Living Abroad Is Incredible, Yet Here’s What I Secretly Crave When No One’s Looking…

Have you ever found yourself bargaining in broken Russian with a Georgian taxi driver at 2 a.m., with a check-in bag in one hand and a new SIM card that may or may not be registered to someone named Zurab in the other, and suddenly think, “You know what I could really go for right now? 

A fluorescent-lit Target run and some peanut butter M&Ms.”?

Yeah. Me neither. 

Until I did.

After years of living in Ukraine, Georgia, Albania, France, and a few other corners of the world that seem to have a national allergy to customer service and stable water pressure, I’ve learned to adjust.

I’ve memorized Cyrillic letters, mastered the art of pantomime pharmacy visits, and once navigated an entire Ukrainian grocery store using only facial expressions and the sheer will to find butter.

I even kind of enjoy the challenge now.

Kind of.

But there are moments, usually while arguing with a Ukrainian bureaucrat over whether my middle name counts as a second surname, when I’d sell my soul for the quiet, predictable joy of a drive-thru milkshake and an automated “Thank you for calling.”

This isn’t about hating life abroad.

Far from it.

It’s about those strange, quiet cravings that sneak up on you when you’ve gone too long without hearing a properly functioning automatic sliding door or a toilet seat that stays where it’s supposed to.

So let’s be honest, for once.

Here are the 9 things I secretly, deeply, unapologetically miss about home.

Just don’t tell the French friends I made at that Route des Grand Cru wine tasting event in Beaune .

They’d never let me live it down.

1. Grocery Stores That Make Sense

You don’t realize how much you took Target or Trader Joe’s for granted until you’re standing in a dimly lit Carrefour in Tirana trying to figure out whether kajmak is cheese, cream, yogurt, or some mysterious fourth dairy category no one warned you about.

In France, I once spent 20 minutes walking in circles trying to find peanut butter.

Turns out, they did have it.

Just one lonely jar, hidden behind 18 varieties of foie gras.

The message was clear. Welcome, but you’ll suffer.

Back home, grocery shopping is a task. 

Abroad, it’s a full-contact puzzle game, and you’re always the last to know the rules.

Reality Check: Want to feel smart again? Visit a grocery store back home and marvel at the clarity of aisle signage.

Bonus points if it’s in English and doesn’t involve a translation app.

2. A Shower With Strong Water Pressure

Showers abroad fall into two categories: “Garden hose in a broom closet” or “Scalding jet powered by Satan.”

In my apartment in Saranda, the water pressure is so weak, that sometimes it’s a choice of, getting wet or getting clean.

Not both.

And don’t get me started on Georgian plumbing, where the hot water tank looked like a Cold War relic and sounded like it might explode if you asked too much of it.

You learn to adapt. Or you stop showering as often and call it “adjusting to local customs.”

Reality Check: A powerful shower isn’t just hygiene — it’s therapy. If you’ve got one, treasure it. If not, maybe avoid looking too closely at your towel.

3. Big, Quiet Libraries With Free Wi-Fi

I miss libraries the way some people miss their exes: unexpectedly, for reasons I can’t quite explain, and with the kind of regret that sneaks up on you when you’re tired and alone on a Saturday night.

In Spain, I once ducked into a public library hoping to get some work done.

Instead, I stumbled into what I can only describe as a kindergarten birthday party with a card catalog.

Kids yelling, phones ringing, old men snoring.

And free Wi-Fi? Only if you managed to register online using a Spanish national ID, which, surprise, I did not have.

Reality Check: Don’t underestimate the soul-healing power of a quiet space with strong Wi-Fi and working outlets.

Bonus points if no one glares at you for existing.

That kind of peace is harder to find than Skippy peanut butter in a French grocery store.

4. Late-Night Food That Doesn’t End in Regret

When I lived in Tbilisi, late-night food meant shawarma from a kiosk that looked like it doubled as a front for something much less savory.

Delicious, yes. Digestible? Debatable.

In Albania, the options were slim after 10 p.m. unless you counted that morning’s re-heated burek or mystery meat Albanian souvlaki with so much mayonnaise they deserved their own postcode.

Back home, I could pull into a drive-thru and get a milkshake, fries, and maybe a little self-respect.

Abroad? I’m risking both dignity and digestion.

Reality Check: Craving comfort food at 2 a.m. isn’t a weakness.

It’s a biological cry for help.

Listen to it.

5. Customer Service That Actually Serves

In Tbilisi, I once returned a cracked coffee mug souvenir and the woman behind the counter looked at me like I’d personally insulted her ancestors. “You broke it,” she said, stone-faced.

“No, it came like this,” I said, showing the receipt.

She didn’t even blink. “Yes. Still your problem.”

It’s not just Georgia.

In parts of Ukraine, the concept of the customer being right is as foreign as tipping at a McDonald’s.

Reality Check: Back home, customer service might be scripted, but at least it exists.

Abroad, you often leave an interaction unsure whether you’ve resolved the issue or declared war.

6. Being Understood Without Explaining Myself

I speak French. I speak Russian. Spanish too, though lately it’s just sitting there, quietly rusting in the corner of my brain.

But nothing beats the humiliation of stressing the wrong syllable in a foreign language and turning your sentence (and you) into a laughing stock.

Like in Kyiv, when I proudly told my students I loved to пИсать (write) short stories.

What I meant was писАть (pissAHT) to write.
What I actually said was пИсать (peesat) to pee.

So instead of “I love writing short stories,” I announced, “I love peeing little stories.”

Class dismissed!

Don’t even get me started about the lesson when Scotland’s legendary Loch Ness Monster was involved.

Thank god I don’t have a Scottish accent or that would’ve been a real hoot!

Reality Check: In foreign languages, the line between “writer” and “urinator” is sometimes just one stressed syllable.

Being understood without footnotes? That’s the real luxury.

7. Reliable Delivery Services

In France, I once waited three weeks for a package that was “out for delivery” every day.

By the time it arrived, I had forgotten what I ordered.

In Georgia, I used to get cryptic texts from delivery companies telling me my package was in “box 38.” That was it.

No address. No location. Just the mystery of box 38.

Reality Check: Back home, you get a delivery window. Abroad, you get a riddle.

And maybe, just maybe, a package… eventually.

8. Not Having to Convert Currency in My Head

In Thailand, I spent the better part of a week thinking I was getting the deal of a lifetime from this “hidden gem” of a currency exchange booth, until I realized I’d flipped the exchange rate backwards.

That “cheap” lunch? 

Basically the cost of a steak dinner back home.

In Romania, I once tipped a waiter what I thought was 10 percent.

Turns out it was nearly half the bill. He almost hugged me.

Reality Check: Currency conversion is math under pressure. Get it wrong and you’re either wildly generous or deeply confused.

Usually both.

9. The Comfort of Total Familiarity

There’s a particular kind of homesickness that hits you in the produce aisle of a foreign grocery store, holding a weirdly long cucumber and wondering if this is your life now.

It’s the ache for things that don’t require effort: 

• Cultural fluency.
• Small talk with a cashier.
• Knowing which streets to avoid at night without having to learn the hard way.

I love the chaos of living abroad. 

I really do.

But sometimes I miss the comforts of home, the kind you don’t notice until it’s gone.

Reality Check: Familiarity isn’t boring. It’s soothing.

And after months or years abroad, it’s the thing you crave most, right behind peanut butter and not having to Google “how to tip in Bulgaria.”

What Do You Secretly Miss?

Living abroad rewires you. It stretches your limits, sharpens your instincts, and forces you to laugh when everything goes sideways.

But it also leaves a quiet space, an invisible craving for the things that once seemed ordinary.

So here’s your chance.

What do you secretly miss when no one’s looking?

No judgment. No shame. Just honesty.

I’ll be right there with you, nodding along, probably from a café that doesn’t have Wi-Fi and serves pizza with mayonnaise.

The post 9 Things I Miss Most About America That I’d Never Admit Until Now! appeared first on Expats Planet.

Forget the news! The rawest truths about the U.S.A. come from conversations in cafes, classrooms, and awkward moments abroad…

“Is it true that every American owns a gun?” the French woman asked me, eyes wide, genuinely curious, not afraid, just… curious.

And that’s when it hit me: I wasn’t just traveling…

I was a walking, baseball hat and cargo shorts wearing, full-blown cultural stereotype.

And I didn’t sign up for this, by the way. 

I moved abroad thinking, “I’d be the observer.” 

You know, taste the local food, complain about the lack of high speed internet, maybe teach a few English classes in Ukraine and call it a cultural exchange.

But somewhere between being asked: 

• If I actually knew how to cook (France).
• If I ever didn’t smile (Ukraine).
• And if Americans really do get only two weeks of vacation a year (Romania, where that got a solid, sympathetic gasp).

I realized something uncomfortable.

Living abroad “doesn’t just teach you about them”.

It teaches “what they see in you”.

And let me tell you, some of it stings a little.

I’ve had years of this now. Awkward questions in Romania. Odd compliments in Poland. Sideways glances in Georgia.

I’ve had long, hilarious, and sometimes painfully honest conversations in Ukraine, France, and Spain where people asked me things about my country that I hadn’t even asked myself.

And whether I agreed with their take or not, their questions always made me pause.

So no, this isn’t another piece about how foreigners “don’t get us.”

This is about the moments they did. Maybe better than we do.

What you’re about to read isn’t secondhand analysis from a podcast or a headline.

It’s the raw, unscripted feedback you get from a stranger at a bar in Spain or a fellow teacher over beers in Ukraine.

These aren’t critiques. They’re reflections.

And if you’re American, brace yourself.

You might see yourself a little more clearly through their eyes.

1. Why Are You So Confident

In France, a Brit once told me Americans walk around like they just closed a million-dollar deal and got laid on the way over.

In Poland, it was more subtle, a raised eyebrow when I casually answered a question with “Of course.”

Apparently, that kind of confidence reads as either refreshing or slightly delusional, depending on the weather and your accent.

It wasn’t arrogance, exactly. It was just… American.

The belief that things will “work out,” even if you have no plan whatsoever.

I saw it in myself after years abroad, still strutting into visa offices like I had diplomatic immunity, despite not even knowing what paperwork I needed.

What I Took From It: Confidence is great, until it crosses into clueless optimism.

Sometimes, the most respectful thing you can do in another country is to lead with questions instead of answers.

2. You Work So Hard What’s the Point

While traveling across Romania by train, I mentioned the general two-week U.S. vacation allowance, and the Romanian family I was sitting with, all looked at me like I’d just confessed to a crime.

“Only two weeks?” their daughter said in flawless English (before translating it to her parents), pausing mid-bite during her travel snack out of disbelief.

“Is that even legal?” Spain was no better. I made the mistake of checking work emails during tapas hour in Logroño.

The bartender gently slid my phone out of my hand and said, “No.”

Old habits die hard, even along the Camino De Santiago.

Americans treat work like it’s a competitive sport. 

In most of Europe, working through lunch or skipping vacation doesn’t make you a hero, it makes you someone who needs therapy.

What I Took From It: Hustle culture doesn’t travel well. Rest isn’t a reward, it’s a right.

If the whole world is telling you to slow down, maybe it’s not them… it’s us.

3. Does Everyone Really Own a Car

In Ukraine, my ex-girlfriend’s Uncle once asked me if it was true that in America even teenagers have their own cars.

I told him yes, and he blinked like I’d said we all had pet unicorns.

In North Macedonia, my Airbnb host flat-out asked if cars are just handed out at graduation.

We grew up believing a car equals freedom. But abroad, it looked more like dependence.

In countries with decent public transit, people seemed genuinely confused why anyone would want to deal with parking.

What I Took From It: Mobility in America is a necessity more than a luxury. But in the rest of the world it’s the exact opposite.

It’s a reminder that freedom doesn’t have to come with four wheels and a monthly insurance bill.

4. You’re Friendly But Is It Real

In Tbilisi, a woman asked me why Americans say “How are you?” but don’t wait for the answer. Fair point.

In Ukraine, a friend once joked, “Americans smile like they’re being graded on it.” And I couldn’t argue.

I’d definitely turned friendliness into muscle memory after years of sales and service jobs as well as suburban American life.

Our “have a nice day!” culture is charming to some, confusing to others. Especially when it doesn’t come with follow-through.

What I Took From It: Authenticity isn’t in the smile, it’s in the follow-up.

If you’re going to ask someone how they are, maybe hang around long enough to hear the answer.

5. How Can You Be So Divided and Still Function

Over lunch in Georgia, a local asked, “How do you still have a country when half of you hate the other half?”

Fair enough, but this is in a country with 2 breakaway Republics… just sayin’.

Greece wasn’t much gentler. A man there told me American politics looked like a reality show with guns.

Then I remembered the Greek Financial Debt Crisis with their Anti-austerity movement protests, and, well… you get the picture.

Other people from these very same countries sometimes need to take a hard look in the mirror themselves…

But what shocked them most wasn’t even the divisions.

No.

It was that life still went on.

• Flights still took off.
• The lights were still on.
• The Supermarkets stayed stocked.
• The ATMs were still filled with cash.
• And no one stormed the capital… well, I guess we can’t say that anymore after January 6th, 2020.

What I Took From It: America’s chaos is confusing, but strangely resilient.

Maybe because, despite the noise, most people just want to get through the day.

But that’s what possibly keeps the place running, that, or maybe it’s duct tape and denial.

Still unclear.

6. Do You Still Believe in the “American Dream”

In Donetsk, Ukraine, an English student asked me, genuinely, if I still believed in the American Dream. “Does it still exist?” she said.

I paused. Not because I didn’t know the answer, but because I wasn’t sure which version of the dream she meant.

In Ireland, it came up again over a pint. “You guys always believe things will get better,” the bartender said. “That’s not how we think.”

He didn’t say it with envy. More like wonder.

What I Took From It: The American Dream still lives, but it’s got a bit of a limp. Abroad, people see our belief in reinvention as almost mythical.

And maybe, in a world full of realism, myths matter more than we think.

7. I Wish We Had Your Optimism

This was the quiet one. Said to me in a corner of Albania, whispered in a classroom in Ukraine, even once in a taxi ride in Romania. “You Americans… you believe anything is possible.”

They weren’t mocking me.

They were marveling.

Because in countries with deep histories and long shadows, that kind of wide-eyed optimism doesn’t come easy.

What I Took From It: Believing things can improve isn’t naïve, it’s powerful.

And if we’ve still got that spark, maybe it’s our job to use it wisely, not waste it on motivational mugs and LinkedIn quotes.

What They Saw That I Didn’t

The most revealing truths about America didn’t come wrapped in a flag or piped in through a headline.

They came in subtle side comments, in unfiltered curiosity and in one-line observations from people who had no agenda, just honest questions.

Living abroad turned the mirror around.

Sometimes I liked what I saw.

Sometimes I flinched.

But every time, I learned.

Now it’s your turn. 

What’s something someone abroad said about your country that made you stop and think? 

The post 7 Surprising Ways The World Sees Us That Changed How I See America! appeared first on Expats Planet.

What Travel Guides Don’t Tell Us: How Being “Too American” Abroad Cost Me Cash, Dignity or Both

In Tirana, I once tipped nearly half the bill at a sidewalk café because the waiter smiled at me and brought the check quickly. 

Plus, it was surprisingly cheap, I almost felt guilty not too. 

That’s it. 

He wasn’t especially friendly, and the food wasn’t even that great. 

But there I was, handing over my leks like a contestant on “The Price Is Way Too Right”, all because my American programming kicked in: fast service = reward.

In Tbilisi, I nodded enthusiastically through an entire wine-tasting pitch I didn’t understand, only to walk out with three overpriced bottles of wine I didn’t even like, just to avoid the awkwardness of saying no. 

And don’t get me started on the time I ordered a mountain of food in a Krakow restaurant just to keep up with my Polish friend’s cousin, who looked genuinely offended when I tried to skip the third course.

These weren’t scams. These were me being too American.

Too polite.

Too uncomfortable to question the bill, the custom, the logic.

I wasn’t being tricked. I was just terrified of seeming rude.

Sound familiar?

If you’ve ever found yourself sweating through your shirt in a Spanish pharmacy because you said “yes” to a product pitch you didn’t understand, or tipped a Parisian barista just for not glaring at you, this one’s for you.

These are 9 moments abroad where I paid the price, literally and figuratively, for being a bit too American in the wrong place, at the wrong time, in the most awkward way possible.

And no, they don’t teach this stuff in travel blogs.

But they probably should.

1. Tipping Like a King in No-Tip Cultures

In Blagoevgrad, I left a 10 lev tip on a 20 lev dinner because the server didn’t openly scowl at me. That was it.

No singing, no dancing, just a mildly neutral face, and I rewarded it like she’d saved my cat from a burning building.

She looked down at the tip, blinked once, then walked away with all the enthusiasm of a woman being handed a flyer on the street.

No smile, no thank you, not even a nod. Just a “you do you” kind of energy that made me instantly question all my life choices.

It turns out, tipping in Bulgaria is appreciated, but subtle.

A few coins. Maybe 5–10% if the service was exceptional.

Not half the bill like I just won the lottery.

Lesson: Tip with context, not guilt. Learn the local norms or risk becoming the ATM that walks and talks.

Don’t treat tipping like an emotional support gesture.

In many places, it’s a quiet transaction, not a grand performance.

2. Trusting “Friendly” Strangers Who Were Just Salesmen

I was walking around and exploring the various “Soi’s” (alleys) of Bangkok when a smiling local invited me to a “hidden” market just five minutes away.

Thirty sweaty minutes and another side alley later, I was sipping overly sweet tea and being pressured to buy silk scarves, none of which I wanted, and all of which came with “special price for you, my friend.”

I bought two.

Lesson: Smiles aren’t always free. Be friendly, but don’t confuse friendliness with friendship, especially when it ends at the register.

If they’re calling you “my friend” before you’ve said three words, you’re probably paying double.

3. Paying a “Tourist Tax” Because I Didn’t Know to Haggle

In a coastal town in Spain, I once bought a pair of sunglasses from a beach vendor for €25. I was proud of myself, until the guy turned to the next customer and sold the same pair for €10 without blinking.

That look the second customer gave me? Pity mixed with amusement. A face that said, rookie move.

Lesson: Haggling isn’t rude, it’s expected.

And when it’s not, you’ll know by the price tag and the eye roll.

4. Taking the First Price Without Question

In Tbilisi, I walked into a small electronics shop to buy a power adapter.

Nothing fancy, just the basic kind you’d find in a bin at checkout for a few lari.

I picked one up, smiled at the clerk, and asked how much.

He looked me over like he was calculating my net worth, then quoted a price that could’ve covered dinner for two… in Paris.

I hesitated for a second, long enough for him to add, “Very good, very strong. Not Chinese.”

That was his pitch. No brand, no warranty, just “not Chinese.”

I paid it and walked out like a sucker, armed with a new adapter and just enough dignity to pretend it wasn’t a total rip-off…

Got home, plugged it in, cue sparks, smoke, and the smell of “you’ve made a terrible mistake.”

It fizzled out in three days, but not before nearly torching my Airbnb.

Lesson: Just because something seems too small to question doesn’t mean it’s not overpriced.

Whether it’s a trinket, a taxi, or a two-dollar plug, ask around, compare prices, and never assume a smile means fairness.

5. Over-ordering to Avoid Awkwardness

In Paris, my French was shaky, my confidence worse, and the menu was a mystery. I nodded when the waiter asked if I wanted to try the local delicacies.

Big mistake.

Out came foie gras, escargot, a duck dish with something gelatinous I still can’t explain, and a bottle of wine I didn’t ask for but somehow agreed to.

The bill looked like a weekend getaway.

Lesson: Don’t be afraid to ask questions or admit you don’t understand the menu.

Trust me, the embarrassment is short-lived.

The foie gras regret? That lingers.

6. Buying Things Just Because Someone Guilt-Tripped Me

Years ago in a touristy part of Cancun, a kid selling bracelets came up to me with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. I wasn’t interested, but I smiled and said “Maybe later.”

Five minutes later, he found me again.

This time with a smaller kid. Same bracelets. Sadder eyes.

Guess who walked away with three bracelets, a small wooden turtle, and a lingering sense of being emotionally mugged?

Lesson: You can acknowledge someone’s hustle without buying their entire inventory.

A polite no isn’t a crime.

7. Mistaking Aggressiveness for Service

In Athens, a waiter physically pulled out a chair for me and sat me down before I even looked at the menu.

He then rattled off dishes in Greek and walked away.

Minutes later, food I hadn’t ordered appeared.

It wasn’t until I spoke with a fellow traveler from Georgia (the country, not the state) that I realized, “this wasn’t service, it was sales by force.”

Lesson: Cultural assertiveness can feel like rudeness. Don’t confuse control with care.

You can speak up, it’s your stomach and your wallet on the line.

8. Assuming the “Customer Is Always Right” Everywhere

In Kraków, I tried to return a sweater that was the wrong size. The cashier looked at me like I’d asked her to rewrite the constitution.

She called over a manager.

The manager called over someone else.

After a full five-minute meeting, they handed me a store credit and a printed reminder of their return policy, in Polish.

I didn’t fight it. I just stood there, quietly clutching my sweater coupon, feeling like a child in a time-out.

Lesson: American retail rules don’t travel. In some countries, returns are a rare courtesy, not a right.

Read the policies. Or don’t return anything at all.

9. Being Too Embarrassed to Say No

In Ukraine, I was once offered a shot of horilka at 10 a.m. by a colleague’s uncle. I said yes.

Then another.

Then a third.

Because, “When in Kyiv,” right?

Wrong!

By noon, I was in a philosophical debate about the collapse of the Soviet Union, and by 2 p.m., I was asleep on a floral couch with a doily stuck to my forehead.

Lesson: You’re allowed to say no, even if someone looks personally offended.

Especially if what they’re offering is 80-proof regret.

What Travel “Really” Teaches You

Most of these mistakes weren’t about money.

They were about me, my discomfort with conflict, my need to be liked and my inability to just say “no thanks” without smiling like an idiot.

Travel has a funny way of showing you your blind spots.

Not with lectures or Instagram quotes, but with receipts, hangovers, and politely judgmental stares.

So here’s my question to you:

When have you “paid the price” for being too polite, too trusting, or too American abroad?

The post 9 Times I Felt Ripped Off Abroad Because I Was “Too American” appeared first on Expats Planet.

From glowing snacks and drinks to marshmallows for breakfast… here’s what makes Europeans gag.

When I offered a French friend I’d met along the Camino de Santiago a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos during lunch (tucked safely in my backpack as an “essential”), he didn’t just decline. 

He held the bag like it was radioactive. 

“Why do Americans eat food that glows?” he asked, genuinely baffled.

At first, I laughed. But then I realized… he wasn’t joking.

What started as a lighthearted snack break and a comical “cultural exchange” along the Camino, quickly turned into a full-on comedy roast of American snack culture.

The Flamin’ Hots were just the opening act.

Soon we were onto neon-colored cereals, squeezable cheese, and microwave pancakes in plastic trays.

As someone who’s spent time living in places like France, Georgia, and Ukraine, I’ve learned the hard way that what we casually call “snack time” in the U.S. often gets classified abroad somewhere between “science experiment” and “chemical warfare.”

You think Americans get roasted for our politics?

Wait until you pull out a Lunchables in a Irish hostel kitchen near the Cliffs of Moher. One fellow traveler from France actually asked if it was a toy.

For years, I thought this kind of food was just a harmless indulgence.

Nostalgic, convenient, a little over-processed, sure, but fine.

That is, until I saw those same foods through European eyes.

Eyes that squint at Pop-Tarts like they’re an industrial accident.

Eyes that demand to know why your milk doesn’t expire until next year.

In this article, I’m pulling back the foil wrapper on 7 everyday American snacks that Europeans find downright outrageous.

And if you’ve ever innocently eaten spray cheese on a cracker, you might want to brace yourself. You may love them.

You may have grown up with them. 

But overseas? 

These snacks are getting laughed out of the room, and you might never look at your pantry the same way again.

Let’s dig in! But maybe not with your fingers… especially if they’re coated in radioactive orange dust.

Mmmmmm, good!

1. “Wait…You ‘Eat’ That?”

I once cracked open a pack of Reese’s in a shared pilgrim’s hostel kitchen in Spain, thinking I was offering a little piece of Americana.

A guy from Italy paused mid-pasta-stir, looked at the chocolate-peanut butter combo, and asked, “Is that dessert or a protein bar?”

When I said “both,” he backed away slowly like I’d just weaponized dessert.

That was the moment I realized many beloved American snacks aren’t just weird to Europeans, they’re wildly offensive to their palates, logic, and sometimes their moral codes.

Reality: What we see as comfort food, many Europeans see as a culinary red flag… and your favorite snack might be more shocking than you think.

2. The Great Pop-Tart Mystery

During a French friend’s visit to the U.S., I once made the mistake of offering Pop-Tarts as a “quick breakfast” before setting off for the day.

My friend stared at me like I’d called a Snickers bar a salad. “That’s not breakfast. That’s dessert for people in a hurry to die,” he muttered.

He wasn’t wrong. Pop-Tarts contain more sugar than some French pastries, minus the artistry and butter.

It’s a frosted brick of childhood nostalgia… and in Europe, it’s filed under “dessert or dangerous, depending on the flavor.”

Reality: In Europe, pastry is an art.

In America, it’s shelf-stable for two years and doubles as drywall insulation.

3. Spray Cheese: The Ultimate Culinary Crime

Ah yes, fromage en aerosol. I’ll never forget trying to explain Easy Cheese to someone in Lake Lucerne, Switzerland.

“Wait… you press a button and cheese comes out?” she asked. “Like shaving cream?”

Followed by, “And you put that on what, exactly?”

Spray cheese is America’s answer to artisanal food, if the question is, “How can we get dairy into a can and make it last until the next century?”

Reality: Europeans treat cheese like a sacred ritual. We shoot it onto crackers like culinary graffiti.

4. Mountain Dew and the Neon Beverage Apocalypse

In Poland, I grabbed a bottle of Mountain Dew at a gas station. The cashier did a double take, then said in Polish (with genuine concern), “You know that’s not juice, right?”

Yes. Yes, I do.

But I also know it’s one of America’s finest chemical triumphs.

With its electric glow and questionable ingredients, Mountain Dew isn’t a drink, it’s a dare.

To many Europeans, it looks like coolant.

And, in all honesty, it kind of tastes like it too.

Reality: If your drink could double as a glow stick, don’t expect it to be taken seriously outside the U.S.

5. Cheetos: Why Your Fingers Are a Red Flag

During a language exchange in Ukraine, I once brought a snack bag of Cheetos I brought back from the States to share with my fellow language exchange members.

One girl took one look at my fingers, now coated in radioactive orange, and said: “Are you okay? Did you touch something toxic?”

I offered her one. She sniffed it, frowned, and whispered: “Is this real food?”

Reality: In Europe, food isn’t supposed to dye your skin.

In the U.S., we treat snack residue like a badge of honor.

6. Lucky Charms and the Breakfast Candy Scandal

In Spain, I once described Lucky Charms as “a cereal with marshmallows.” I got a polite but horrified stare. “Marshmallows… for breakfast?” one fellow pilgrim said. “In Spain, that would get you a doctor’s referral.”

And he was right. Even the sweet cereals in Europe look like adult food.

Lucky Charms, on the other hand, looks like something you’d feed a unicorn, if that unicorn had a sugar addiction and a death wish.

Reality: European kids eat bread with a little jam. American kids eat rainbow marshmallows and call it fiber.

7. Flamin’ Hot Everything: “Do Americans Hate Their Mouths?”

Over dinner at cookout at a family dacha in Ukraine, I once pulled out a bottle of Sriracha I’d brought back from the U.S…. a small act of culinary self-defense.

My Ukrainian hosts looked on with a mix of confusion and concern as I added a few drops to my plate.

My ex-girlfriend’s father, who once declared ketchup “too spicy,” watched me sweat and sniffle like I was having a medical episode.

In my experience, Ukrainians have an uncanny aversion to anything that even flirts with heat.

I almost pulled out the bag of Flamin’ Hot Doritos I had tucked away, but that felt like a bridge too far.

If I had tried to push my luck, it might’ve been a long walk back to Kyiv.

Meanwhile, back home, we treat spice like a competitive sport.

Reality: If your condiment requires tissues, milk, and makes people question your sanity, it might not travel well.

What This Says About Us… And Why It Stings

So why are these snacks such a cultural punchline abroad? Because in places like France, Spain, and even Ukraine, food is still a daily ritual… something shared, savored, respected.

In America, it’s often engineered for shelf life, sugar spikes, and convenience.

We’re nostalgic for the stuff we grew up with. We crave flavor, fun, and food that fits in a cup holder.

But sometimes, what feels normal at home looks like an edible warning label abroad.

Reality: Cultural blind spots don’t just show up in politics or language, they live in your snack drawer too.

Before You Pack That Snack Abroad…

If you’re headed overseas, maybe don’t bring the Cheese Balls. Or do, but be ready for commentary. Probably a lot of it.

American snacks are bold, colorful, over-the-top… and in Europe, often considered edible comedy.

But hey, some of them taste like childhood. And rebellion.

And, yes, maybe a little radiation.

Which snack do you refuse to give up… even if the rest of the world thinks you’re insane for loving it?

So, Are We the Weird Ones?

The next time you crack open a bag of Cheetos abroad or unwrap a Pop-Tart in a Paris café, take a moment.

Notice the stares. The judgment, and the slow recoil.

Then smile, and maybe offer them a bite.

If they’re brave enough.

Because as I learned writing “8 Shocking American Foods Banned in Europe”, this conversation goes way beyond what’s legal.

It’s about what’s normal, and just how different that can look, depending on where you open your lunchbox.

What’s the one snack you’ll never quit… even if it’s the food equivalent of an international scandal?

The post 7 Ordinary American Snacks That Europeans Think Are Outrageous! appeared first on Expats Planet.

Why Your ‘Politeness’ Abroad Might Get You Glares Not Gratitude and How to Stop Accidentally Insulting Locals When You Travel

Have you ever come back from a trip abroad wondering why the locals seemed cold, standoffish, or just plain off?

It might not have been them.

It might’ve been you.

Americans aren’t out here slapping waiters or flipping tables, we’re offending people with smiles, small talk, and good intentions.

And half the time, we don’t even know we’re doing it. 

That’s the scary part.

When I first moved to Ukraine back in ’99, I thought I had charm. 

I smiled at strangers. I cracked jokes with waitresses. 

I even patted a guy on the back at a bazaar after haggling for a leather belt I didn’t need. 

He did not smile back. In fact, he looked at me like I’d just insulted his grandmother’s borscht recipe. 

That was the first time it hit me.

I wasn’t being friendly, I was being American.

And not in a good way.

France, Ukraine, Georgia, Albania, it didn’t matter where I was.

Every time I tried to inject a little good ol’ American enthusiasm into a conversation, the room temperature dropped ten degrees.

Meanwhile, a former teaching colleague of mine in Kyiv told me he also once got side-eyed for asking “How are you?” too cheerfully to a shop owner.

The guy thought he was either mocking him… or trying to sell him life insurance.

For years, I treated travel like a performance, smile big, talk fast, tip well, connect instantly. 

But somewhere between the cracked windows of a summer dacha in Ukraine and the slow, silent service in a French café, it hit me.

The more I acted like a tourist, the less I actually “experienced” the places I was in. I wasn’t connecting… I was performing.

In this article, I’m going to break down 7 seemingly “normal” American behaviors.

Things we do without thinking, that can make us look completely rude overseas.

Not malicious.

Not mean-spirited.

Just… culturally tone-deaf.

If you’ve ever left a restaurant abroad wondering why your server avoided eye contact, or why the couple next to you suddenly got up and left mid-conversation… this might explain why.

1. Interrupting People Mid-Sentence

In the U.S., jumping into a conversation can feel like excitement. We overlap, interrupt, and finish each other’s sentences like it’s some kind of verbal group hug.

But in France, that same habit reads more like, “Shut up, I’ve got something better to say.”

A former colleague of mine, a German teacher I met while working in Ukraine, once sat through a roundtable discussion with American expats.

By the end, she looked like he needed a cigarette and a nap. “Why do Americans argue like they’re in a courtroom?” she asked. “It’s like you’re all trying to win a debate, not have a conversation.”

Reality Check: In many cultures, especially in parts of Europe, pauses are intentional.

Silence is space to think… not an invitation to pounce.

If someone’s talking, let them finish.

You’ll look more respectful, and bonus… you might actually hear something worth responding to.

2. Smiling Too Much at Strangers… It Creeps People Out

In Ukraine, I once made the mistake of smiling at every passerby like I was running for mayor. After all, that’s what we do in the States, it’s called being polite, right?

Wrong.

In Kyiv, I learned that unprovoked smiling can make you look mentally unstable… or suspicious.

A woman actually furrowed her brows at me, clutched her purse, and quickly crossed the street.

In her defense, I was wearing cargo shorts and a baseball cap, so I probably looked like the kind of clueless American who’d ask where the nearest McDonald’s was, in perfect English.

Reality Check: In much of the world, especially Eastern Europe, smiling is reserved for people you actually know.

Want to blend in? Save your megawatt grin for when you’ve earned it.

3. Speaking Loudly in Public Spaces… Your Voice Screams Tourist!

Americans love to project. And not just emotionally, we literally speak louder.

On a tram in Strasbourg, I once overheard an American couple debating whether a croissant could count as an actual breakfast.

The entire car did too, silently of course, but with the kind of collective judgment only the French can pull off without saying a word.

In Greece, I was tucked in a corner of a quiet café when an American tourist practically shouted his breakfast order across the room.

The waiter flinched like he’d just been handed a subpoena.

Reality Check: Volume is culture-specific. Abroad, loud voices can signal aggression or entitlement.

Want to avoid the side-eye? Lower the volume.

You’re not narrating a documentary.

4. “Being Too Nice” with Staff or Strangers Can Backfire Abroad

In the U.S., we bond with our baristas. We joke with cashiers. We ask waiters where they’re really from.

It’s not just friendliness, it’s a sport.

But in Spain, when I asked a grocery clerk how her day was going, she stared at me like I’d asked for her bank PIN. “Is everything okay?” she finally asked.

I think she thought I was hitting on her. I wasn’t.

A Spanish Airbnb host once told me, “We don’t talk to strangers unless we have to. It’s not rude. It’s respectful. People have lives.”

Reality Check: What Americans call friendly, others call intrusive.

Start formal. Observe.

If locals warm up, great. If not, it’s not personal.

5. Rushing Service… Think the Waiter’s Ignoring You? Think Again

“Can we get the check?” I asked in a cozy café in France.

Then again.

And again.

Bueller… Bueller… Bueller… (in reference to the 1986 classic Ferris Bueller’s Day Off)

It never came.

In the U.S., restaurants rush you out before your appetizer is cold. But in France, Spain, and Georgia, dining is an event.

There’s no passive-aggressive hovering or check-dropping before you’re halfway through your coffee.

The waiter finally brought the check after we’d been sitting for what felt like a season of Stranger Things.

And he looked a little offended when I apologized as I smiled awkwardly and said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to take up your table this long.”

He looked genuinely confused. “But, you are supposed to stay,” he said.

Reality Check: Abroad, service isn’t slow… it’s intentional.

It’s designed to let you relax. If you’re in a hurry, go to a fast-food place.

Otherwise, slow down and savor the moment.

6. Oversharing Personal Information Too Quickly… Too Much, Too Soon?

In the U.S., sometimes it seems like it’s completely normal to trauma-dump on someone five minutes into meeting them. “I had a rough childhood, my ex just ghosted me, and here’s my therapist’s number, just in case.”

But try that in Ukraine and watch people edge away like you’re contagious.

I once went on a first date in Kyiv and made the mistake of oversharing.

She nodded politely, then said, “You know… we just met.” Fair.

I had, in fact, led with a story about being stopped on the street by the police for a random “You look foreign, show us your ID” check, at the time.

Not exactly romantic.

Reality Check: Not every culture prizes vulnerability as an icebreaker.

Abroad, emotional intimacy takes time.

Don’t rush it.

7. Treating Cultural Norms Like They’re “Weird”

Mayonnaise on pizza. No dryers. No AC in July.

These were the things that once had me emailing friends and family back home like, You’ll never believe what I just saw.

But then I realized, I, was the weird one.

I was the guest.

And loudly mocking someone’s way of life just made me look like a tourist who couldn’t adapt.

In Italy, when my sister visited, she nearly lost her mind at the lack of air conditioning. “Do they want us to die?” she said.

The Italians? Unbothered.

Just fanning themselves like the heat was part of La Dolce Vita.

Reality Check: Curiosity is good. Judgment is ugly.

If something surprises you, ask about it. Don’t mock it.

You’re there to learn, not compare Yelp reviews with your home country.

You’re Not Rude… You’re Just Unaware

The truth is, most Americans abroad aren’t trying to be rude. But intention doesn’t erase perception.

I’ve embarrassed myself in enough countries to know that cultural faux pas aren’t about being “bad”, they’re about being unaware.

And awareness is fixable. It starts with watching, listening, and dropping the assumption that our way is the right way.

So next time you catch yourself demanding the check, cracking jokes with strangers, or giving a TED Talk about your childhood trauma to a server in Ukraine… pause. Breathe. Adjust.

Travel isn’t just about where you go. It’s about how you show up when you get there.

Now it’s your turn!

Have you ever done something abroad that you thought was normal… only to find out it was wildly rude? 

We’ve all been there.

And if you haven’t yet… you will.

The post 7 Innocent American Behaviors That Offend People Around the World! appeared first on Expats Planet.

Why Following the Wrong Trends Could Wreck Your Next Trip, and How Savvier Travelers Are Outsmarting the Crowd!

Back when I first traveled to Europe, the only “travel trend” was getting lost on purpose. 

No VIP passes to secret olive groves, no staged “authenticity” tours, and definitely no influencers trying to turn every crumbling alley into the next Amalfi Coast. 

You just showed up, winged it, and maybe came home with a story about questionable tapas and train schedules that defied the laws of physics.

Fast-forward to 2025, and travel looks more like performance art. 

It’s not enough to visit a place anymore, you have to optimize it for TikTok, drop $300 on a “local experience” run by an intern who calls himself a “journey architect,” and fight through crowds bigger than Paris’s metro at rush hour just to snap a photo nobody will believe is real.

One of my former teaching students from Ukraine tried booking a “slow travel eco-retreat” in southern France.

For $800, they got three nights in a glorified goat shed, no hot water, and a carbon footprint guilt-trip delivered by a college kid wearing a “Save the Earth” T-shirt made in Bangladesh.

Turns out, chasing trends doesn’t guarantee authenticity, it just guarantees you’ll get scammed with better marketing.

So if you’re dreaming of the perfect trip this year, maybe hold off before blindly following the latest “must-do” list clogging your feed. 

Because behind the hashtags and drone shots, there are landmines just waiting to blow up your vacation, and your wallet.

Here are 8 brutal ways travel trends could be wrecking your trip before it even begins, and how to dodge the fallout.

1. The “Hidden Gem” Hype Is Creating Tourist Traps Overnight

The first time I wandered into a dusty little bar in León, Spain, was in 1998 while I was walking the Camino de Santiago.

It was empty except for a bartender polishing glasses and a soccer game blaring in the background.

Nobody cared who I was.

Nobody took photos of their drinks. It was perfect.

Fast forward to 2015: That same alley now had a velvet rope, a themed cocktail menu, and an “experience curator” at the door asking if you ha a reservation, for a bar that once didn’t even have chairs that matched.

I can’t even imagine what it’s like now…

What happened? Social media happened. Camino tourism happened.

Hollywood happened!

Every so-called “hidden gem” has been blown sky-high by a thousand TikToks promising “authenticity” and Martin Sheen’s 2010 movie “The Way”.

Translation: crowds, prices tripled, locals visibly wishing you would all vanish.

How-to Dodge: Don’t believe the hype. Always check recent visitor reviews on local forums, not curated travel lists.

A true hidden gem doesn’t need branding, and probably doesn’t have Wi-Fi either.

2. Slow Travel? Great… Until It Becomes Expensive Procrastination

When I lived in large town outside of Strasbourg, France, I thought I was slow traveling like a wise old sage.

I spent days sitting in cafés where coffee cost less than a deep breath back home, practicing terrible French, getting lost in cobblestone alleys, and loving minute of it.

By week three, “slow travel” started feeling suspiciously like slow motion bankruptcy.

My “deliberate cultural immersion” basically meant bleeding money on overpriced pastries and museum tickets I kept meaning to visit but somehow never did.

The romantic idea of “taking your time” sounds noble until you realize you’re just floating aimlessly through someone else’s daily grind while your budget quietly dies.

How-to Dodge: Give your slow travel some structure.

Set goals: a museum visit, a language lesson, even just a hike outside the city.

Otherwise, you’re not slow traveling… you’re just renting boredom at a premium.

3. The Revenge Travel Backlash: Crowds, Chaos, and Cancellations

I used to think nothing could top the mosh-pit density of Kyiv’s metro system during a snowstorm: shoulder to shoulder, unspoken agreements about bodily contact long since abandoned.

Then I made the mistake of visiting Barcelona’s Gothic Quarter at noon one summer. 

Imagine the same shoulder-to-shoulder crush, but now everyone’s wielding a selfie stick, live-streaming bad flamenco moves, and yelling at security guards about why they can’t fly drones over 600-year-old cathedrals.

No wonder why locals have been up in arms over the tourist invasion.

Meanwhile, hotels were overbooked, airlines pretended boarding passes were optional, and customer service agents developed the thousand-yard stare of soldiers in trench warfare.

How-to Dodge: If you must travel during peak season, book mid-week flights, avoid Instagram-famous sites during daylight, and always, always confirm every single reservation twice.

Otherwise, you might end up sleeping on the airport floor next to a guy live-streaming his suffering for views.

4. Eco-Tourism Gone Wrong: The Hidden Carbon Costs No One Talks About

In Thailand, I once signed up for an “eco-tour” that promised minimal environmental impact.

They handed out plastic water bottles, packed us into diesel vans, and drove four hours to an “untouched” jungle outpost sandwiched between a shack masquerading as a convenience store and a billboard for luxury condos.

I calculated later that my “green experience” burned more fossil fuel than if I had just stayed home binge-watching documentaries about whales.

How-to Dodge: “Eco” isn’t a sticker someone slaps on their website… it’s a set of actual, painful choices.

Want to be eco-friendly? Walk more. Fly less.

Stop mistaking green marketing for green behavior.

5. Luxury Hostel Scam: Paying Hotel Prices for a Bunk Bed

During a trip to Milan, I got lured in by ads for a “luxury hostel experience.”

What they meant was colorful LED lights, wobbly IKEA bunk beds, and a “gourmet breakfast” that turned out to be instant coffee (in Italy!) and a rock-hard Cornetto, all for $75 a night.

And the air conditioning? Coin-operated, of course.

Meanwhile, in the shared kitchen, backpackers fought over two pots and a stove that only worked if you jammed a fork under the burner, while someone butchered Wonderwall on a beat-up guitar at 2 AM.

How-to Dodge: If you’re paying hotel prices for the privilege of communal showers and 3 a.m. drunken serenades, you’ve been had.

Always read the hostel fine print. “Boutique” is not a synonym for “basic human decency.”

6. Authenticity Theater: How ‘Local’ Experiences Are Now Scripted

A fellow traveler in Tuscany swore she had booked the “ultimate Italian cooking class with a local grandmother.”

In reality: the “grandmother” turned out to be a twenty-something drama major “dude” who spent more time flirting than explaining why his “secret family recipes” looked suspiciously like they came off Pinterest the night before.

The whole thing felt about as authentic as a theme park parade, but with worse pizza.

How-to Dodge: If an experience feels suspiciously tailored to look good on Instagram, it probably was.

Trust your gut: real local interactions don’t come with choreographed photo ops.

7. Subscription Travel Clubs That Promise the World… and Deliver Headaches

One of my former students got sucked into a glossy subscription travel club offering “luxury stays at unbeatable prices.”

They spent $1,700 for a week at a hotel so bleak it made Soviet-era buildings look festive, located next to some recycling plant in the outskirts of Brussels.

When they tried to cancel, the club responded with a 14-page PDF outlining their “extensive satisfaction protocols.”

And guess what? None of them involved refunds.

How-to Dodge: Travel subscription clubs are often like gym memberships: easy to join, impossible to escape, and full of sweaty disappointment.

If you can’t see flexible terms upfront, run.

8. Social Media-Fueled “Must-Sees” That Are Actually Major Letdowns

If you think the Cinque terre is going to look like those pristine influencer shots you see online, prepare yourself.

It’s a full-contact sport: elbowing for photo space, dodging aggressive tour operators, and contemplating your travel choices as you pay $15 for a lukewarm espresso in a café that spells “cappuccino” wrong.

I know because I lived it, one overpriced gelato at a time.

How-to Dodge: Skip the trending hashtags.

Some of the best places I’ve ever seen, back alleys in Pamplona, sleepy side streets in Krakow, were never trending, and thank God for that.

Ditch their Hype, Find your Story

In 2025, real travel isn’t about where you go… it’s what you refuse to chase.

It’s that sleepy square in Spain no one’s snapping selfies in.

It’s the crooked little bookstore in Avignon that smells like dust and freedom, not marketing.

Before you book that influencer-approved “dream trip,” ask yourself:

Are you chasing your dream… or someone else’s highlight reel?

What trend burned you the most?

Because the smartest travelers in 2025 aren’t following trends.

They’re quietly outsmarting them.

The post 8 Sneaky Travel Trends Ruining Trips In 2025 And How To Outsmart Them! appeared first on Expats Planet.

Tired of crowds, inflated prices, and Instagram-fueled mobs? Here’s how I dodged the madness, and found peace where no one was looking.

Have you ever stepped off a plane expecting peace, and instead landed in the middle of a travel influencer summit you never signed up for?

Last July, I arrived in one of my favorite towns in the Balkans, a place I’d written about before, praised for its quiet charm and unpretentious cafés.

The kind of place where the barista remembers your order and your existential crisis.

But this time? I barely recognized it.

The café where I used to sit for hours scribbling into a notebook was now cluttered with ring lights, camera gear and wannabee influencers.

I later saw one of them piloting a drone around the courtyard like it was just another Wednesday.

YouTube channel couples rehearsed ice cream shots with the focus of a wedding photographer, while their boyfriends wilted behind the camera.

• Every alley had a tripod.
• Every viewpoint had a waiting list.
• Buses unloaded with the coordination of synchronized swimmers.

I didn’t just feel out of place… I felt evicted.

It was like the whole town had been rented out by hashtags and high-season Instagram hysteria.

And that’s when it clicked!

We’re not just traveling wrong.

We’re all chasing the same “hidden gems” at the same time, following the same lists, fighting the same crowds, and wondering why it feels fake, exhausting, or worse…forgettable.

I needed out. Not just out of that town, but out of the whole revenge tourism echo chamber.

Here’s how I did it, and how you can too.

1. I Ditched “Hidden Gems” the Moment I Heard the Term

I once stumbled across a quiet Albanian town where the loudest thing was the wind and the most exciting attraction was an old man feeding pigeons in a wool vest.

No Google reviews, no craft beer.

It was heaven.

Naturally, I wrote about it. 

Thought I was being clever.

A few months later, some big-name blogger called it a “hidden gem.”

This summer, my prediction? It’ll have more selfie sticks than trash bins.

What I Do Now: I steer clear of anything screaming “hidden” these days.

(Though full disclosure, I’ve shamelessly used “hidden gems” in my own writing. Let’s keep that between us, ok? Wink, wink.)

If it’s nicknamed “The Venice of X” or pops up on a Top 10 list with recycled stock photos, I’m already halfway to the exit.

If it sounds mildly depressing or totally unappealing… jackpot.

If it sounds unappealing or mildly depressing… perfect.

2. I Stopped Relying on “Best Time to Visit” Lists

“Go in shoulder season,” they said. “You’ll beat the crowds,” they said.

So I went to Mestia in what every guide described as the “sweet spot”.

It was me, a dozen groups of backpackers dressed like sherpas, and an Australian guy who’d drone-shot every inch of the Caucasus before breakfast.

Shoulder season, it turns out, just means everyone had the same idea.

What I Do Now: I go when no one wants to.

I’ve embraced damp November’s and weird late January’s.

No one’s taking sunrise shots at 6am when it’s sleeting sideways… and that’s exactly when the city’s yours.

3. I Traded Trendy Towns for Cities That Just… Work

Saranda was the final straw.

Half the year it turns into a construction site, which lucky me, is when I live here.

The other half it morphs into a budget Ibiza on three Red Bulls, which is when I run for the hills.

The views are still here, but so is the guy DJing on the beach at 10am like he’s getting paid by the decibel.

So I started looking for cities to escape to that locals actually live in, Passau, Gyor, Skopje, Blagoevgrad.

Places with pension offices and shoe repair shops. Places that weren’t trying to impress me.

What I Do Now: If a town has more dentists than digital nomads, I stay long

4. I Started Booking Like I Was Broke… Even When I Wasn’t

The best sleep I ever had abroad was in a $9 guesthouse in Kutaisi run by a retired music teacher who made wine in recycled Sprite bottles.

The worst? A boutique hotel with a Scandinavian toilet and a front desk staff who looked personally offended by my presence.

Expensive doesn’t equal good. Instagrammable definitely doesn’t.

What I Do Now: I filter low to high, not high to sad disappointment.

If reviewers say, “The host treated me like family,” I book it.

If they say, “Stunning rooftop infinity pool,” I know it’ll be $120 a night to feel completely alone.

5. I Took the Long Way On Purpose

In Ukraine, I once caught a train that left a few hours late, stopped for no explained reason, and turned the aisle into a full-blown stock exchange for pickled food at every pit-stop.

One guy hustled cucumbers any pickled form of food you could imagine, hot or cold.

It wasn’t public transport, it was Wall Street for pickles.

The entire ride smelled like hot cabbage and existential dread.

I loved it!

The journey became the memory, not the destination.

And certainly not the Instagram post.

What I Do Now: I take the bus, the train, or anything with no schedule and a “what-the-hell-you-only-live-once” vibe to it.

If it’s a hassle and might involve multiple stops, with hawkers selling everything but their shoes, odds are it’ll be the most human moment I’ll have all month.

6. I Left the City Before I Was Done With It

I left Ioannina too soon. Not because I was ready to go, but because I wanted to miss it.

That sounds dramatic, until you’ve stayed too long somewhere and watched the charm fade into repetition.

There’s a fine line between memory and fatigue.

What I Do Now: I leave while I still want one more coffee. One more walk.

One more awkward attempt at speaking the language.

That way, the city sticks with me, without the burnout.

7. I Learned to Love the Boring Days

There was a day in Tbilisi where all I did was drink coffee, buy bread, and have a stilted five-minute chat with a neighbor who offered me a bag of apples and unsolicited political opinions.

Nothing happened, and it was perfect.

No attractions. No pressure.

Just life, at its own pace.

What I Do Now: I “kinda” schedule “non-days.” No to-do list, no expectations. Just spur of the moment stuff.

Sometimes I just walk.

Sometimes I stare out a window and think about cheese.

Whatever happens, happens.

And that’s the point.

8. I Talk to Locals Like They’re People, Not Props

I once watched a tourist ask a Georgian shopkeeper to “pose more authentically” while he took a photo of her selling herbs.

She gave him a look that could level a grown man.

Connection isn’t something you extract, it’s something you earn.

And no, you don’t need to record it.

What I Do Now: I show up with questions and curiosity, not a script.

If someone shares their story, I listen.

Not everything has to be content.

Sometimes it’s just a conversation.

9. I Stopped Trying to Escape Tourists… And Just Stopped Following Them

You can’t avoid tourists completely, unless you plan on spending your trip in a basement.

But you can stop letting their path dictate yours.

I stopped following the influencer circuit, unsubscribed from travel trend emails, and started planning based on feel.

The weirder the name, the better.

The fewer blog posts and YouTube videos, the more intrigued I am.

What I Do Now: I travel the way I write, going with my instincts first and ignoring all the FOMO hype.

No itinerary. No validation needed.

The Reset You Didn’t Know You Needed

What if the problem isn’t the crowds or the influencers or the cost, but the idea that travel has to mean something?

That it has to be justified, documented, or posted with a caption about “living your best life”?

What if travel was allowed to be quiet? 

Simple? 

A little boring?

The best places I’ve been didn’t give me a sense of achievement.

They gave me stillness and space.

A reminder that the world doesn’t need to perform for me, and I don’t need to perform for it.

You don’t need to escape travel.

You just need to escape the noise.

So, tell me, what kind of traveler do you want to be this year? 

• Chaser?
• Escape artist?
• Lingerer? 

Let’s rethink what travel actually means in the 21st century.

The post 9 Ways I Escaped The Revenge Tourism Chaos And Found Real Travel Again! appeared first on Expats Planet.

The biggest shock of expat life isn’t the culture, it’s how difficult it is to make real connections.

Have you ever sat across from someone in a foreign country, wine in hand, incredible food on the table… and absolutely nothing to say?

Not because you’re shy. 

Not because they’re rude. 

But because somewhere between your smile and theirs, the connection just evaporated. 

Like a bad Wi-Fi signal, except this time, it’s your social signal that’s failing.

It’s the part of expat life no one warns you about. 

Not the paperwork and not the power outages. 

It’s not even trying to explain peanut butter in a language that doesn’t even have a word for it.

No, what really catches you off guard is dinner. 

The kind where everything should feel warm and easy, and instead it feels like you’re whispering into a polite, cultural void.

The wine flows, the food’s a 10, and the conversation? 

Dead on arrival.

After twenty years in Ukraine, I thought I had this whole expat thing figured out.

I’d tangoed with bureaucracy, survived accidental sauna diplomacy, and taught English in classrooms where I was never entirely sure who was learning more, me or them.

But then I moved to Georgia.

And that’s when I learned: connection abroad isn’t automatic.

Not even close.

And the silence? It isn’t always cultural.

Sometimes, it’s you.

You’ve heard of “quiet quitting” at work, doing just enough to coast by without actually getting any real work done just to collect a paycheck.

But no one talks about the kind of quiet quitting that sneaks into expat life. 

The kind where you stop trying to make friends.

Stop initiating.

Stop pushing through the awkward.

Not because you don’t care, but because after enough polite nods and confused silences, you start to wonder if belonging is something that only makes sense to the people who were born there.

No one tells you that even when you speak the language, even when the map says you belong here, your heart might still feel like a tourist.

These are the 7 painful truths about connecting abroad that no one warns you about.

Lessons not pulled from any phrasebook, but carved out through misfires, silence, and the slow, quiet process of showing up anyway.

1. “How Are You?” Abroad Can Go From Small Talk to Therapy Session… Fast

In America, asking “How are you?” is basically the verbal equivalent of a head nod.

No one actually expects an answer longer than two words. “Good, you?” “Good.” Done.

But the first time I tossed out a cheerful “Kak dela?” (“How are you?”) to a Ukrainian acquaintance, I learned the rules had changed. Fast.

Instead of a quick “fine,” I got a solemn pause…followed by a full-blown download of her family drama, work stress, and existential dread… all before I’d even finished my coffee.

In many places abroad, “How are you?” isn’t just a polite filler.

It’s an actual invitation to share, and sometimes oversharing is exactly what people expect.

Other times, you oversharing too soon can make you look like an alien who just crash-landed into their private emotional space.

Takeaway: Tread lightly with personal questions abroad, “How are you?” could either win you a new friend or earn you a puzzled stare worthy of a security checkpoint.

2. Surrounded by People, But Lonely as Hell

I was sitting in a cool, hip café in Tbilisi, Georgia.

Around me were students, retirees, and a table of very serious backgammon players. 

And yet, I felt like I had stepped into a dystopian sci-fi movie where the main character slowly realizes they’re invisible.

The place was alive, but I wasn’t part of it.

That’s the thing about living abroad. Being around people is easy.

Being with them, really connecting, isn’t.

You don’t just slide into the local scene. You have to find your way in, often through trial, error, and awkward silences at language meetups.

Takeaway: Connection doesn’t happen by osmosis. Try smaller, interest-based spaces, like writing groups, cooking classes, hiking meetups.

Go where people want to talk.

3. Small Talk Can Feel Like Scaling a Wall with No Ropes

In western Ukraine, I tried chatting up a woman at a market by joking about the weather.

Classic move, right? 

She looked at me like I’d just asked for her bank PIN.

Turns out, cracking jokes about the rainy weather in Lviv isn’t exactly a universal icebreaker.

At least it wasn’t for me…lol.

It probably didn’t help that I made the joke in Russian… in Western Ukraine.

Oops. My bad.

Small talk isn’t global.

What’s “friendly” in one culture can feel invasive or just plain strange in another.

And while I’m fluent in sarcasm, that doesn’t always land when you’re speaking a language in a region that still rubs a lot of people the wrong way.

Takeaway: Observe before you leap. Match the vibe.

Sometimes small talk is a trust game, you have to earn your way into the banter.

4. Silence Doesn’t Always Mean Disinterest

At a supra (Georgian feast), I once found myself sitting beside a man who said almost nothing for over an hour.

I assumed I’d somehow offended him, wrong toast?

Incorrect khinkali folding technique?

Later, he gave me a firm handshake and said it was a “good conversation.”

I’d barely said ten words.

In many cultures, silence isn’t a gap to be filled, it’s a sign of comfort, respect, or just a slower rhythm of connection.

But if you come from a background where silence feels like a social emergency, it takes serious unlearning.

Takeaway: Let silence breathe. Don’t rush to fill the air.

Sometimes being present is more powerful than being clever.

5. Dating Abroad: One Misread Can Crash the Whole Thing

A former teaching colleague in Kyiv once told me he thought he was on a date, until the woman brought her cousin. To the second date.

In his words: “Either she was setting me up for a mugging or I missed a memo on dating protocol.”

Flirting, romance, even just asking someone out varies wildly across cultures.

What’s friendly in one place is flirty in another, and what’s flirty in your home country might be borderline offensive elsewhere.

And don’t get me started on texting etiquette.

Takeaway: Ask. Clarify. Don’t assume. 

And if things get awkward? Laugh.

It’s part of the charm, and the chaos, of dating across borders.

6. The Most Frustrating Part? Nobody Knows the “Old You”

Back home, I was the “go-to” guy for late-night debates, spontaneous road trips, and questionable night outs.

Abroad, I was just another confused foreigner trying to figure out if the pharmacy sold actual cold medicine or just dried herbs.

Reinventing yourself sounds romantic, until you realize it also means rebuilding every relationship from scratch.

You have no history here.

You’re starting at zero, and it’s exhausting.

Takeaway: Be patient with the process. Let people get to know the current version of you.

Trust that the good stuff, connection, camaraderie, weird inside jokes, will come…. eventually.

7. Real Connection Doesn’t Happen When You Try… It Happens When You’re Just You

I didn’t exactly bond with the barista in Tirana who gave me perfect directions to the correct bus stop I needed. I just smiled, nodded, and then confidently walked in the exact opposite direction.

But I did bond with my new landlord in Donetsk, who also happened to be my next-door neighbor.

One evening after moving in, he invited me over for drinks.

His wife laid out the Zakuski and filled the table with the pickled vegetables, black bread, sukhariki, and of course the vodka.

We all drank and laughed and laughed some more.

The next thing you know, that one invite had turned into a Friday night pregame ritual.

The unofficial warm-up to long nights out with highly questionable decisions.

The best connections abroad aren’t the ones you plan.

They find you when you’re lost, going the wrong way, or just saying “yes” to one more round of vodka you probably shouldn’t.

Takeaway: Stop trying so hard. Just show up.

The real magic shows up when you stop trying to impress, and just start being yourself.

The Conversations That Finally Click

No one prepares you for how lonely it can feel to be unknown in a country full of people.

You’ll wonder if your social skills expired at the border.

You’ll question whether you’re just “bad at making friends now.”

But slowly, piece by piece, things shift.

You stop trying to impress. You stop rehearsing your story.

You begin listening more than performing.

You begin to notice, not just the words people say, but how they say them. And something unlocks.

You’ll find your rhythm.

It won’t be loud and fast.

But it’ll be real.

Have you struggled to connect while living or traveling abroad?

What helped you break through, or what still frustrates you?

The post 7 Painful Truths About Connecting Abroad You’ll Only Learn The Hard Way! appeared first on Expats Planet.

You’ll fall for the food, get wrecked by the chaos, and stay for reasons you won’t understand until you leave.

The first time I crossed Rustaveli Avenue, I thought I was going to die.

Not metaphorically. 

Literally. 

A marshrutka barrelled toward me like I’d insulted its grandmother. 

The pedestrian light blinked red while people kept walking, and an old lady beat me across the street carrying two bags of tomatoes and zero concern.

That’s the kind of place Tbilisi is. 

You mess up, laugh, sweat, eat something you don’t fully understand, and somehow walk away feeling like you belong more than you did five minutes ago.

A few glasses of Saperavi also helps…

I came to Tbilisi after twenty years in Ukraine, thinking I knew what post-Soviet charm looked like.

Guess what? I didn’t.

Tbilisi doesn’t ease you in. It yanks you into its rhythm, part medieval, part techno party, part grandmother who stuffs churchkhela into your bag and force-feeds you wine at 10am.

This isn’t a “Top 10 Things to Do” list. Tbilisi doesn’t work that way.

This is about the weird, wonderful, occasionally exhausting ways this city works on you.

The things you don’t find in travel guides.

The stuff that makes you cancel your return ticket without fully knowing why.

If you’ve been here, you get it.

If you haven’t, buckle up.

Those left-hand-side Japanese taxis are about to give you the ride you didn’t see coming… assuming yours even has seat-belts and the driver doesn’t get offended if you use them.

1. The Sidewalks Will Trip You Before the People Do

The first time I tripped in Tbilisi, I blamed my shoes. The second time, I blamed the uneven sidewalks.

By the third time, I realized the city was just trying to teach me something, humility, or maybe reflex training.

Either way, Tbilisi’s sidewalks are less “footpath” and more “choose your own adventure.”

Between loose bricks, ankle-spraining gutters, and the occasional scooter flying past you like it’s reenacting Fast & Furious 9 (which was actually filmed in Tbilisi), walking here keeps you sharp.

Tbilisi Takeaway: Keep your eyes down, your curiosity up, and don’t assume sidewalks are neutral ground.

This city will trip you, literally and metaphorically, before you find your footing.

2. You’ll Get Homesick… for Bread

I didn’t know I was capable of loving bread until I met Georgian bread. Shotis puri, hot and peeled off fresh from the side of a clay pot oven, is less a food and more a moment of personal enlightenment.

I bit into my first piece on a street corner in Tbilisi, closed my eyes, and forgot what I was saying mid-sentence.

That’s the kind of power we’re talking about.

You don’t leave Georgia thinking about souvenirs. You leave thinking about carbs.

Tbilisi Takeaway: Eat it fresh. Eat it often.

And understand now: no bread will ever live up to it again.

3. It Looks European, Smells Middle Eastern, and Feels Like Nowhere You’ve Been

Tbilisi plays tricks on you. One minute it’s Paris. Turn a corner, boom, Istanbul. Take a few steps and suddenly, a Soviet flashback with a Yerevan vibe.

And somehow, it all fits. No explanation needed.

You’re eating khinkali at a table held together by history and cigarette burns, wondering how this weird little city just made total sense.

The smells? That’s what stays. Roasted chestnuts, wild herbs, incense drifting out of some shadowy chapel.

Tbilisi doesn’t tap you on the shoulder. It gets under your skin, and into your jacket before you even read the street sign.

Tbilisi Takeaway: Stop trying to compare it. Tbilisi doesn’t fit the categories.

That’s what makes it unforgettable.

4. You’ll Be Surprised Who You Connect With

I once had a deeper chat with a fruit vendor in my Saburtalo than with someone I’d dated for three months.

No joke.

It started with figs and somehow ended with him telling me his theory of how time moves slower in Georgia because people drink wine instead of coffee.

Tbilisi has a way of opening up in unexpected places. Not in cubicles or Starbucks, but in bakeries, barbershops, and backgammon games.

Tbilisi Takeaway: Don’t wait for the perfect expat café to “network.”

The best conversations come when you’re just trying to buy tomatoes or puri.

5. You’ll Love the Chaos… Until You Don’t

There’s a kind of beauty to the mayhem here. Cars honk just to say hi. Someone’s always yelling in the street, sometimes for no reason at all.

At first, you think you’ve stepped into a live-action theater.

Then you realize it’s just Monday.

But there will be a moment (or several) when you’ve had enough. When the horns, the heat, and the short-changing at restaurants break you.

That’s normal. Breathe.

Then find a wine bar and let the city apologize with a glass of Saperavi.

Tbilisi Takeaway: Tbilisi doesn’t adapt to you. But once you stop resisting and accept it for what it is, the chaos starts to feel oddly familiar..

6. You’ll Try to “Do It All” in One Day… and Fail

I once planned a day that included a fortress hike, three cafes, two museums, the baths, and drinks at Fabrika by night.

I barely stumbled out of the sulfur baths before flagging the first taxi back to my Airbnb.

Minutes later, I was crashed out on the balcony, stretched across a lounge chair like a passed-out philosopher. The Holy Trinity Cathedral glowed in the distance, quietly stealing the show.

Somewhere below, a cat in heat yowled like it was mocking my life choices.

Tbilisi isn’t built for speed.

It’s built for detours.

The city is like an old friend who’s always running late but somehow makes it worth the wait.

Tbilisi Takeaway: Stop scheduling it like it’s Paris. Let the city surprise you.

The best plans here are the ones that get derailed.

7. The Baths Will Break You… Then Rebuild You

My first sulfur bath was not the soothing soak I expected.

It was hotter than the surface of the sun, smelled like expired eggs, and ended with a man named Zaza scrubbing me like a potato.

I came out red, slightly traumatized, and completely at peace.

That’s the trick. The baths aren’t about luxury. They’re about letting go.

There of control and of everything you thought “relaxing” meant.

Tbilisi Takeaway: Go in raw, come out reborn.

And bring water.

You’ll need it.

8. You’ll Get Lost… and Be Glad You Did

Tbilisi is made to be wandered. I once got lost trying to find a shortcut to the Dry Bridge market and ended up in a courtyard with hand-painted doors, grapevines overhead, and an old woman selling sunflower seeds in reused Coke bottles.

Every twist reveals something. A mural. A story.

A street musician with a saxophone and a questionable sense of pitch.

And all of it is yours… if you just stop trying to navigate.

Tbilisi Takeaway: Ditch the map. Follow your nose… or a cat.

Cats know everything here.

9. Leaving Will Hurt More Than You Expect

You’ll think you’re ready. Your bags are packed. You’ve said your goodbyes.

And then the taxi rounds that curve by Metekhi and the skyline hits you like a breakup text you didn’t see coming.

It’s not just the beauty. It’s what the city did to you.

Quietly.

While you were eating, sweating, laughing, failing, and somehow becoming a little more yourself than you were when you arrived.

Tbilisi Takeaway: Tbilisi doesn’t just stick with you. It insists on being part of your story.

The Goodbye That Sticks

Tbilisi won’t give you the clean, curated travel experience. It gives you something messier. Stranger. Warmer. Realer and Raw.

It gives you a half-burnt khachapuri at 2am and a street concert you didn’t plan to see.

It gives you a moment at a fortress where the light hits just right and you wonder if maybe, just maybe, this chaotic little city knows exactly what it’s doing.

You won’t always understand it. You won’t always love it. But if you stay long enough, it’ll grow on you.

It’s in your stories, in your cravings, and in that strange little ache behind your ribs that shows up when someone says the word “Georgia.”

Have you ever been to Tbilisi?

What were your Tbilisi Takeaways?

If you’ve never been to Tbilisi, what’s got you curious, or holding you back? 

This city isn’t what you expect… and that’s exactly why it’s worth it!

The post 9 Surprising Ways Tbilisi Steals Your Heart And Never Gives It Back! appeared first on Expats Planet.

Forget Culture Shock! These Are the Emotional Ambushes That Hit When You Least Expect Them

No one told me a simple whiff of grilled meat in a Georgian market could teleport me straight down memory lane to a backyard BBQ back home.

Or, that I’d be bored out of my mind, watching everyone else’s Fourth of July fireworks and barbecue pics roll in on my Facebook feed, while waiting in line at a U.S. Embassy for a passport renewal.

Only to top it off, by my payment for that renewal being denied because my “U.S dollars” weren’t “clean enough.”

No one tells you about that kind of homesickness.

The kind that hits you sideways while you’re giving a private English lesson to a teenager who would rather be playing video games, wondering how your life ended up here.

This isn’t the usual culture shock pep talk.

I’m not going to tell you about how confusing Cyrillic was when I first arrived in Ukraine, or how I once gave even-numbered flowers to my girlfriend’s grandmother and almost got disowned.

Those things, oddly enough, are the easy parts. You expect confusion. You expect a little embarrassment.

But you don’t expect to feel completely forgotten. 

You don’t expect to resent your own choices or miss the version of yourself that didn’t take the leap.

What you also don’t expect? 

To laugh hysterically at a McDonald’s in Ukraine because they charged you for ketchup, and somehow that becomes the emotional breaking point for everything you’ve been bottling up since the move.

These are the parts of expat life the Instagram filters leave out.

The messy, emotional gut punches that hit when you least expect them.

After more than two decades bouncing between places like Albania, Georgia, North Macedonia, Thailand, and Ukraine I’ve collected more than passport stamps, I’ve collected emotional shrapnel.

Here are 7 of the most blindsiding emotions no one prepared me for, and how they ended up changing me more than the countries ever did.

1. Guilt That Sneaks Up in the Quiet Moments

It’s Christmas Eve… back home, anyway.

But you’re living in Tbilisi, where the streets are quiet and no one’s celebrating, because here, Christmas doesn’t come until January 7th.

So, it’s just another night. The streets are calm, the cafes are open, and the only thing festive is the glow of the streetlights reflecting off the wet cobblestones.

You’re walking home from a late dinner, stomach full of Khachapuri Adjarian, cheeks flushed from too much local wine, when the ache catches you off guard.

You missed Christmas.

Not just the day, but the connection, the ritual, the tiny things that make it feel like you’re still part of something.

You didn’t send a single message on Facebook. No cheery “Merry Christmas from Georgia!” post. Not even a group text.

You remembered, of course. You always do.

But you let the time zones and the distance become excuses.

And then… panic.

You fumble through your phone, scrolling through names, rushing out a few last-minute “Merry Christmas!” texts to the people who matter most.

You hope it’s not too late.

You hope they understand.

But deep down, you know this is what distance really looks like. It’s not a dramatic farewell at the airport.

It’s forgetting to say “Merry Christmas” until it already feels like New Year’s.

So you texted.

They sent a thumbs up.

It’s a quiet, creeping guilt.

You chose this life, Georgia, Albania, France, Ukraine… and you’re the one who left.

But that doesn’t make it easier when you miss the milestones.

No one says it out loud, but there’s always that silent, invisible weight sitting in the background.

And it lingers.

Reminder: You can’t be in two places at once.

But you can be present in moments that matter, send the message, make the call, even if it’s awkwardly timed.

The guilt doesn’t go away, but connection helps.

2. Resentment When Life Back Home Keeps Moving

I was hunched over weak coffee in a shaky café in Georgia when I saw it.

My cousin’s kid, grinning with his diploma.

No heads-up.

Just a post, like I hadn’t missed a beat.

Meanwhile, I was wrestling with a card-only kiosk when all I had was cash, trying to buy data in a language I barely spoke, still losing the war on salty cheese bombs.

It’s not personal. They’re not excluding you.

But life back home doesn’t pause, it adapts.

Reminder: They’re building their lives. So are you.

You’re not forgotten. You’re just not in that chapter anymore.

And that’s okay.

3. Jealous of the Tourists

It’s a weird kind of envy. You’re in the same place, maybe even the same café in Saranda, but they’re here for fun.

You’re here trying to figure out how to renew your U.S. driver’s license from abroad before it expires.

They wander around wide-eyed, licking overpriced ice cream and taking blurry selfies.

You’re lugging groceries uphill, dodging scooters, mentally calculating how long the feta will last without a fridge stop.

And then it hits you: God, I miss being excited like that!

Reminder: It’s normal to crave their simplicity.

But you’ve got something they don’t… depth.

You know this place beyond the postcards.

That’s worth something.

4. The Sadness of Feeling “Normal”

I knew I’d changed the day the trams in Strasbourg felt more like public transport than part of a romantic European dream.

That café in Tbilisi I used to get lost trying to find? Now I take a shortcut.

The guy behind the counter knows my order.

You spend so long adapting that when you finally belong, the magic fades.

The city becomes routine.

It’s where you work, run errands, and buy detergent.

Reminder: That sting of “normal”? It means you’ve built a life.

It may not feel magical anymore… but now it’s real.

5. Mourning the Version of You That Stayed Behind

There’s always an alternate version of you. The one who stayed in the States.

• Took the job.
• Got the “promotion.”
• Married the one you were supposed to.
• Bought the house, the mortgage, the shed you turned into a cabana bar, mainly to drink in, not entertain.

And sometimes, like during a quiet night in Saranda when the only sounds are cats in heat or the neighborhood’s stray dogs barking at shadows, you wonder what that life would’ve looked like.

Would that life have been easier? Probably.

Safer? Sure.

But richer? Not a chance.

It’s okay to miss that version. To miss them.

Reminder: It’s okay to grieve the path you didn’t take. That version of you is still part of you.

But don’t forget, you’re the one who took that leap.

And look how far you’ve come.

6. Rage Against the Bureaucracy Machine (It Will Break You If You Let It)

If I had a euro for every time I brought the wrong paperwork to an Eastern European office, I could’ve hired someone to stand in line for me.

Visa rules change weekly, usually posted on a board you can’t even see without an appointment.

I once waited three hours in a Kyiv office only to be told my stamp was wrong.

Not the form. The stamp.

It’s maddening. It’s absurd. And it’s just part of expat life.

Reminder: Don’t let the system win.

Laugh, rant, then return with the right form, the right stamp, and the spiritual energy of a petty warrior on a mission.

7. Gratitude So Intense It Hurts

Sometimes, out of nowhere, it hits you.

You’re sitting on a park bench in France with a warm croissant and absolutely nowhere to be.

Or you’re watching the sun set over the rooftops of Thessaloniki, thinking, This. This is mine.

It doesn’t matter how many frustrations came before.

In that moment, you’re overwhelmed with this almost unbearable gratitude. 

That you chose this life.

That you made it work.

That you’re still here.

It’s so beautiful it almost hurts.

Reminder: These moments are rare. So when they come, stop everything.

Soak it in.

Because this… this feeling is the reason you packed that bag in the first place.

What No One Tells You About Moving Abroad

Living abroad isn’t a vacation, it’s an emotional obstacle course with no map and way too many detours.

But each moment: the guilt, the jealousy, the rage, the fun, carves out a version of you that didn’t exist before.

You’ll question everything.

You’ll miss people.

You’ll hate yourself for missing people.

And then you’ll wake up one day and realize: you’ve built a life in a place you once couldn’t even find on a map.

And that’s no small thing…

So how about you?

What emotion blindsided you after you moved abroad? 

I guarantee you’re not the only one who’s felt it.

The post 7 Gut-Punch Emotions That Wreck Even the Toughest Expats Abroad! appeared first on Expats Planet.