I’d spent over a decade living in Europe. I once read that you never truly understand your home country until you view it from another perspective. Like many Americans, I went to public school, said the Pledge of Allegiance every day and believed everyone who told me how lucky I am to live in the “Best Country in the World.“ Apparently, outside our borders lurked an unsavory world full of madness, promiscuity, debauchery, starvation and rampant crime (Count me in!)
Only in America were we safe from the horrors of women with hairy legs/armpits, people who never bathed and bags of rice being thrown out of military cargo planes, crushing our skeletal, starved bodies. Drinking the water would kill you, or worse, give you worms the length of a Dreamliner coiled throughout your innards. That’s why so many immigrants left their homelands of horrors for the green pastures of America.
But there was one common theme outside the castle walls; citizens of the rest of the world loved to hate us (or literally did hate us.). Americans tourists were often viewed loud, brash, entitled and ultimately clueless - seeing that generations had been fed the same “America is the best” mantra I memorized.
I could fill a book with the faux pas and cringe moments I witnessed (or created) as a traveler and ultimately a foreign resident. Most American travelers are considerate, friendly and appreciative of other cultures. They love adventure, can laugh at themselves and go with the flow. But it’s no fun writing about them, so I’d rather write about the Americans who believe they get in a steel tube for 8 hours and arrive in a larger version of EPCOT. Fake Japan, where costumed women divers hand harvest pearls for your wife’s 35th anniversary (cheap bastard) is really a fucking dunk tank surrounded by an artificial pagoda in Orlando.
Some tourists grow frustrated, I imagine, when the actual Germany is populated with actual Germans, not cute American teenage actors speaking English with a fake German accent while selling you a braised turkey leg that could feed a family of 4.
That said, I’m going to write about the crazy ones. The ones that give all Americans the Ugly American moniker. During my time in Europe, I witnessed some doozies. Because I’m organized and think in bullet points (thanks Corporate life!), I’ve listed some general themes below for your enjoyment
Theme 1 - No concept of currency other than the Dollar
I’ve seen American shoppers yell at store cashiers for not taking US dollars.”Well they do in Canada! That’s a foreign country, too!” (This isn’t Canada, sir.)
“Where can I get me some of those Euro Dollars?” (They are called Euro, ma’am and you get them at the local ATM)
“I have a bunch of Pounds from when were in England. Why can’t I pay with those?” (Because, sir, we are not in England, we are in Italy)
Theme 2 - This isn’t how we do it in America
There were three constants when many Americans compared their country to the country they were visiting - Ice, toilet paper and portion sizes.
Frozen. Ice is not something automatically served with a beverage, nor would you want it to be in much of the world. But if you ask, the server will bring you some ice. Maybe it‘s because hundreds of years ago, potable water was scarce, so peasants decided to drink their cocktails. Nobody wanted to take water out of a canal and drink/freeze it, for fear of death, or worse, the Dreamliner-sized tapeworm. I would hear people talk about the “no ice” topic with both shock (as if the waiter stirred the drink with his penis kind of shock) and pride that they all managed through and survived a post-apocalyptic world without ice.
TP. People in become emotionally attached to their toilet paper - wherever they live. We saw this in the early days of the pandemic, where shelves around the world were emptied of this rolled up commodity. Instead of bank runs, we had Charmin runs. Americans probably have the softest, plushest TP in the world and are damned proud to share this with anyone who asks, or doesn’t. When I moved to Europe, toilet paper was different, but it did not live up to the “like wiping your ass with a saguaro” apocalyptic horror I had been warned about. So 1 point to Americans for the softest toilet paper and 1 point to Europe for their bidets
Feed Me! Until you venture out of America, one really can’t appreciate the difference between how restaurants feed Americans, compared to the rest of the world. I’m not sure when this trend started; where bigger was better, supersizing a meal equalled fiscal responsibility (and probably patriotism) and eating a deep fried cauliflower (or onion) the size of a human head was considered healthy. But the rest of the world didn’t get the memo and continued serving meals the way they always had, with normal portions and vegetables that didn’t look like they were grown on the outskirts of Chernobyl.
Theme 3 - We saved you!
One of the things that makes me proud to be American is how we help people around the world. Whether it‘s war, famine or natural disaster, Americans are always first in line to help. Companies, churches and schools immediately jump to action to start collecting food, money, medical supplies or whatever is needed. It is rare that other countries reciprocate our generosity (like I’ve never seen Bahrain lining up to help victims of a hurricane or sending billions of dollars in aid to feed, rescue or reconstruct). It’s an American thing and I’m not picking on Bahrain. Americans are on our own, and we help the world without expectation of thanks. It’s who we are.
Well, at least most of us. But there are some who constantly feel the need to remind current citizens (or their descendants) of what they owe 'Merica for getting them out of a pickle. Having lived in Amsterdam, I occasionally overheard angry patrons asking wait staff if there was a discount for US military personnel as a “thanks” for liberating them from the Nazis in World War 2. Spoiler alert: There was no discount and it was the Canadian forces who liberated the Netherlands. Read your history books like the countries do, man! None of these angry patrons I witnessed were old enough to have been a fighter (or even alive) in WW2 - but they still felt they were “owed” something by the descendants of the descendants of those who they supposedly liberated.
I did get to meet an actual veteran of one of the battles on a flight from Amsterdam to Washington. His name was Carl and he was seated next to me. He had been in the Netherlands to commemorate the battle of Arnhem and the thousands of soldiers lost. He must have been in is 80s or 90s, swas physically frail, but mentally sharp. He told me horrific detailed stories of brotherhood, valor and tragedy, sniffling while he cried at the memories. The Allied forces lost that battle and my seat mate lost many friends during the operation.
I asked him what he remembered about the battle. “How young we were," he softly responded. "We were kids. All of us. Even the Germans.”
I felt bad for his grief, so I tried to change the subject, more for me than for him because I was at a loss for words and I hate to see people cry. I asked Carl what he thought about returning back 60 years later.
“I saw all of the horror in full color back then, not like the black and white films they show you now,” he explained. “It was nice to see everything normal; kids playing, couples strolling…even the dogs barking. But the weather is still shit.” He laughed. “It made me feel like what we did mattered. I guess that’s all I can ask,” he said.
He experienced a real war, lost real friends and never expected thanks or gratitude. I wonder what Carl would have thought of that entitled, bellicose American I witnessed in the cafe, demanding a free coffee for someone else’s sacrifice. I bet I was more pissed off about it than Carl would have been.
“It’s good to see people free,” Carl told me before drifting into a nap. “Even the assholes.”
Stupid Americans, lol. Love the story about Carl 💕