Forget the guidebooks, memes, cliche’s and travel blogs. These places shattered my expectations in ways that were hilarious, humbling, and life-changing.

“When you assume, you make an ASS out of U and ME.”

Anonymous…

I’ll never forget stepping off the bus in the coastal town of Vlore for the first time, clutching my laptop bag and suitcase like they were filled with gold bars and nuclear codes.

Every warning I’d read online about scams, safety, and sketchy Balkan travel nightmares echoed in my head like a paranoid playlist.

I half expected to be swarmed by pickpockets or offered a kidney transplant within the first ten minutes.

Instead, the “bus stop” turned out to be a random street corner, where a big, tough-looking guy in a black Adidas track suit, who looked like a nightclub bouncer, was leaning on a beat-up Mercedes, watching me.

“First time in Albania?” he asked, his tone unreadable.

I nodded.

He took a long drag on his cigarette and said, “Welcome to Albania.”

And somehow, that moment has stuck with me more than any tourist site or beach photo.

But Albania wasn’t the only place that slapped my assumptions straight across the face.

You see, travel does this thing.

It messes with your mental wallpaper.

The images you’ve been fed by movies, TikTok, memes, and your cousin’s one-week trip to a resort in Cancun that somehow turned him into a self-declared global expert.

Expectations? Crushed.

Stereotypes? Obliterated.

And sometimes, yes, guidebooks? Hilariously wrong.

From the chaotic warmth of post-Soviet Ukraine to the maddening charm of rural France, I’ve had more than a few “Wait, what?” moments abroad.

Some were beautiful.

Some were baffling.

And some made me wonder if I’d accidentally stepped into the wrong country.

So here are six countries that didn’t just surprise me, they threw out the script entirely.

These are the places that challenged everything I thought I knew, made me question my own cultural compass, and taught me that the world doesn’t follow your expectations.

It steamrolls them.

1. Albania: The Place I Was Warned About… That Became My Safe Haven

If you’d told me ten years ago that Albania would end up being one of the calmest, safest, most chill places I’d ever lived, I’d have laughed and bought another lock for my anti-theft suitcase.

Before arriving, all I had were vague images of crumbling bunkers, mafia folklore, arms dealers, and some guy on Reddit insisting it was “totally lawless.”

Instead, I found myself sipping homemade rakia in strangers’ homes and getting unsolicited bags of fruit at the market because the vendor liked my awkward attempts at Albanian.

Police? Barely visible.

Chaos? Nonexistent.

One local even apologized that Saranda “wasn’t exciting enough” for me.

Honestly, that’s exactly what I loved about it.

Reality check: Don’t let outdated travel warnings or shady blog posts dictate your expectations.

Albania proved that the places people warn you about are often the ones that surprise you most.

2. Ukraine: Post-Soviet Hardship and the Fiercest Hospitality I’ve Ever Known

In 1998, I arrived in Ukraine with a French humanitarian group thinking I was about to enter a grayscale version of the Cold War.

Concrete, cold shoulders, and cabbage soup.

What I got? A crash course in unexpected warmth and fiercely loyal friendships.

Yes, the infrastructure creaked, and my Ukrainian was barely survival level.

But the people? Once they let you in, they really let you in.

After moving there in 1999, my perceptions quickly collided with reality.

One moment that cemented it, International Women’s Day.

I stood up for the traditional toast to the women at the table… every man forgot.

I didn’t. 

The looks of shock and pride? Worth every language fail that preceded it.

Reality check: Behind the hard exteriors of some post-Soviet spaces lies a depth of hospitality that puts most Western friendliness to shame.

But you’ve gotta earn it.

3. Georgia: Wine, Mountains, and the Chaos You Can’t Help But Love

Georgia is one of those places that looks like a postcard but feels like a half-finished punk rock opera.

I expected Soviet leftover vibes and maybe some mountains.

What I got instead was homemade wine flowing like tap water, jaw-dropping landscapes, and drivers who clearly believe traffic laws are just loose suggestions.

One of my first rides in a marshrutka (minibus) in Tbilisi turned into a surprise language exchange with the driver and two grandmothers who insisted I try their churchkhela.

It was chaos, it was loud, it was overwhelming… and it was awesome!

Reality check: Sometimes you’ve just got to let go of your need for logic and enjoy the weird, wild ride.

Georgia rewards the flexible traveler with unforgettable beauty and belly laughs.

4. France: A Place That Took Me In and Captured My Heart

I first arrived in a large town in Alsace, just north of Strasbourg.

I’d picked it at random from a map, checked into a small hotel in the center, and figured I’d stay a day or two before moving on.

I wasn’t expecting much. Maybe some postcard charm, a little aloof polite distance, and the usual traveler routine of wandering and observing.

That first night, I went down to the hotel bar and struck up a conversation with the barman and a local.

A few minutes later, I was introduced to a group of their friends who had just arrived.

They invited me to join them. I did.

And just like that, everything changed.

I ended up staying ten days.

By the end of the week, I was getting invited to dinners, welcomed into people’s homes, and waved into cafés and bars like I’d been living there for years.

It was one of the best travel experiences of my life.

And it didn’t end there.

I’ve returned almost every year for the past thirty.

I’ve attended weddings, been made a godfather to my best friend’s son, and I always have a place to stay and a seat at someone’s table.

Reality check: French warmth isn’t fast and loud, it unwraps and pulls you in slowly.

But once you’re in, you’re in for life.

5. Thailand: Paradise with a Side of Identity Crisis

I’ll admit it. I came to Thailand expecting beaches, Buddhas, and budget bliss.

What I didn’t expect was how split the country feels between its Insta-worthy image and the complicated realities on the ground.

One moment I was being shown around a local outdoor market in Bangkok by the owner of my family-run hotel, who then taught me how to navigate the city’s canal water taxis.

The next, I was watching fellow expats yell at locals over trivial things in 7-Elevens.

But amidst the contradictions, the real Thailand showed up, in tuk-tuk drivers who went out of their way to help, and street vendors who made me feel like family.

Reality check: The paradise version of a country and its contrasts often hides the deeper story.

Lean into the real, not the curated.

And skip the tourist tantrums, they’re not a good look.

6. The USA: Returning Home Is the Biggest Culture Shock of All

Every time I return to the U.S. after years abroad, it feels like stepping into an alternate timeline where everything is bigger, louder, and somehow more… anxious.

I walk into a pharmacy, see the price of basic cold and flu medicine, and let out an involuntary “Are you kidding me?” loud enough for the next aisle to hear.

The cashier just nods like, “Yeah, that’s normal.”

And small talk? It suddenly feels fake.

Conversations move too fast, skim too shallow, and everyone asks, “How are you?” without actually wanting an answer.

It’s not bad. It’s just weird.

Like I speak the language but forgot the accent.

Reality check: Reverse culture shock is real.

Coming “home” can be the strangest trip of all, especially after seeing how the rest of the world handles life with a little less noise.

The World Doesn’t Follow Your Script

The biggest shocks weren’t the differences I expected, but the truths I never saw coming.

These places didn’t just challenge what I knew.

They rewrote the quiet assumptions I never realized were there.

Albania wasn’t dangerous.

Ukraine wasn’t cold.

The U.S.? Maybe not as familiar as I thought.

The world isn’t what the memes and movies say it is.

It’s messier, funnier, warmer, and far more human than you imagined.

What about you?

What country shocked you the most and how? 

The post 6 Countries That Shocked Me Most And Why Everything I Assumed Was Dead Wrong! appeared first on Expats Planet.

From Funeral Feasts to Silent Pay-Per-Ride Elevators! The Everyday Culture Shocks No One Warns You About…

It was my 3rd year in Ukraine. 

By now I knew how to survive the bizarre, the marshrutka… and that asking a guy what he does for a living gets you a glare like you just slapped his babushka.

So when Vika, my then-girlfriend, invited me to a family gathering, I figured I could handle it.

But, what she failed to mention until the very last minute, was that it wasn’t just a “family gathering.”

It was a funeral.

So naturally, I walked in expecting somber faces and whispered condolences.

What I got was a feast, complete with pickled everything, flowing vodka, and people making toasts between bites of vareniki and shots of horilka.

There was continuous cooking.

There was continuous toasting.

There was laughter.

There were stories.

There was a man at the end of the table singing what sounded like a folk song about goats.

I leaned over and whispered, “Are we in the wrong place?”

Vika smiled and raised her glass. “Nope. Just a funeral.”

Ever been so confused by a “normal” moment in a foreign country that you just smiled and hoped for the best?

Because that was the moment I realized the world plays by a very different set of rules, and I had no clue what game I was in.

After more than two decades of living and traveling through places like Ukraine, Georgia, France, Poland, Albania, Spain, and the Balkans, and enough awkward cultural blunders to fill a book, I’ve gathered a list.

A very personal, occasionally humiliating, and hopefully useful list of 8 cultural habits that completely blindsided me as an American. 

These 8 taught me about how different, and surprisingly beautiful the world can be when you finally learn to get out of your own way.

1. The Pay-Per-Ride Elevator of Silence (Georgia)

My first elevator ride in Tbilisi? I smiled, said “hello,” and got met with the kind of silence you’d expect before a rocket launch.

No one blinked.

No one spoke.

Just… stare and ascend.

Apparently, elevator small talk in Georgia is as welcome as a fire drill during a nap.

Oh, and get this: many elevators aren’t free.

Yep, there’s often a coin box inside.

No coin? No ride. Newer ones might let you swipe, but the message is clear… pay up or take the stairs.

Lesson Learned: Silence is golden… and so is your pocket change.

2. Funeral Feasts Are a Thing (Ukraine)

Let’s rewind to that first funeral I mentioned.

Imagine walking into a somber Soviet-era apartment building and head into what you assume is a wake…

But instead of tissues and whispers, there’s a full-on buffet, pickled mushrooms, potatoes, black bread, smoked fish, and enough vodka to stun a small bear.

People were making toasts, laughing, even clinking glasses like it was a birthday.

I sat there frozen, fork in mid-air, thinking, Did we show up to the wrong apartment?

Nope. Just Ukraine. Where grief doesn’t always wear black, and honoring someone’s life often looks like celebrating it… loudly.

Lesson Learned: Not all cultures grieve quietly.

And sometimes, the best way to say goodbye is with food, stories, and a little too much horilka.

3. Greeting Roulette (France)

Ah yes, the kiss-kiss ritual, le bisou. So effortlessly chic and trés cool… when you know what you’re doing.

I didn’t.

It was 1993, my first time in France, in a large town in Alsace.

No smartphone, no Google, just me, my French/English dictionary that looked like a small bible, and a wildly misplaced sense of confidence.

I leaned in for one cheek.

She went for the other.

Boom forehead collision.

The kind that makes you see stars and question all your life choices.

We both laughed, but I spent the next few days asking every local, bartender and shopkeeper how many kisses were “normal.”

Turns out? It depends. Some regions do one, others two.

A few go full throttle with four.

There are other factors as well.

So, you’d better know which cheek to start with or risk turning a simple greeting into a slapstick sketch.

Lesson Learned: When in France, don’t wing the bisou.

Ask, observe, or brace for impact.

4. The Shoe Rule (Ukraine, North Macedonia, Albania)

One of the fastest ways to trigger a minor domestic incident abroad? Walk into someone’s home with your shoes on. I made this mistake once in Ukraine.

Once.

I had barely taken two steps onto the carpet when an older woman, who I later learned was the grandmother, gave me a look that could strip paint off a wall.

My shoes were off before I even knew what was happening.

Slippers are practically sacred in many households.

Some families even have a basket of guest slippers waiting at the door, like it’s a spa.

But this ain’t for comfort, it’s about respect.

Lesson Learned: When entering a home abroad, assume you’re walking onto sacred ground.

Shoes off. No debate.

5. Trash Can Toilet Paper (Georgia, Albania)

You haven’t truly lived abroad until you’ve clogged a toilet in an Albania Airbnb and had to do the walk of shame to tell the host.

In many places, Georgia, Albania, parts of Spain even, the plumbing just isn’t built for American-style enthusiasm.

Flushing toilet paper is a quick way to cause a backup of biblical proportions.

Instead, there’s a little trash can beside the toilet, and that’s where it goes.

It feels weird at first.

Then it becomes habit.

Then one day, you’re back in the States and staring at the trash can thinking, “Wait… do I?”

Lesson Learned: The bathroom is where cultures really show their quirks.

Always check the setup before you flush.

6. The Doggie Bag Dilemma (France)

The first time I asked for a to-go box in a French restaurant, my waiter blinked like I’d just requested a foot massage with my crème brûlée.

“Un doggy bag s’il vous plaît ?” I asked.

“Un… doggie bag?” he repeated, as if the phrase itself were offensive.

To be fair, in France, meals are a slow, sacred ritual, not something you parcel up like leftovers from Applebee’s.

Still, leaving half my duck confit behind felt like a crime.

But asking to take it home? Apparently that was the actual crime.

Let’s just say I got the “to-go bag” (le petit sac pour emporter)… but also a look of pure culinary betrayal.

Lesson Learned: In France, food is meant to be savored… not saved. Especially in fine restaurants.

So either clean your plate or prepare for some serious side-eye.

7. The Never-Ending Plate… and Shot Glass (Ukraine)

Ukrainians are hospitable to a level that should be classified as a competitive sport.

The first time I had dinner at my ex-girlfriend’s family’s dacha, I made the rookie mistake of cleaning my plate.

Seconds appeared. I cleared those too. Then came thirds.

I was full by course three and borderline comatose by dessert.

Turns out, in Ukraine (and several neighboring cultures), clearing your plate is basically asking for more. It’s like sending a coded message that says, “Please feed me until I explode.”

Lesson Learned: If you don’t want to roll home like a stuffed cabbage, leave a little something on the plate.

8. Playing Frogger (Greece vs. Ukraine vs. Albania)

In the U.S., you see a crosswalk, you walk. Drivers stop. That’s the rule.

In Greece, they might stop if you make eye contact and walk with confidence.

In Albania, you better pray.

And in Ukraine? Well, let’s just say I’ve seen grandmothers with canes bolt across traffic like they’re dodging sniper fire (pre-Russian invasion).

And one that didn’t make it…

One friend of mine from France described crossing streets in Tirana as “a game of controlled gambling.” He’s not wrong.

Lesson Learned: Don’t trust the painted lines. Trust your instincts… and the locals.

If they’re waiting, you wait too.

From Confused to Curious

Back at that funeral in Ukraine, I remember sitting there and listening to someone’s uncle make a wildly inappropriate joke between shots of vodka and thinking, “I don’t know what’s going on, but I kind of love it!”

That moment, awkward, confusing, and entirely out of my cultural depth, was the beginning of something.

It was the start of learning that my way of seeing the world wasn’t the only way.

Not even close.

What began as discomfort became one of the most eye-opening parts of my life abroad.

These weren’t just cultural quirks, they were full-blown lessons in humility, curiosity, and what it means to be a guest in someone else’s world.

So here’s my challenge to you:

What’s the weirdest culture shock you’ve ever experienced abroad?

The post 8 Strange Cultural Habits That Totally Blindsided Me Abroad…As An American! appeared first on Expats Planet.

From College Sports to Credit Scores! Here’s What Leaves the World Wondering, “Wait, You Do What?”

“Try explaining college football scholarships to a Frenchman in Strasbourg who just finished a PhD in Philosophy and still lives with his parents. 

Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

Now imagine doing it over a cheap bottle of Bordeaux at a local student bar where the cheese costs more than the wine, and everyone at the table is staring at you like you just claimed the moon landing happened in Ohio. 

That was my Tuesday.

After over 26 years abroad, from dodging mayo-covered pizza in Ukraine to sparking a tipping debate with a French Airbnb host, I started to notice a pattern.

The longer I stay abroad, the more I realize how weirdly normal some of our American ideas are… to us. 

Try telling that to someone in Albania or North Macedonia. My Ukrainian landlord gave me the same look when I asked about paying rent by check or money order and where to get one.

Guess what? You can’t.

At first, I blamed language. Maybe it’s just a translation issue, I thought.

But it’s not.

It’s a conceptual issue.

The ideas themselves, the systems, the values, the way we wrap bureaucracy in patriotism and slap a smiley face on capitalism…

They don’t translate.

So I decided to make a list.

A kind of reverse culture shock checklist for anyone wondering why the rest of the world raises a collective eyebrow at certain all-American traditions we don’t even question.

Here are 8 everyday American ideas that leave people abroad scratching their heads… and what they reveal about how deeply different our worldview really is.

1. Tipping Culture: Gratitude or Guilt Trip?

Over dinner in a town outside of Strasbourg, I tipped 20%. My French friend looked horrified.

“Why are you giving him more money? Wasn’t it already expensive?”

To him, tipping was charity.
To me, not tipping felt like a crime.

In Georgia, I quickly learned to round up. Maybe drop a few coins. But don’t pull out a calculator like a caffeinated Wall Street intern. It just confuses people.

And good luck ever getting exact change back in Tbilisi. That alone felt like a tip. And an impolite one at that.

Bottom line: Outside the U.S., tipping is often modest, optional, or even rude.

If you’re traveling, ask a local what’s appropriate.

Otherwise, your generosity might look more like guilt… or worse, entitlement.

2. College Sports Obsession: The Stadium Is Bigger Than the Classroom

Trying to explain March Madness to a Ukrainian student was like trying to explain cryptocurrency to my grandmother.

“So… the players don’t get paid, but the coaches make millions? And the university makes even more? And you guys bet on this?”

Meanwhile, he told me his university had one soccer field… and no one knew who played on it.

I told him some U.S. college towns rise and fall with their football team.

He looked at me like I said our schools run on cheerleaders and hot dogs.

Bottom line: Outside the U.S., sports are mostly pro or club-based.

The idea of tying higher education to massive sporting events feels like putting a bowling alley in a library… fun, but not exactly scholarly.

And the “World Series”? Just the U.S. and Canada.

Some world.

3. Credit Scores: The Algorithm That Judges Your Worth

I once asked a Ukrainian friend how credit scores worked over there.

She squinted. “You mean… like loan history?”

I explained the U.S. system: numbers, penalties, the idea that no debt is actually bad.

She nearly dropped her kompot laughing.

In most places, debt is simple. You pay or you don’t.

In the U.S., your credit score’s a maze of algorithms haunted by the ghost of missed payments past, and can stalk you longer than your college ex.

Fun fact: In Ukraine, it wasn’t unusual to grab a new phone on credit right before emigrating, with zero plans to ever pay it off.

Just a little parting gift souvenir to yourself.

Bottom line: Your flawless U.S. credit score won’t impress anyone abroad.

And trying to explain it will make you sound like a conspiracy theorist with a finance degree.

4. Suburban Sprawl: Where the Sidewalk Ends… Literally

When I described American suburbs to a friend in Poland, she paused and said, “So you live in a house with a yard… but you have to drive everywhere?”

When I confirmed, she asked, “Even to buy bread?”

Yes. Even to buy bread.

In places like France or Spain, you walk. The market is down the street.

Public transport is common.

You can live your whole life without needing to parallel park.

Meanwhile, in American suburbs, walking is so rare that neighbors assume something’s wrong if they see you on foot.

I once waved at someone walking through a cul-de-sac in Connecticut, and the first question that came to mind was, “Car broke down?”

Bottom line: The rest of the world builds cities for people.

We build them for cars, and then sell gym memberships so we can walk on treadmills indoors.

5. Frats and Sororities: A Social Club with Secret Rituals

Back when I was in Ukraine, I tried to explain the concept of American fraternities and sororities to my students.

One asked if it was like a mafia. Another asked if it was a religion. I said, “Well… kind of?”

The idea of pledging, hazing, secret handshakes, and wearing Greek letters as a lifestyle brand doesn’t really exist elsewhere.

In many countries, university is about academics or, at best, cheap beer and awkward flirting in the dorm cafeteria.

No one’s “rushing” to join a group that demands embarrassing stunts and has bylaws about keg stands.

Bottom line: Abroad, friendship isn’t pay-to-play.

And you usually don’t need to prove your loyalty by wearing a toga in November.

6. Gun Culture: Freedom or Fear?

In France, a guy asked me, completely deadpan, “So… do you have to wear bulletproof vests in America?” He wasn’t joking.

When I mentioned that schoolchildren practice active shooter drills, I could see the horror on his face. “But… why would kids have to learn that?”

I didn’t have a good answer.

Most of the world associates guns with war zones or organized crime, not Starbucks and grocery stores.

In America, it’s part of the cultural DNA.

Elsewhere, it’s something they only expect to see in action films… or nightmares.

Bottom line: If you’re trying to explain the Second Amendment abroad, prepare for a long conversation… or stunned silence.

7. Work as Identity: Hustle Till You Drop

In Spain, you can spend an entire evening chatting with someone and never once learn what they do for a living.

Ask too early and it’s considered invasive.

Meanwhile in the U.S., “What do you do?” is practically our version of “Nice to meet you.”

When I told a French friend I used to feel guilty for taking a full two-week vacation, she nearly spilled her wine down her chin.

“In France,” she said, “if your boss calls during vacation, it’s their problem.”

Bottom line: The U.S. is built on hustle.

But abroad, life comes first, and work is just one part of it, not your whole identity.

It’s a wild concept, I know.

8. American Exceptionalism: The World’s Self-Appointed Hero

In Spain, I got into a good-natured argument with a guy who asked why Americans always think they’re the center of the universe.

I laughed, until I realized he wasn’t kidding.

We’re raised to believe in “the USA is the greatest country on Earth” narratives.

Freedom, opportunity, bootstraps, hustle you know the drill. 

But outside our borders, that messaging doesn’t always land the same. In fact, it can sound a bit… intense.

And when I asked a friend in Georgia what they thought about American foreign policy, they just smiled and said, “You guys always think you’re the main character.”

Bottom line: Confidence is one thing. Assuming everyone wants what you have? 

That’s another story.

The Mirror We Don’t Know We’re Holding

Look, every country has quirks. Belgium thinks mayonnaise belongs on fries. Spain closes down entire cities for naps.

Ukrainians will shun you if you bring an even number of flowers to a celebration. 

But America? 

We’ve got an entire catalog of “normal” ideas that, when held up to the mirror of global perspective, start to look pretty bizarre.

This isn’t about hating on the U.S. 

It’s about stepping outside the house we grew up in and realizing… the floorplan isn’t universal.

What we think of as default settings are often just uniquely American downloads.

So what do you think, what’s the most “normal” American thing you’ve done that got weird looks abroad? 

Or if you’re not American, what’s one U.S. concept you still can’t wrap your head around?

The post 8 Everyday American Ideas That Completely Baffle The World! appeared first on Expats Planet.

Not all chains are legal… some are paved, fenced, or require a receipt. These places showed me what liberty can really look like.

In Strasbourg, I sat on a park bench for two hours without buying a coffee, fending off a security guard, or needing a “reason” to be there. 

No one stared. No one moved me along. No laminated sign reminded me of the 30-minute seating limit. 

And shockingly… no one tried to sell me anything. I just sat. Did nothing. 

Watched the world stroll by. 

And in that nothingness, it hit me:

This is freedom.

Not the bumper-sticker version wrapped in red, white, and blue cable news.

Not the “freedom” that comes with a co-working space, a receipt, a lease agreement, or a subscription plan.

But a quieter, deeper kind… one built into the spaces we all share, or should share.

See, I grew up thinking freedom meant options.

• Big box stores open 24/7.
• Drive-thrus for coffee, bank deposits, and pharmacy pickups.
•  The “freedom” to choose from 96 types of toothpaste, 6,000 podcasts, or 14 political opinions… on one network alone.

But after living and traveling across places like Ukraine, France, Georgia, Albania, Spain, and more, I’ve started to think we’ve got it backwards.

Maybe real freedom isn’t the ability to buy more stuff faster… it’s the ability to exist in a space without having to earn your place there first.

From car-free plazas in Tirana to playgrounds in Madrid where no one checks wristbands or waivers, I kept bumping into these little pockets of public life that made me question everything I thought I knew about liberty.

So here are 7 public spaces that flipped my idea of what freedom really looks like… and why, despite all our patriotic slogans back home, we just might be doing it all wrong.

The Car-Free City Center in Strasbourg, France 

The first time I got stranded in Strasbourg, I wasn’t panicked. I was annoyed.

My train from Strasbourg to Frankfurt had been delayed thanks to a convention or some European Parliament session, that had the whole city booked solid.

So I did what any semi-jetlagged traveler would do…

I wandered.

No agenda, no Uber, no panic… just me and my stubborn rolling suitcase clacking on cobblestone streets and along the canal.

What I discovered instead?

Actual peace and contentment.

The streets in that part of town were closed to cars but open to everything else: street performers, couples holding hands, kids chasing pigeons, and cafés that spilled into the street like they owned the place (because they kinda did).

And for the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel like I was in the way.

I felt part of it.

Liberty Lesson: Freedom isn’t a fast lane. Sometimes it’s a closed-off road that gives you back your place in the world.

2. Free Public Healthcare Clinics in Tbilisi, Georgia 

I woke up in Tbilisi with a throat that felt like I had swallowed sandpaper dipped in battery acid.

Back in the States, that would’ve meant an hour of Googling in-network providers, calling three clinics, and eventually deciding the copay wasn’t worth it.

But in Georgia? I asked a local friend where to go, walked into a neighborhood clinic, saw a doctor, got a diagnosis, walked out with prescription meds to take to the pharmacy next door…

And as a non-citizen I did pay, but no, I didn’t have to sell a kidney to finance it.

There were no platinum-level insurance tiers, no mysterious billing codes, and no lecture about deductibles. Just care.

Liberty Lesson: When healthcare is a right, not a business model, it stops feeling like a gamble.

3. Open Playgrounds and Childcare Spaces in Spain

In Barcelona, I found myself watching a local playground like it was performance art.

• No wristbands.
• No admission fees.

Just kids being kids. Laughing. Screaming. Negotiating swings like tiny diplomats.

What really got me, though, were the parents.

They weren’t helicoptering. They were relaxing. Chatting. Sipping espresso like it was normal to trust your environment.

Back in the U.S., childcare often feels like a private luxury.

You either pay for safety or cross your fingers.

In Spain, it felt like the city itself co-parented.

Liberty Lesson: If kids are only safe when money changes hands, maybe freedom’s already been sold.

4. Neighborhood Parks Without Gates in Poland and North Macedonia 

I remember walking through a leafy neighborhood park in Skopje and thinking: “Why does this feel… weird?”

It took me a second to realize, it was open.

No gates. No signs threatening fines or reminding me the park “closes at dusk.”

I wasn’t breaking any rules. There were no rules.

Just grass, benches, grandmothers with shopping bags, and teens playing guitar badly, but confidently wooing the girls nearby.

In Krakow, same deal. Parks didn’t feel like something you entered.

They were just there, part of the neighborhood like sidewalks or air.

Liberty Lesson: Freedom isn’t just about access, it’s about not being told when to leave.

5. Pedestrian Zones in Tirana, Albania

In Tirana, what started as a post-COVID experiment, “temporary” car bans, turned out to be permanent and became the soul of the city.

I walked down boulevards where cars once roared and found musicians, families, couples arm in arm.

People weren’t rushing, they were being.

A friend who’d lived there for years told me the vibe shift was real. People started staying out later, walking more, knowing their streets belonged to them, not some angry guy in a Mercedes.

Liberty Lesson: Take away the traffic, and sometimes you rediscover your neighbors.

6. Public Transit Systems in Ukraine and Bulgaria

Kyiv’s metro system is like stepping into a Cold War time capsule, except it still works better than most modern setups I’ve seen.

Built during the Soviet era with the kind of paranoid precision only the Cold War could inspire, these underground stations were designed to double as bomb shelters.

And now, thanks to history’s cruel sense of irony, they’re doing exactly that as civilians use them for refuge during Russian attacks.

Prophetic planning or just really thorough paranoia? 

Either way, those Communist-era engineers did not mess around.

Escalators so deep you could finish a Dostoevsky novel.

And trains? So punctual, you could set your watch to them.

Coming from the land of car culture and eternal traffic jams, stepping into Kyiv’s metro felt like entering an alternate universe… one where public transit actually works.

In Sofia, same deal. I paid less than a cup of coffee and got more dignity than any U.S. Greyhound, I’ve ever taken.

And don’t get me started on New York City’s overpriced nightmare they try to call a Subway…

Liberty Lesson: Freedom isn’t owning a car, it’s not needing one.

7. Community Markets in Romania and Mexico

In Cluj and in Oaxaca, I found the same thing: markets that didn’t just sell goods… they sold connection.

You could wander for hours, chat with vendors, sample cheese, sniff unfamiliar herbs, and no one gave you the side-eye if you didn’t buy.

No pressure. No neon SALE signs.

Just humans being human.

A fellow traveler I met in Oaxaca once told me, “I come here just to feel like I exist.” I knew exactly what she meant.

I found the same community markets in Italy, from the smallest of villages to neighborhoods in its biggest cities.

Liberty Lesson: When markets serve people, not profits, you don’t need to buy to belong.

Rethinking Freedom 

I used to think freedom meant choices. As many sugary cereal brands as I could cram into a cart.

The “right” to sit in traffic in my own personal metal cage.

But now?

I think freedom means access.

To exist without being monitored. To rest without buying something. To move without swiping a card or signing a waiver.

Where in the world did you feel the most free, and why? 

It’s time to rethink freedom together.

The post 7 Public Spaces Abroad That Define My Idea Of Freedom! Why America Gets It So Wrong… appeared first on Expats Planet.

From Grandma Insults to Police Run-Ins! Here’s what every traveler needs to know before humiliating themselves overseas

I once told my girlfriend’s grandmother I was “sexually finished.” I basically forgot to say the prefix before the word, “finished”, which means something totally awkward in Russian. 

At dinner. 

After a second helping of stuffed cabbage. 

The silence that followed could have frozen the Dnipro.

She didn’t say a word, just gave me that look Ukrainian grandmothers have perfected over centuries, the one that makes you instantly regret every decision that brought you to this moment.

Nobody warns you about this stuff.

When you pack up your life and move to another country, whether it’s Ukraine, Georgia, or Albania, you imagine cultural enlightenment, spontaneous friendships, and maybe a rustic wine-fueled weekend in the countryside.

You don’t picture miming “explosive diarrhea” at a pharmacy in Tbilisi, or handing your date’s mom a funeral bouquet because you didn’t know even numbers are for the dead.

And those glossy Instagram reels?

They never show you getting shaken down by a cop in Kyiv for not registering your visa on time.

In 1999, my first year abroad, I made every embarrassing mistake you can imagine, and a few you probably can’t. 

Some were linguistic landmines.

Others were cultural tripwires.

All of them were mortifying.

But each one taught me something.

About the world.

About humility.

And mostly, about how not to make a total ass of yourself on foreign soil.

So, in the spirit of full-frontal humiliation, and hopefully sparing you from repeating any of these disasters, here are 6 of my most painfully awkward expat screw-ups and what they taught me.

1. The Language Fail That Still Keeps Me Up at Night

It was a cozy dinner in Ukraine, and I was doing my best to impress my girlfriend’s family with my newly acquired Russian vocabulary.

I had just polished off a mountain of vareniki when her grandmother asked if I wanted more.

With a confident smile, I said, “я кончил.” “Ya Konchal”

Everyone at the table froze.

The only sound was the slow drip of sour cream off my fork.

What I meant to say was “I’m full.”

But the closest phrase I knew was “I’m finished.”

What I actually said was something closer to “I’m sexually satisfied.”

At the dinner table.

To a Soviet-era babushka.

The worst part? I didn’t realize my mistake until later that night, when my girlfriend broke it down with that uniquely Slavic blend of “are you actually this stupid?” layered under a giggle that slowly morphed into a sigh of pity… for herself, not me.

How Not to Be That Foreigner: Don’t just learn vocabulary, learn context.

“Konchal” might technically mean “finished,” but when you leave out the prefix “Za” along with a very animated “patting of your belly”, you might end up sounding like a pervert at a potluck.

Always sanity-check your new phrases with a native speaker before using them in polite company.

2. The Gesture That Got Me the Death Stare

Greece. Igoumenitsa. Small family restaurant. I’d just devoured a plate of souvlaki that nearly made me weep with satisfaction.

The cold white wine on that hot summer’s day also helped lubricate my enthusiasm of finishing such a great meal.

Feeling chummy, I looked at the owner (an older gentleman) and gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

His smile disappeared like someone had hit a switch. He narrowed his eyes, nodded stiffly, and walked away without another word.

Confused, I watched him retreat, and that’s when someone from the next table leaned over and whispered in English, “Yeah… in Greece, that means something a little closer to ‘up yours.’ Especially to older generations..”.

Nice.

How Not to Be That Foreigner: Hand gestures don’t travel well.

The peace sign? Not so peaceful in the UK if your palm’s facing the wrong way.

Thumbs up? A different kind of “salute” in some countries.

Before you go all gestural IRL, do a quick Google search on what your hands are actually saying.

3. The Dress Code Disaster at a Serious Event

Beaujolais Nouveau night in rural France. I was invited by some new acquaintances for a “tasting”, and was told it would be a casual evening celebrating the new wine release.

So I showed up “casual”, jeans, sneakers, and my best hoodie (really, my only hoodie).

Big mistake.

Turns out, in France, “casual” doesn’t mean “just rolled out of a hostel bunk bed.”

It means you don’t wear a tux, but you do wear something ironed.

I was the only one who looked like I’d wandered in off a late-night pizza run.

How Not to Be That Foreigner: When attending anything that ends in “night,” “ceremony,” or “tasting” in France, assume a blazer won’t hurt.

Worst case, you’re overdressed.

Best case, you don’t look like someone’s American cousin who got lost on the way to the laundromat.

4. The Bureaucratic Blunder That Nearly Got Me Deported

My first year in Kyiv 1999, I treated my visa like a novelty sticker and my registration paperwork like optional reading.

Big mistake.

One winter evening, while going out with my girlfriend to pick up a few beers and snacks for a “get-together”, a pair of police officers overheard us speaking English and stopped us on the street.

Routine check. They asked for documents.

She was fine.

I had nothing but a Metro chip and a pack of chewing gum.

Cue the questions. Cue the suspicion.

Cue the “come with us” moment.

Luckily, my girlfriend handled it in Ukrainian while looking-annoyed-but-polite.

I got away with a warning, but I was two steps from learning what a post-Soviet holding cell looked like.

How Not to Be That Foreigner: Visas, registrations, and official stamps matter, a lot. This isn’t TSA PreCheck. It’s “prove you belong here or enjoy our concrete hospitality suite.” Make copies.

Keep your passport handy.

Know the rules, even if no one told you them.

5. The “Innocent” Comment That Was Actually Offensive

At a birthday party in Kyiv, surrounded by friendly strangers and too many shots of vodka, I leaned in to chat with a guy next to me and asked, “So, what do you do?”

He stared at me like I’d asked for his ATM PIN.

“Business,” he replied flatly.

“Oh, cool! What kind?”

He leaned closer. “None of your business.”

Lesson learned.

In post-Soviet cultures (at least in 1999), asking someone what they “do” can come off as nosy at best, or suspicious at worst.

You’re not networking at a LinkedIn mixer. You’re poking into private territory.

How Not to Be That Foreigner: Swap the career question for something safer.

• Ask what they enjoy doing on weekends.
• Ask about travel.

Just don’t treat the conversation like a job interview in a place where privacy is armor.

6. The Time I Refused Help… and Got Completely Lost

North Macedonia. The hills outside Ohrid. I’d rented a bike to explore some monastery ruins and promptly got myself thoroughly lost.

But I was determined. Independent. A rugged expat with a Google Map that hadn’t loaded since I lost my mobile network signal at breakfast.

After nearly an hour of circling the same flock of goats, a 10-year-old boy approached on foot, pointed at my bike, and then at a dirt path.

I nodded politely, thanked him, and biked in the opposite direction, because clearly I knew better.

Twenty minutes later, I found myself back in front of the same goats, who looked increasingly judgmental.

Eventually, I gave in, followed the boy’s original path, and “surprise” it led me straight to my village destination.

How Not to Be That Foreigner: Ask for help. Then take it.

The expat ego is strong, but humility will save you time, embarrassment, and potentially a night sleeping next to livestock.

Cringe Now, Laugh Later… Or At Least Learn From Me

If you’re not cringing at your past self, are you really growing?

In the moment, each one felt like the world was ending. The kind of cringe that clings to your soul and replays on a loop every time you’re alone in the shower.

But now?

They’re the stories I tell first at parties, and the ones that taught me more than any Rick Steves guidebook ever could.

So go ahead. Mangle the grammar. Misread the menu.

Get lost in the North Macedonian countryside and hang out with some goats.

Just promise me you’ll learn something… and that you’ll laugh about it later.

Now it’s your turn 

What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve done abroad?

The post 6 Cringe-Worthy Mistakes I Made Abroad That Still Haunt Me! appeared first on Expats Planet.

From free concerts to stress-free healthcare! Here’s what made me rethink what a “rich life” really means.

I once had a 45-minute doctor’s visit in Tbilisi, followed by a strong espresso in a café where no one shoved me out the door, and still made it around the corner for a hot, fresh puri (bread) from a guy who actually smiled. 

All before 10am!

Try pulling that off in LA without losing half your paycheck or your sanity stuck in traffic.

Total cost?

About what you’d tip your DoorDash driver back home… assuming you weren’t guilted into 25%.

Now, imagine trying to do the same thing in the U.S.

First, you’d need to schedule the doctor’s visit three weeks in advance, dodge a surprise $300 co-pay, then sprint across town to a Starbucks where your name gets misspelled on a lukewarm drink that tastes like burnt ambition.

And bread? 

Sure, if by “fresh” you mean par-baked, wrapped in plastic, and $5.99 at Whole Foods.

I didn’t realize how rich everyday life could feel, until I left the States.

Places like Ukraine, France, North Macedonia, even down backstreets in Georgia, showed me a different kind of wealth.

Not the kind with Teslas and Pelotons, but the kind where simple things are treated like they matter.

So, here are 10 things I discovered abroad.

Things that cost little to nothing, but feel like five-star luxuries when you come from a country where sitting on a park bench might get you side-eyed if you’re not holding a $7 smoothie.

1. Seeing a Doctor Without Emptying Your Wallet

Back when I was living in Georgia, I caught a nasty sinus infection that left my head feeling like it was about to explode.

The pressure was so intense, I could barely talk without wincing.

I figured I’d just tough it out, but a friend insisted I go to a nearby clinic. I braced myself for a financial gut punch, American-style.

Instead, I got a real appointment with a real doctor, who sat with me, asked actual questions, didn’t rush me, prescribed medicine, and charged the equivalent of $10.

In the U.S., you’d be lucky to even get an appointment without navigating a Kafkaesque voicemail system and playing insurance roulette.

By the time you finally get in, you’re paying $150 to be told to “get rest and drink fluids.”

Abroad, seeing a doctor felt human.

In America, it feels like applying for a mortgage with chest pain.

2. Outdoor Markets That Feel Like a Daily Festival

In Tbilisi, outdoor markets aren’t just where you buy food… they’re where life happens.

People chat, barter, sample cheese, gossip about politics.

In Albania, I once watched a guy play the accordion while a little girl danced between the stalls.

In France, I practically lived off market stalls in Strasbourg… fresh berries, cheese, still-warm pastries.

Compare that to the U.S., where a “farmer’s market” often means overpriced kale, $9 jars of “artisan” jam, and a woman in Lululemon trying to convince you that her gluten-free dog treats are life-changing.

Markets abroad nourish the soul.

At home, they mostly drain your checking account.

3. Warm Bread for a Buck

I don’t care how many apps you have. There’s no luxury like biting into a warm baguette in France that costs a euro and was baked less than an hour ago.

In Spain, I’d buy crusty pan gallego that weighed more than my carry-on and cost less than a soda.

Meanwhile, back in the States, you can get a loaf that’s been hermetically sealed in plastic and chemically stabilized for shelf life… for $5.

And somehow it still tastes like despair.

Bread shouldn’t require a budget meeting.

4. Streets Made for Walking, Not Just Driving

In Hungary, I once spent an entire week getting around Budapest on foot. I didn’t need a car, an Uber, or a battle plan.

The sidewalks actually connected.

In Greece, strolling through Ioannina felt like a pastime, not a punishment.

In Italy, walking is culture… literally. The passeggiata and a gelato are the social scene.

No one’s honking at you like you’re a deer in traffic.

Contrast that with the U.S., where even crossing the street can feel like an act of civil disobedience.

Want to walk to the store? 

Good luck dodging traffic, surviving the shoulder without getting yelled at, and finding a grocery store within an hour’s drive.

In most of Europe, your legs are respected.

In America, they’re seen as a liability.

5. Sitting Down Without Financial Anxiety

In France, I once spent nearly two hours at a café in Strasbourg nursing a single espresso.

No one glared.

No one hinted I should order more.

In Italy, I shared a table with an old man who didn’t even have a drink. He was just there. Being.

In the U.S., sitting too long without ordering feels like shoplifting.

A server inevitably circles like a hawk, and the vibe slowly shifts from “welcome” to “pay rent or leave.”

The privilege of simply existing in public shouldn’t come with a price tag.

6. No Tipping Math Gymnastics

Tipping abroad is refreshingly straightforward.

In France or Spain, it’s optional.

In Ukraine, you round up the bill if you’re feeling generous.

There’s no emotional calculus.

No trying to figure out if 18% is insulting or if 25% still makes you a cheapskate.

Back in the U.S., every transaction now comes with a screen prompting you to tip… at fast food joints, coffee counters, even self-checkouts.

Tipping has mutated into a guilt-fueled performance.

Sometimes, I just want a sandwich.

Not a math test and a moral dilemma.

7. Free Cultural Events and Concerts

In Kraków, I stumbled into a free jazz concert in a park.

In Hungary, I once watched an open-air Shakespeare play where the guy next to me shared his flask like we were lifelong friends.

In Spain, town squares host orchestras, festivals, flamenco, film nights — you name it.

In the U.S., “free” events usually mean a $20 parking fee, $12 hot dogs, and a lawn chair fight for decent seating.

Culture is available, sure, but it’s often hidden behind ticketing apps, VIP sections, and overpriced merch tables.

Abroad, art belongs to the people. At home, it belongs to the sponsors.

8. Simple, Streamlined Bureaucracy

This one shocked me the most. In North Macedonia, my Airbnb host had to register me with local authorities.

I expected Soviet-style chaos. Instead? 

One form, online, and it took him five minutes.

In Ukraine, even in the ’90s, I managed to handle residence paperwork without needing therapy afterward.

Now compare that to renewing your driver’s license in the U.S. Bring a book. Actually, bring a series of books.

You’re going to be there a while. And don’t forget the six different proofs of address, a blood sample, and your firstborn child.

Turns out, bureaucracy doesn’t have to feel like a punishment.

9. Time to Just Be

This might be the most priceless luxury of all.

In Spain, I watched elderly couples sit on benches for hours, just… existing.

In North Macedonia, long café conversations drifted into evening without anyone checking a clock.

In France, meals weren’t eaten, they were savored.

Nobody was rushing to the next task.

Time was treated with reverence, not as a race.

Back in the U.S., slowing down is practically suspicious. If you’re not “hustling,” people assume something’s wrong with you.

Or worse, you’re lazy.

But life isn’t meant to be a treadmill with bills stapled to your back.

What Real Luxury Actually Looks Like

We keep getting sold this idea that luxury is about quartz countertops, streaming subscriptions, or that ridiculous $6 water called “Liquid Death” that comes in an aluminum can.

But I’ve found more peace and dignity in a loaf of fresh bread or a conversation on a bench than in any Black Friday sale.

Maybe the real flex isn’t stuff… it’s space.

Space to breathe, time to think, freedom to just “be” without the constant financial transaction hanging over every moment.

So let me ask you this:

What’s something you experienced abroad that felt like a luxury, but turned out to be totally normal there?

And if you’re currently somewhere that lets you sit for two hours without tipping, enjoy it for the rest of us.

The post 9 Everyday Pleasures Abroad That Feel Like Luxuries In The USA! appeared first on Expats Planet.

You can memorize every visa law and still get it wrong! These are the social codes that really matter…

When I first moved to Ukraine in the late ’90s, I thought I had a handle on the basics: 

Don’t drink the tap water!

Learn some damn Russian!

And for the love of all things holy, don’t forget to register your visa!

What I didn’t know? 

That flashing my big, friendly American smile at a stranger on the metro would make them recoil like I’d just offered them a used tissue.

In America, smiling is practically a reflex.

We smile at cashiers, at neighbors, at dogs passing on the street.

In Kyiv?

I smiled at a woman on the escalator and she gripped her purse like I was about to mug her using nothing but optimism.

No guidebook warned me about this.

Rick Steves didn’t pull me aside and whisper, “Hey, tone down the cheery optimism, you’re not in the USA anymore.”

And that’s the thing, nobody tells you about the rules that actually matter until you’ve already broken them and spent the rest of the day wondering what the hell just happened.

So, if you’re an American planning to live abroad, or just hoping not to mortally offend someone by saying “How are you?”, this is for you.

These are the real rules. 

The ones you won’t find in any Rick Steves tourist guide, packet or embassy pamphlet.

The rules I learned the hard way, usually after an awkward silence, a judgmental stare, or a dinner party where I was definitely not invited back.

1. Don’t Smile So Much… It Freaks People Out

The first time I smiled at a stranger in a Kyiv metro station, she clutched her bag like I’d just asked for her PIN number.

I wasn’t being creepy, at least not intentionally, I was just being friendly.

The same way we smile at dogs, babies, baristas, and even mildly annoying neighbors back in the States.

But abroad? In places like Ukraine, Germany, Georgia and even parts of France, a smile isn’t a friendly icebreaker, it’s a social contract.

Smiling without a reason makes people think you’re either selling something, scamming them, or slightly unhinged.

Expat tip: Save the grin. Use a polite nod or neutral expression.

Once someone earns your smile, it actually means something.

2. Skip the Small Talk… You’ll Come Off as Shallow

I once asked a guy in Kyiv what he did for a living. He leaned in, stared me down, and gave me a flat, “Business.”

Curious, I followed up, “What kind of business?”
His reply? “None of your business.”

That was the last time I used American-style small talk as an icebreaker in Eastern Europe.

In the U.S., we love small talk. It’s how we warm up a conversation.

But in countries like Ukraine, Poland, or Georgia, jumping into personal questions like “What do you do?” or “How are you?” feels nosy and disingenuous.

People there aren’t being rude, they just prefer real conversations over filler fluff.

Try this instead: Talk about food, the city, or something observational.

You’ll be surprised how fast you get to the real stuff once you skip the surface-level chitchat.

3. Shoes Off… Or Prepare to Be Judged Silently

Walk into a home in Spain or Ukraine with your shoes on and you might as well have tracked in a live goat.

I learned this lesson after stepping into a friend’s apartment in Ferrol, Spain.

Everyone else had neatly placed their shoes near the door. Me?

I strolled in like I was modeling for Foot Locker.

Her mother didn’t say a word.

She just glanced at my sneakers and then at me, like I’d just insulted the Virgin Mary.

Here’s the rule: If there’s a shoe rack near the door or a pile of slippers laid out like a buffet, take the hint.

If you’re not sure, ask.

But don’t assume your “indoor shoes” are doing anyone a favor.

4. Keep Your Voice Down… Public Space Means Private Vibes

Ever been on the metro in Kyiv and realized you were the loudest sound in the entire car? I have.

And I wasn’t even saying anything outrageous, just chatting with a fellow colleague about where to go have a few beers and a bite to eat after a long week.

Meanwhile, the entire train car sat in a kind of silent meditation.

No one was making phone calls, there were no TikTok videos blaring from speakers.

Just me and my booming American voice echoing through the carriage like I was giving a TED Talk no one asked for.

In much of Europe and Asia, public spaces are treated with quiet respect.

If you’re loud, you’re not charming, you’re disruptive.

The fix: Take your cues from the locals.

Match their tone, pace, and energy.

When in doubt, pretend you’re trying to talk without waking a sleeping baby.

5. Hands Off the Produce… Seriously

Back in Georgia, I reached out to check the ripeness of a tomato and was met with a gasp so sharp I thought I’d accidentally knocked over a sacred statue.

The vendor snatched the tomato back like I’d just coughed on it and politely (but firmly) waved me away.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but in many Eastern European and Mediterranean markets, only the vendor touches the produce.

It’s not just about hygiene, it’s tradition, trust, and a system that works just fine without your fingerprints all over their peaches.

Bottom line: Point, gesture, or just say what you want. Let them do the picking.

You’re not at Trader Joe’s anymore.

6. Wait for the Invite… Offering Can Be Rude

In North Macedonia, I once offered to help clean up after dinner at my Airbnb host’s home.

You’d think I’d offered to rearrange their furniture or inspect their plumbing.

Everyone looked at me like I was trying to take over the house.

Turns out, in many cultures, especially in the Balkans and parts of Southern Europe, being a guest means being a guest.

Offering to help can come off as awkward, or worse, as if you think they can’t handle things on their own.

What to do: Wait to be invited to help. If it doesn’t come, sit back, relax, and let them play host.

It’s not laziness, it’s respect.

7. Don’t Expect American-Style “Thank Yous”

In Spain, I once held a door open for an older gentleman.

No nod, no smile, no thank you.

He just walked through like he was royalty and I was the hired doorman.

At first, I was borderline offended.

But after a few more days, I noticed a pattern.

People there show gratitude differently.

They’ll repay kindness with action, not words. 

• A favor returned.
• A coffee paid for later.
• A sudden invite to a family barbecue.

The American “thank you, thank you so much, oh my gosh, thank you again” style just isn’t universal.

A lesson in gratitude: Don’t assume rudeness. In many places, appreciation is baked into behavior, not verbalized.

And hey, if they hand you homemade jam a week later, that’s their way of saying thanks.

The Real Rules Are the Ones Nobody Tells You

Forget the embassy website and your Lonely Planet or Rick Steves “Backdoor” guides. The real rules abroad aren’t about paperwork, they’re about presence.

They’re the silent expectations, the subtle customs, the awkward pauses you only learn to read after you’ve royally messed them up.

Trust me, I’ve committed enough cultural faux pas to fill a trilogy. (Note to self. Book idea!)

But here’s the beauty of it:

Every mistake is a lesson.

Every cringe moment is a step closer to fluency, not just in language, but in life abroad.

So the next time you find yourself standing barefoot in someone’s living room, unsure if you’ve offended them or not, just smile (sparingly), nod, and keep learning.

What about you? 

What’s one unwritten rule you learned the hard way while living abroad? 

I’ve got a feeling I’m not the only one who’s stepped in it.

The post 7 Unwritten Rules Americans Only Learn After Embarrassing Themselves Abroad! appeared first on Expats Planet.

You think you’re just changing your address. Swapping Kansas for Kraków, or Connecticut for Kyiv. 

You pack your favorite hoodie, give away your furniture and the bike that’s been your main form of transport to work for the last 6 months (in the USA, no small feat I might add). 

You figure the hardest part ahead is cracking the local marshrutka schedule or ordering coffee without accidentally proposing marriage.

But no one tells you the truth: you’re not just changing where you sleep.

You’re stepping into a reality that quietly rewires your brain.

One where your reflection speaks Russian with a French accent, answers to three different names, and gets emotional at airport goodbyes like they’re the end of some cheesy romcom.

When I moved to Ukraine in the late ’90s (back when Nokia ringtones were the height of technology), I thought the hardest part would be learning the Cyrillic alphabet.

I didn’t realize that a much deeper transformation was quietly happening under the surface.

It’s like digital software updating while you’re busy trying to figure out how to use a Soviet-era “plastic washing machine” (yeah, you read that right, “a plastic washing machine!”).

The culture shocks, the linguistic fails, the odd friendships with strangers you meet in a local/expat bar called the Baraban, and those were just the appetizers.

The main course? 

An identity shift so subtle you don’t notice it happening, until one day, you can’t remember who you were before.

Sure, most blogs love to talk about visas, cost of living, and where to get the best tacos in Tbilisi.

But those are just surface-level stuff.

Living abroad does something sneakier.

It chips away at everything you thought you knew about the world and about yourself.

And by the time you realize what’s happening, you’re too far in.

You’ve already swapped comfort for curiosity, certainty for chaos, and your cozy suburban supermarket for a wild outdoor bazaar in a outer district of Kyiv called Obolon.

Your new “Whole Foods” is a now an outdoor bizarre that sells dried fish and “fresh” beer from the Obolon brewery down the road in plastic old soda bottles.

Your new supermarket also sells socks, and SIM cards all from the same row of stalls scattered among the puddles after a Fall rain.

It’s chaotic and smells faintly of vodka, cigarette smoke and freshly caught mackerel from the Dnieper, a ten minute walk away.

But hey, who needs a self-checkout line when you’ve got a babushka yelling prices in a language you don’t understand and zero patience?

These are the 8 invisible but irreversible changes that no one warned me about.

But now that they’ve happened, I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

Not even a slice of real New Haven pizza… okay, maybe for that.

1. You Question Everything… Especially Yourself

In America, I never once questioned why we tip baristas 20% for handing us a muffin we picked out ourselves.

It was just “normal.”

Then I moved to Ukraine.

Suddenly, I was in a place where asking someone what they did for a living got me a death glare and a curt “Just Business.”

That’s when it hit me. 

The stuff I thought was universal: manners, priorities, small talk, life goals… was just cultural programming.

Being abroad peeled that back like sunburned skin.

You start to wonder, Do I really like this? 

Or was I just told to?

Living overseas doesn’t just introduce you to new cultures.

It introduces you to yourself, stripped of autopilot.

How It Rewires Your Identity: Get ready to doubt everything, your beliefs, your habits, even your fashion sense.

Especially your fashion sense if you’re still wearing flip-flops in a restaurant.

2. You Get Comfortable Being Uncomfortable

If you’ve never stood in a post office in Georgia, surrounded by a crowd of shouting locals and absolutely no discernible line, you haven’t lived.

Or sweated.

Early on, discomfort is your new roommate.

You fumble through menus you can’t read, decipher washing machines that look like Cold War prototypes, and pray that what you just ordered isn’t pickled pig’s ear (again).

But somewhere between the awkward metro rides and the 12th form you filled out in triplicate, you stop flinching.

You build resilience by necessity.

How It Rewires Your Identity: The sooner you stop expecting ease, the faster you’ll grow.

It’s like emotional CrossFit, but without the overpriced smoothies.

3. Your Definition of “Normal” Implodes 

Back home, we refrigerate eggs, avoid mayonnaise on pizza, and don’t drink vodka before noon (usually).

Then came Vlore, Albania.

Suddenly, I was eating dinner at 10 p.m., walking through smoke-filled cafés like it was 1994, and watching grannies yell across balconies like it was a neighborhood opera.

And guess what? It made sense there. 

That’s the beauty, and the brain-bender, of living abroad.

Normal is fluid.

You’ll catch yourself defending things you used to think were weird.

Like putting ketchup on spaghetti in Ukraine.

Or paying your rent in cash and in person, to a guy named Roman who may or may not own the building.

How It Rewires Your Identity: “Normal” isn’t real.

Once you see that, you’re free.

4. You Start Listening More Than You Speak

My Russian, in the early days, was the verbal equivalent of a toddler on stilts.

So in Ukraine, I did a lot of nodding. Listening. Guessing. Sometimes wildly.

But being linguistically outgunned does something magical: you slow down.

You notice tone, body language, and that very specific look someone gives when they’re about to sell you the “foreigner price.”

You learn to read a room without ever opening your mouth.

How It Rewires Your Identity: When words fail, awareness kicks in.

Fluency starts with observation.

5. You Carry Two (or More) Versions of Yourself 

There’s “you” at home, confident, chatty, efficient.

And then there’s “abroad you”, quiet, awkward, and weirdly obsessed with finding decent peanut butter.

In France, I was more laid-back. In Ukraine, I learned to side-eye bureaucracy like a local. 

Each country gives you a different lens, and slowly, you begin to wonder:

Which version is really me?

Answer: all of them. 

Living abroad multiplies you.

How It Rewires Your Identity: You don’t just grow, you split.

And for once, it’s a good thing.

6. You Learn to Love Silence 

In France, I once sat at a café for 45 minutes with a friend from Strasbourg.

We barely spoke, just sipped espresso and watched the world slouch by.

At first, I thought something was wrong. Back home, silence is suspicious. But abroad, it can be comforting, even profound.

When small talk is a linguistic challenge and deep talk is too much for your second language, silence becomes a shared language of its own.

How It Rewires Your Identity: Embrace the quiet.

Sometimes it says more than your vocabulary ever could.

7. You Say Goodbye Better (But It Still Hurts)

You meet incredible people… over beers in Strasbourg, on buses going to Macedonia, in visa lines in Krakow.

And then… they’re gone.

Off to their next country, job, romance…

Saying goodbye becomes a skill. 

You learn to savor the now, knowing it’s fleeting.

It doesn’t make it hurt less.

But you stop clinging and start appreciating.

How It Rewires Your Identity: People abroad come and go like seasons sometimes.

Learn to embrace them anyway.

8. You Become Harder to Impress… And Easier to Satisfy

After years abroad, luxury looks different.

I’ve had a $10 Georgian meal of Khachapuri Adjarian and Shashleek (meat skewers) with a whole liter of Saperavi (and no, I couldn’t finish it) that blew Michelin-starred meals and some French wines out of the water.

I’ve lived without dryers, dishwashers, and personal space… and somehow been happier.

You become less dazzled by shiny things and more grateful for simple pleasures.

Like when a friend who understands you, a train that runs on time, an outdoor café that knows how to make a shandy on a hot summer’s day.

How It Rewires Your Identity: Living with less shows you how much you already have.

Who You Were Is Just the Beginning 

I used to think moving abroad was about exploring the world.

But it’s really about exploring yourself.

Each place you live peels back a layer you didn’t know was there.

Some parts of you grow louder. 

Others, quieter.

And somewhere between border crossings, lost luggage, and street food hangovers, you realize something.

You’re not the same person anymore…

And that’s exactly the point.

How has living abroad changed you in ways you didn’t expect? 

The post 8 Invisible Ways Living Abroad Rewires Your Identity Forever! appeared first on Expats Planet.

Here’s what no one tells you about long-term travel and why that useless item in your bag says more about you than you think…

I once packed a linen shirt for Albania thinking I’d suddenly develop a Mediterranean glow and an effortless sense of style.

Instead, I spent the summer sweating through it in a Greek bus terminal, looking less like a coastal fashion icon and more like a tourist who lost his tour group.

And yet, I packed it again for my return trip to Albania. Twice.

After years of living out of suitcases across Ukraine, Georgia, Bulgaria, Romania, Albania and North Macedonia, and a few deeply regrettable Airbnbs in Greece, you’d think I’d have mastered the fine art of packing.

But somehow, I still manage to drag around two scarves I never wear, a bulky paperback novel that mocks me from the bottom of my bag, and a pair of leather dress shoes that have seen fewer dinner parties than a monk in a monastery.

The truth is, packing for long-term travel is never just about the stuff.

It’s about the fantasy of who we think we’ll become in a new place.

That we’ll start journaling by candlelight in a French café, take up spontaneous tango in a Spanish plaza, or, I don’t know, hike up a volcano called Duvalo in North Macedonia despite getting winded climbing the stairs to our Airbnb in Saranda.

And even after years abroad and a dozen or so countries, I still make the same ridiculous mistakes, some out of habit, others out of hope.

So, here they are!

The eight dumb packing mistakes I keep making, and the ones I’ve should have learned by now to stop repeating.

1. Packing Too Many Shoes (That All Do the Same Thing)

I once packed five pairs of shoes for a month-long stint in Bulgaria.

Five! 

As if I’d suddenly develop a personality that switches between salsa dancing, trail running, and rooftop bar-hopping in Sofia.

Instead, I wore the same beige suede flat tops every day, which were not waterproof, but semi-breathable, and a little stylish (if I do say so myself).

But hey, they were already on my feet, and that counts for something when your Airbnb’s three flights up and there’s no elevator.

What I Should Have Learned by Now: Unless your feet are planning a solo trip with their own itinerary, keep it to two pairs, max!

One for walking everywhere, and one that can pass as “nice” if you squint.

2. Bringing “Maybe” Outfits for Imaginary Versions of Yourself

Somewhere between packing and boarding, I convince myself I’ll become a whole new person overseas.

The kind of person who wears crisp linen shirts in Greece and looks breezy, not like a sweaty lost American melting into a park bench in Athens.

Or the guy who brings a blazer to North Macedonia “just in case” there’s a jazz bar that requires one.

There never is.

What I Should Have Learned by Now: If you didn’t wear it at home, you won’t wear it abroad.

Pack for the you that gets “hangry” and lost, not the you that exists only in a romantic montage set to European café music.

3. Forgetting a Power Strip (Every. Single. Time.)

I don’t know how many times I’ve stared at one lonely outlet in a crumbling studio in Craiova, Romania trying to decide whether my laptop or phone deserves to live.

Once, I plugged my power bank into a socket that buzzed like a dying bee and sparked every time I touched it.

Meanwhile, my travel adapter sat useless in my bag, because I forgot the extension cord that would’ve saved me.

What I Should Have Learned by Now: Always pack a compact power strip.

It’s the cheapest solution to the eastern bloc epidemic of crappy Airbnb outlets in crumbling post-communist apartment blocks.

4. Skipping Rain Gear Because ‘It’s Summer’

The logic: “It’s July, I’m going to Thailand. What could go wrong?”

The answer: Everything!

In Chiang Mai, I got caught in a rainstorm so intense, my clothes clung to me like they owed me money.

Locals passed by in perfectly dry ponchos while I stood under a palm tree, using my passport wallet as a sad little umbrella.

What I Should Have Learned by Now: Rain doesn’t care what season it is.

A compact poncho or umbrella takes up almost no space, but your dignity will take up plenty of room if you don’t have one.

5. Ignoring Local Dress Norms (Until It’s Too Late)

It was my second week in Tbilisi, and I figured I’d blend right in.

So I spent a Saturday night wandering the Old Town, popping into wine bars, checking out the local restaurant scene and soaking up the vibe.

And oh, I got the vibe… just not the one I was going for.

There I was, dressed like I’d taken a wrong turn on the way to a hiking trail: cargo shorts, scuffed-up hiking boots, a sun-faded t-shirt, and a baseball cap that screamed, “lost his tour group.”

Didn’t think much of it… until I started catching the looks.

Locals strolled by in jeans, button-downs, actual outfits.

I, on the other hand, looked like the star of a low-budget travel doc called “Americans Abroad: What Not to Wear.”

Or the time I visited a church in Mtskheta, Georgia with bare shoulders and got handed a light see through scarf by a stern-faced woman who looked like she had personally wrestled saints.

What I Should Have Learned by Now: Check the cultural dress norms before you land. Especially for religious or rural areas.

Better to cover up than get called out.

6. Bringing Real Books… Because Apparently, I Hate Myself

There’s something romantic about reading a physical book on a train, right? 

Until that book becomes dead weight in your bag and you end up sleeping on it because your hostel ran out of disposable pillows.

I brought a 1300-page Count of Monte Cristo on my second Camino de Santiago trek through Spain.

I ended up reading just 20 pages!

But I still lugged it around in my backpack for 3 more weeks, refusing to admit defeat.

I finally surrendered and left it at a Pilgrim’s hostel in León with a passive-aggressive note that just said: “The movie’s better!”

What I Should Have Learned by Now: Kindle. Library apps. PDFs.

Anything but the hardcover or softcover bricks you think you’ll read.

7. Skipping the Laundry Essentials (Then Overpacking Instead) 

I’ve packed 6 pairs of socks just to avoid doing laundry.

Not 5. Not 4.

“Six”!

As if I were trekking across the Sahara, and not Spain with no access to water, or soap, or shame.

However, while in Spain, I did find myself crouched over a hostel sink, trying to wash my underwear with some leftover shampoo I “borrowed” from the shower shelf.

No sink stopper, of course, so I let the water run like I was baptizing each pair individually.

Another traveler handed me a single clothespin with the gravity of someone handing over state secrets.

What I Should Have Learned by Now: A basic laundry kit takes up less space than your emotional baggage.

Toss in a sink stopper, a few detergent sheets, and a portable clothesline (you know the one that doesn’t need separate clothes pins).

Unless, of course, you’re into paying strangers to fondle your t-shirts while you sit in a café pretending you’re writing a novel.

8. Packing Based on Emotions, Not Logic

Every item in my bag is a negotiation between practicality and irrational sentiment.

A hoodie from my first year in Kyiv? Doesn’t fit anymore, but it reminds me of a snowy December and a young woman named Anya. 

A t-shirt from a Legends of Rock festival I picked up on a trip back to the USA? Still smells like cheap beer and freedom… and now looks as old as the legends themselves.

A 100% Irish wool newsboy cap I picked up in Ireland? I still wear it! I don’t care what anyone says, I think it’s stylish and I love it!

What I Should Have Learned by Now: It’s okay to bring one or two sentimental items.

But if your backpack starts to look like a scrapbook, it’s time to make some emotional cuts.

Packing Isn’t Just Packing… It’s Self-Sabotage in a Carry-On

Let’s face it: packing is less about logic and more about the lies we tell ourselves. 

That we’ll become someone different abroad.

That we’ll need six outfit changes in Bulgaria, three scarves in Spain, and a classic novel that we’ll definitely finish this time so we can say we’re well read.

We won’t. But we’ll keep trying.

So, is the anything you, “Should Have Learned by Now”?

The post 8 Packing Disasters This American Still Makes After Years Of Living Abroad! appeared first on Expats Planet.

From Guns to Smiles, Here’s How I Handle Each One Without Causing an International Incident…

“Do you own a gun?”

That was the very first thing the daughter of a couple sitting next to me on the train from Vidin, Bulgaria to Timișoara, Romania asked me after I told her I was American.

No small talk, no “Welcome to Romania,” not even a half-smile.

Just straight to the point like I’d rolled in strapped and ready to reenact a scene from a Tarantino film.

I laughed.

She didn’t.

I looked around, half expecting a hidden camera.

But nope, she was dead serious.

And that was just the opening act.

After years bouncing between Ukraine, Georgia, Albania, France, Spain, and collecting enough passport stamps to make customs agents blink twice, one thing’s clear…

People have questions. Lots of them.

Sometimes it’s genuine curiosity.

Sometimes it’s just, “Are you okay?”

Either way, I’ve got stories. Lots of them!

But it always seems to be the same questions. Like clockwork.

It doesn’t matter if I’m sipping homemade rakija with my Airbnb host in Skopje or dodging small talk on a train in Romania, once they find out I’m American, the interrogation begins.

Some are genuinely curious.

Others are bold enough to make TSA agents look subtle.

And a few, well… let’s just say I’ve gotten real good at answering without causing an international incident, or at least avoiding being chased out of a café with a kebab skewer.

So it you think Americans abroad just get asked about burgers and Hollywood movies?

Think again.

These are the 10 most bizarre, awkward, and sometimes just plain weird questions I’ve actually been asked overseas.

And yes, I’ve learned (the hard way) how to answer them… without accidentally starting a new Cold War in a café.

1. “Do you really own a gun?”

This is always the opener. The icebreaker. The cultural litmus test that kicks off countless conversations in bars, cafés, and late-night Ubers.

The first time I heard it was in a Hungarian dive bar, halfway through a local beer I couldn’t pronounce.

The bartender leaned in and asked like I was some Duck Dynasty extra.

I told him no, I didn’t own a gun, never had, never shot one.

He looked genuinely disappointed. “But…you’re American.”

That’s the real kicker… 

In places like Georgia or Ukraine, being “American” still comes with a carry-on of clichés:

Guns, fast food, and reality TV.

American Abroad Takeaway: Don’t take it personally. It’s less an accusation and more a curious fascination.

I use it as a chance to talk about nuance, and sometimes, to ask them about their own stereotypes… and guess what?

They have plenty.

2. “Why don’t Americans take vacations?”

In France, this one came with a look of pity, like I’d just told someone I didn’t grow up with indoor plumbing.

After explaining that two weeks off is the standard back home (and often grudgingly given), my French friend blinked at me and whispered, “C’est inhumain.”

And he wasn’t wrong.

When I told my students in Ukraine I’d once worked for a company that gave zero paid vacation days, one literally asked, “Is that even legal?”

Barely…

American Abroad Takeaway: Americans reading this, take your damn vacation days! 

To everyone else… Yes, we’re exhausted.

And no, we don’t know why we keep doing it either.

3. “Is everyone really that loud?”

Germany. A small train car. A woman reading a book.

I answered a call from a friend back in the States and before I even finished saying “Hey, what’s up?” she gave me a death stare that could’ve frozen the Rhine.

In the U.S., loud = lively. Abroad, loud = obnoxious.

American Abroad Takeaway: Tone it down a notch.

Especially in countries like France or Germany, even the Netherlands, where conversations are more controlled.

They even have no talking on mobile phone signs in many train carriages in Europe…Ooops, my bad!

So, save your enthusiastic storytelling for the bar, not public transport.

4. “What’s with your healthcare system?”

I tried explaining U.S. healthcare to a woman in France once.

She stopped me mid-sentence and said, “So… you have insurance… but still pay out of pocket?” I nodded.

She paused. “Then what’s the point?”

Great question.

I’ve gotten stitches in Ukraine for the price of a sandwich.

I’ve seen friends pay hundreds in the U.S. for prescriptions that cost $5 in Tbilisi.

And don’t even get me started on dental work.

American Abroad Takeaway: If you’re an American abroad, get good international insurance and always ask locals where they go for medical stuff, it’ll save you money and headaches.

Literally.

5. “Why do Americans tip so much?”

Spain. Small café. I left a few euros on the table. The waiter chased me down thinking I forgot my change.

When I explained it was a tip, he looked confused… then mildly insulted.

In many countries, tipping 20% makes people think you’re either rich, confused, or just trying too hard.

In the U.S., not tipping makes the waitstaff think, “you’re ripping them off”.

American Abroad Takeaway: Learn the local tipping customs.

Seriously.

In some places, leaving too much is awkward.

In others, it’s expected.

In all cases, it’s a cultural minefield.

6. “Do you all sue each other all the time?”

Once, in a bar in Georgia (the country, not the peach state), I casually mentioned someone in the U.S. suing McDonald’s over hot coffee.

My Georgian friend blinked and said, “That’s… insane.”

In countries like France or Romania, lawsuits are rare and often seen as last resorts.

In the U.S., they’re just part of the social toolkit.

• Broken chair? Lawsuit.
• Hurt feelings? Maybe a lawsuit.
• Wrong pizza topping? Possibly small claims court.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Jackpot!

American Abroad Takeaway: Abroad, people still believe in solving problems without lawyers.

Wild, I know.

7. “Why do Americans smile so much?”

Ah yes, the smile. The universal American reflex. I smiled at a grocery clerk in Ukraine once and she looked at me like I’d asked her to prom.

In many places I’ve lived or spent time in like Ukraine, Poland, Albania, Georgia even parts of France, smiles are earned.

They’re sincere, not automatic. Smiling at strangers is often met with confusion, suspicion, or a raised eyebrow that says, “What do you want from me?”

American Abroad Takeaway: Smile less, observe more.

Especially early on.

A genuine smile abroad carries more weight when it’s not handed out like candy.

8. “Is college really that expensive?”

Once, while sipping coffee with a fellow teacher in Kyiv, I mentioned my friend’s student loan debt.

The number, over six figures, stopped the conversation cold.

She thought I was joking.

I wasn’t.

In much of Europe, university costs are minimal or even free.

The idea of paying thousands just to attend a lecture sounds like a scam to most people I’ve met abroad.

American Abroad Takeaway: Don’t be surprised when people abroad look at U.S. tuition fees the way we look at black market adoption prices.

9. “Do Americans think the US is the best country?”

This one’s tricky.

People usually ask it with a smirk, like they’re trying to bait you.

I’ve gotten it in cafés in Tirana, over drinks in Lviv, and once on a beach in Greece.

The key is nuance.

I usually say: “We’re told it is, from a young age. But once you travel, you start to see the cracks.”

American Abroad Takeaway: Be honest, not defensive.

People abroad usually appreciate self-awareness more than patriotism.

10. “What do you really think of “our” country?”

This is when the tables turn. You’ve answered a dozen of their questions, and now they want to know what you think of them.

The first time I got this in Albania, I made the mistake of being too honest.

I mentioned the indoor smoking.

Big mistake.

Now I keep it positive, talk about the food, the people, the landscape.

Then, maybe I’ll slide in a light-hearted cultural observation, but only if I’ve known them more than 20 minutes.

American Abroad Takeaway: This is the test. Pass it, and you’re in.

Fail it, and you’re the “rude American” stereotype they feared.

What These Questions Really Reveal

Every one of these questions, no matter how weird, pointed, or awkward, is a doorway.

A little crack in the wall between cultures that invites you in.

Or, sometimes, exposes what we think we know about each other.

Over the years, I’ve learned to welcome these conversations.

They’re not just icebreakers, they’re invitations to connect, laugh, learn, and challenge assumptions on both sides of the table.

What’s the strangest, funniest, or most unforgettable question you’ve ever been asked abroad? 

The post 10 Questions That Stun Me Abroad Every Time Locals Find Out I’m American! appeared first on Expats Planet.