Italy: Tears and Rediscover
by Trudi Russell
At a time in my
life where I found myself questioning if my living was in vain, if all that I
had invested in someone else was fruitless and what would come of the next
chapter in my life; I went to Italy. I
guess I could say that Italy was my own version of the book and movie, Eat, Love, Pray because for ten days
that is exactly what I did. Coming out
of a seven year relationship and a broken engagement I was shattered; I was
looking for something that was intangible, something that would take my mind off
of standing on the window ledge of my six floor Harlem apartment building and
jumping. While six floors may not have
been a lengthy enough fall for me to die from, it
would have at least transferred the pain from my heart to my body and I could
shift focus of the mental and emotional turmoil that was roaring inside of
me. I even thought to cancel my
trip. What was the point? I had been crying my eyes out day and night
anyway, why take what I could do alone in the confinement of my apartment to
another country and risk the chance to being asked what was going on with
me. I wouldn’t answer, I would be shut
down and women who didn’t know me would think I was a total bitch because that
is what I felt like and that is what I was, at least to myself.
In the days
leading up to the trip, I would receive a flood of emails from Blackgirltravel stating all the options of activities that
would be offered, itineraries, tips on how to pack, advice on how to live for
ten days amongst the Italians, being immersed in their culture and how not to
offend them. Upon receiving each email,
I would try to feel excitement, but I felt nothing. Then one evening, Katrina, my assigned
roommate, contacted me via facebok. She
came across as being sweet and welcoming. We corresponded for a while on that evening and then I disconnected from
facebook; disconnecting myself from the world, hoping not to be found and I
thought I had succeeded, until Fleace called me and
told me that my roommate was trying to get in contact with me. She told me that she forwarded Katrina my
email address and wanted to notify me that she would be emailing me. I thought, gosh, this chick is relentless. Why not just meet me at the airport with the rest of the other women
traveling? But God had another plan
for me, for us; he used Katrina as an angel who, I later found, would hold my
hand through the pain.
Within days I
found myself at JFK airport, plastering on a smile, convincing myself that this
was the right move for me, telling myself to be open to newness, happiness and
a different experience. I met beautiful
and distinct brown faces, women from all walks of life who had come far and
wide to share the experience of Italy with me and me with them. I wondered if
they would have any impact on my life; they did. I thought that I would be crying for ten days
straight, that I would look as dead as I felt before boarding Delta flight 246
to Rome, Italy. Instead, I could not
have felt more alive. Suddenly, as if a
magic wand was waved over me, I was distracted from my pain and pushed into a
city and culture that was colorful, vibrant and alive. I was inspired to project and give back the
same energy that Rome was giving to me. And
when I opened myself up to that, a new perspective and relationships started to
form.
The thing I love
about what Fleace gave me and other women, who were open to the experience, was
a bond. A bond that will link me to Ruth
Bobo from Minneapolis, Katrina Duty from Chicago, Shawnada Green and Jamie Reed
from New Jersey, Candice Smith from St. Louis and Taaj
Muhammad and Tiffany Norwood from Los Angeles; women who impacted me; women who
opened up to me; women who let me know that I am not alone; women who could sit
and marvel at the things that stood before us; women who I will probably be in
contact with for a long time or even a lifetime; women who embraced me and
shared this experience of Italy with me; women who allowed me to feel safe in
whatever emotion I expressed with them. A sisterhood is what was created.
Trudie (peach skirt) and some of th ladies on tour first night in Rome. |
It goes without
saying that the cuisine in Italy is some of the best in the world. The ricotta and red sauce ravioli was my
favorite and the gelato is just sinful. All flavors too! Watermelon,
mango, coconut, strawberry, there wasn’t a flavor that wasn’t offered. Each bite of flavored substance that entered
my mouth was a spiritual experience. I
would close my eyes, sit back in my seat and grunt to each morsel of food that
was swallowed.
Villa Verde Ristorante in
Capri was one, of many, of my favorite restaurants in Italy. This restaurant stands out to me most because
the food was outstanding and the walls were covered with pictures of every
celebrity dating back to the late 70s, who had walked their floors.
Trudie in the kitchen of Villa Verde. |
Villa Verde is like the modern day Studio 54 of restaurants, in the sense that everyone who is anyone has dined there and there I was taking pictures with the owner, chef and the women I connected with, pictures that will be added to the collection of celebrity filled walls.
An advantage of
this tour was that I was able to customize it to my own liking, go at my pace
and get all that I wanted to get from Italy. While most of the girls did every tour offered, I found myself on an
express train to Florence, Firenze, as pronounced by the natives. I had a window seat, my iPad, music, journal
and my thoughts. How drastic they had
changed from jumping off of a window ledge to wanting to do and see more in my
life. I did the same in Venice, walking through and snapping pictures of the
narrow canal like passageways, watching an Italian woman hang dry her clothes from the window of her apartment and questioning why in Italy it seemed like the right to do, but in the states the first thing I would think, depending on where one lives, is, ghetto. I watched her attach each clothing pin to the line with concentration
and precision. It looked like a scene
out of a movie, that was definitely an, oh
my God I’m in ITALY, moment. The
gondolas that floated by with couples listening to Italians sing passionately
with the assistance of their accordion, sent chills up my spine. I went from wanting to die to Italy. What a resurrection.
Trudie on the Vespa tour. |
Sorrento, the last part of the trip, was a city that meant the most to me. Standing on the terrace of the hotel that
gave me a full view of water and waves for eternity, the Amalfi
Coast is what I was experiencing. With
each wave that rippled through the water, it symbolized life to me, how it
keeps moving even through pain. That was
a moment where I felt closer to God. Sorrento was also the city where I had one of the best lunches of my
life with Shawanda and Jamie. This
particular day was so powerful for me because I went through a whirlwind of
emotions and even snap decisions. As I
sat with these two women who shared their life experiences and pain with me,
telling me about the things and people who had changed them forever, I
contemplated sharing my own story until Shawanda shed her first tear and broke
down. Jamie, who is funny, lively and
will drop it like it’s hot at the drop of a dime, was crying too, hiding her
tears behind her oversized shades. The
environment was safe, raw and open; it was there where I began to speak my
truth. After a couple of hours of pizza,
gnocchi, and wine we went from pain to laughter and it felt good, liberating
and free of judgment. Our waiter, who
was a gorgeous Italian man, came over to lighten the mood even more. We laughed and joked with him, taking
pictures and at one point I even told him how beautiful he was, not expecting
anything to come from it, but paying a genuine compliment. Once we paid our bill we were on our way,
smiling and waving bye to the waiters who were fascinated by the fact that we
were black. My beautiful Italian waiter
smiled at and beckoned for me with his hand and said, in his thick accent,
“Come, come.” Shawanda and Jamie gave me
an inquisitive look and agreed to wait for me. As I followed this sexy, swaged out Italian beauty toward the back of
the restaurant, he led me to their well kept individual bathrooms, stood in the
doorway of one of them, held out his hand and said, “Kiss me…” I stood there,
frozen, making sure that I heard him correctly through his accent. He said it again, “Kiss me.” Yes, I heard him
correctly, but what was I to do? No one
had ever called my bluff like that before, especially not at their work
establishment where tons of tourists, locals, co-workers and the owner of the
restaurant were within a ten step radius. I got scared. I laughed the
awkward, uncomfortable feeling off and ran out of the restaurant and directly
into Shawanda and Jamie.
“What? What happened? What did he want with you?” They were wide-eyed and expectant. After I told them what had happened they
jumped, screamed at the top of their lungs and asked, “Did you do it?” When I told them I had not we all looked at
each other for a moment, coming to the same conclusion and almost
simultaneously, they grabbed my bags and I ran back to my beautiful
Italian. He was waiting for me. We communicated through our eyes, no language
barrier there, as I ran back to the bathroom. Before I knew it, the door was closed behind him, I was pushed up
against the wall and we went at it… And
just like that, he added another dimension to my life. I was already having the best time ever, but that
moment was something I’ll always remember and icing on my Italian cake. It wasn’t the physical act of kissing that
stays with me, but rather the impulsive, exciting, passion for life this man
transferred over to me. I needed
it. He had no fear or reservation in
stating what he wanted. He wanted to
kiss me and whether I said yes or no, he made sure before I left his restaurant
that day that his intentions were clear. No sugarcoating, no bullshit, but rather a full-fledged, I want
you. I found that this is the way
Italians live their lives, intentional, carefree and in a way that inspires
them. That is a gift that I took back to
New York with me. I wear this new found
perspective like one of the fabulous leather bags I bought there and when
people ask me where I got this new attitude from, I smile to myself remembering
my beautiful Italian; never mind his real name.
Italy was
everything for me. It was the trip of my
life and the trip that came to me at this extremely difficult point in my
life. Now, there were 64 women on my tour and I came across some disheartening stories of one or two personality clashes and misunderstandings on occasion, but that wasn’t my experience. I didn’t attract or position myself in a
space where I was even subjected to any nonsense or mischief. Interesting how we all were on the same trip,
did most of the tours together, but each of us has a completely different
experience and perspective on what Italy was to and for us. This is what you, too, will get if you decide
to become a Bella.
My Italian experience wasn’t the same as my roommate’ Katrina (pictured below). Each
night we would congregate in our room, where she would be excited to hear about
my adventure of the day, telling me that I was having a completely different
trip from her and how inspired she was by my balance of independence and
camaraderie. 
I left New York emotionally
disoriented and depleted, but during my hiatus in Europe, I met seven sistahs,
three in particular, who picked me up, dusted me off and held my hand, they’re
still holding it, and showing me that there is life past my pain. It was the inspiration of these women,
perfect strangers, who encouraged me to live either through their example of
courageousness or either by voicing it to me.
It was Candice and Adzoa who danced behind me
at a local outdoor roman lounge, while Eleanora, a high spirited, tattoo clad, edgy, sassy, fun and exciting roman chick, danced with me
, twirling me around, instructing me to “Shake it to the ground girl!” She had no qualms about letting me know, through her soul and confession, that she was a black girl too. It was Shawanda and
Jamie who gave me the silent go to
make out with my beautiful Italian. It
was Katrina who held me while I cried and it was Fleace who gave me a map to
explore a place where I reconnected with myself in a way that I never have
before. I went to Italy, rediscovered
Trudi and got kissed along the way. Not
bad for my first European trip.
To view more pictures and videos or for information on joining Bella Italia 2013 in September www.BlackGirlTravel.com/italy
Other all female tours offered in 2013: Spain, France, Egypt and Italy for more details on these tours visit www.BlackGirlTravel.com
About Trudi Russell
Trudi is a Los Angeles, California native who now resides in New York, NY. Currently working in Corporate America and a part-time student at City College New York University, she strives to write for some of the most popular women's and fashion magazines on the stands. Contact info: trunycqt@yahoo.com
