This article explores the feminist potential and possibilities of Black women's travel writing. The author reflects on her travel stories, in dialogue with other Black women's travel memoirs, to make two arguments: (1) we must expand and deepen our citational practices in anthropology to critically engage more seriously with Black women's work, especially those who have been marginalized or excluded from the "canon"; (2) international travel is crucial to forming the connections and networks necessary to be able to cite Black women's work transnationally.Keywords autoethnography, Black women, canon, citational praxis, travel writing My experiences with international travel brought me to anthropology. The first stop on my journey was Venezuela, where in 1999 I studied the African influences on Venezuelan religious festivals. Thanks to a research travel grant from the Academic Achievement Program (AAP) in the College of Arts and Sciences at New York University, I traveled solo to Caracas as a nervous nineteen-year-old sophomore. 1 I enrolled in an advanced Spanish class at a Venezuelan language school and lived with a homestay family. On afternoons after my Spanish classes, I dug into the archives at the Foundation for Ethnomusicology and Folklore (FUNDEF). Exploring FUNDEF texts on Afro-Venezuelan culture, folklore, music, dance, and religion, I soon encountered the work of Angelina Pollak-Eltz (1972), an Austrian anthropologist living in Venezuela who studied direct connections between Congolese and Afro-Venezuelan culture. I was fortunate to make a short trip to the Afro-Venezuelan coastal towns of Puerto Colombia and Choroní. Albeit short, the sixteen days that I spent in Venezuela taught me a great deal about race in Latin America and sparked my interest to learn more.My Venezuelan homestay parents, Francisco and Gabriela Rojas, 2 lived in a lovely apartment with multicolored pastel walls in a middle-class neighborhood building that bordered los ranchos, a poor neighborhood with houses perched precariously on steep hillsides similar to Brazilian favelas. I was surprised that race and color came up on my very first day settling into the Rojases' home. Gabriela's sister commented that my natural hair-styled in short two-strand twists-looked like chicharroncitos (little sausages). I didn't quite know how to respond to that, so I chuckled nervously. A few days later, when I was returning to the apartment building from the metro, I passed a group of Black men. One of them yelled out to me, "Is that good hair or bad hair? Do you want to be Black?" I couldn't think of a witty comeback in Spanish, so I ignored them and quickened my pace. In hindsight, I imagine that these experiences influenced one of my journal entries: