girlfriends, kids and families, or on their own.

I often am asked by friends—and friends of friends—for tips on visiting foreign countries when you’re female and rolling solo. In fact, I’d planned to write a post with some suggestions… and one of those suggestions is to be open and available to meeting local residents wherever you go. But Beth beat me to the punch, and has a great recent Web site post on “Meeting the Locals: 5 Tips for Solo Travelers.” Be sure to check out her five tips on doing this with purpose—and it’s obviously worked for her, as she’s become friends with folks she’s met on her travels. I’ve done the same, having met and shared my 40th birthday dinner with a charming Irish couple on the French Riviera. I’ve become pals with Parisians I’ve interviewed for travel stories and have developed and maintained real friendships with B&B owners I first met several years ago in Rome.

Of Beth’s five tips, my favorite is her first: “Become a regular.” As she says, “If you’re staying in one location for more than a few days, you can often make local friends if you frequent the same place for coffee or meals (or milkshakes!). It should go without saying, but you’ll have a better chance of being remembered if you are warm and friendly.”

My own corollary: Women traveling solo should ALSO make friends with the waitstaff at these spots. Not only will you often receive more attentive service and great tables from male waiters and bartenders (a HUGE self-esteem boost, especially when they’re cute!), but they’ll look out for you and “protect” you from potentially annoying men who might approach a single woman dining or drinking alone. They’ll stop by your table and chat, making you feel less lonely and loaning you some “street cred” with other patrons, wondering who YOU are to merit such special attention! 

During my two trips to Villefranche-sur-Mer, for example, I’ve become friends of a sort with a gorgeous Gallic waiter (mentioned several months back in a previous post!) at Le Cosmo. I’ve struck up fun and flirty conversations with café baristas near Rome’s Piazza Barberini—one of whom became particularly friendly upon learning I was staying at nearby B&B for several days. And during my early relocation days in Florence, Italy, I made sure to visit the same nearby ristorante and got to know the friendly waiters (while being comped a glass of good Brunello di Montalcino from time to time). They took good care of me every time I stopped in.

If nothing else, you’ll have someone to say bonjour or ciao to when you walk by that restaurant, café or corner market on your way to the next sightseeing adventure… and that CERTAINLY will help you feel much more at home, no matter where you are in the world.

The kindness of (Italian) strangers

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Ristorante Miramare, with a to-die-for patio that hugs the Mediterranean coast, became my culinary refuge during a day trip to Ventimiglia, Italy!
Ristorante Miramare, with a to-die-for patio that hugs the Mediterranean coast, became my culinary refuge during a day trip to Ventimiglia, Italy!

My French speaking skills pretty much suck, so rather than feeling like the village idiot, I decided to take the 40-minute train from charming Villefranche to Ventimiglia, the first town over the border in Italy. While I won’t be winning any prizes for my knowledge of Italian, I sound like a genius in italiano compared to the moron I sound like in français (multiple classes notwithstanding). So off I went to the train station, armed with my Berlitz Italian Phrase Book & Dictionary just in case all my questi and quelli got stuck in translation.

A palm tree-dominated glimpse down the Ventimiglia promenade.
A palm tree-dominated glimpse down the Ventimiglia promenade.

 

 

Ahhh… what a delight to stroll into a city where things felt familiar! Granted, I’d never been to Ventimiglia, but how thrilling to see signs for a salumeria and a gelateria – and actually be able to intelligently ask for my purchase! And, of course, my Italian brothers never let me down… they’re always good for an admiring glance or two and a couple whistles for a single signorina! (I made sure to change into my “cute shoes” before I boarded the train for Italy – I know those so-called little things make a big difference in bella Italia.)

When I got off the train, I was starving… and I’ve spent enough time in Europe to know that you’ve got to time lunch right. Most (decent) restaurants close some time between 2:30 and 7:30 pm, giving employees time off between shifts. But thanks to the late-running French train, it was nearly 3 pm when I arrived. I stumbled from place to place, every one closed and offering (at best) some limp slice of old-looking pizza. A signorina advised me to check out places on the sea, as they might still be serving. And although the kindly old man at the door of Ristorante Miramare said the kitchen was closed, my pleading in Italian won me sympathy from the cute young man at the cash register. He convinced the kitchen to prepare a pasta dish for me, one I devoured while drinking fizzy young vino rosso – and one of the most gorgeous seaside views anywhere. I swear, the kindness of strangers!

As I was leaving, the young man, Emanuele, asked me to take his phone number and call him next time I’m in Ventimiglia so we could meet for a drink. I’m sure I’m old enough to be his mother and probably would have given the poor ragazzo a heart attack if I’d told him my real age. But it’s still flattering. Maybe I should become a straight-up “cougar” while I’m on this 40th birthday trip. Only my pediatrician and I need to know how old I REALLY am!