I traveled through Europe as a vegan—these were the most unexpectedly difficult places to eat

When I booked my one-month Euro trip, I imagined morning markets in Paris, seaside cafes in Greece, and late-night falafel in Berlin. I packed a reusable utensil kit, bookmarked dozens of plant-based spots on Google Maps, and thought, This will be easy.

It wasn’t.

Don’t get me wrong—Europe is a mosaic of fresh produce, regional specialties, and growing vegan awareness. But it’s also a patchwork of deeply entrenched food cultures that don’t always accommodate plant-based eaters. And the toughest places? They weren’t always the ones I expected.

Here’s where I struggled—and how I still managed to eat well, stay energized, and avoid living on plain baguettes and apples.

Southern Italy: Tomatoes galore, cheese in everything

Naples is the birthplace of pizza. But ask for one without cheese, and you’ll get a blank stare—maybe even a “Why?” from a genuinely confused pizzaiolo.

In Campania and Puglia, where mozzarella is more sacred than basil, I found myself explaining “senza formaggio” more often than I’d like. Even vegetables were often sautéed in butter or sprinkled with parmesan.

One night in Sorrento, I asked for grilled vegetables as a main and was served a plate of eggplant dripping in dairy-based cream sauce.

What helped:
Olive oil and focaccia were my saviors. I also learned to say: “Sono vegana, niente formaggio, niente burro, niente carne o pesce.”

That one sentence unlocked grilled veggies, pasta pomodoro, and custom pizzas that actually impressed my non-vegan travel companions. It also sparked a few friendly conversations with curious chefs.

Pro tip:
Don’t rely solely on HappyCow in small towns. Look for local pizzerias with wood-fired ovens—they’re more likely to make crust from scratch and honor simple requests. And if you’re near the coast, fresh tomatoes and herbs go a long way.

France: The land of butter (and blank stares)

France is the country of croissants, pâté, and buttery sauces. I arrived in Lyon—the “gastronomic capital of France”—ready to explore…but plant-based options? Few and far between.

Menus were full of foie gras, duck confit, and creamy gratins. When I asked about vegan options, one waiter actually said, “So…just salad?”

What helped:
Boulangeries came through. A traditional baguette is usually flour, water, salt, and yeast—totally vegan. I paired it with fruit from markets or some nut butter from a local organic shop.

Also: ethnic restaurants. Vietnamese pho, Moroccan couscous, and even a little Tibetan spot in the 11th arrondissement of Paris offered warm, filling plant-based meals. My favorite Paris meal? A hot bowl of vegan pho on a rainy evening, served with fresh herbs and a side of chili oil.

Cultural tip:
In many French kitchens, “vegetarian” still includes eggs and cheese. Always clarify what you mean by “vegan.” Saying “strict vegetarian, no dairy or eggs” often lands better than leading with “vegan.” And if you’re in a hurry, look for Lebanese bakeries—falafel wraps and hummus are practically everywhere.

Rural Switzerland: Beautiful views, heavy food

Imagine snow-dusted chalets, cowbells echoing across green hills, and cheese fondue signs on every corner. That’s Switzerland. And as stunning as it is, it’s not exactly a tofu haven.

In Lauterbrunnen and Zermatt, menus leaned toward rösti with bacon, veal schnitzel, and lots of alpine cheese. Supermarkets carried dairy-heavy ready meals, and restaurant staff weren’t always sure what “plant-based” meant.

What helped:
Coop and Migros (major grocery chains) had reliable vegan staples like lentil salads, hummus, and oat milk. I also packed instant miso soup and dried edamame for backup protein on hiking days.

Hiking tip:
Trail huts often offer vegetable soup—but ask if it’s made with bouillon cubes (they often contain meat extracts). I politely declined a few “vegetable” soups that turned out to be beef-based. One hut owner even offered to heat up the vegan food I’d brought, no charge.

Spain: Tapas-sized struggles

Spain surprised me. In Barcelona and Madrid, vegan eats were everywhere—tapas bars with mushroom croquetas, plant-based paella, even vegan jamón.

But the moment I ventured into smaller towns like Segovia or Cádiz, things got trickier. Traditional tapas often include anchovies, jamón, and aioli (which is made with eggs). Even the potato dishes were often cooked in animal fat.

What helped:
Learning to build a meal from sides. I’d combine pan con tomate, olives, roasted peppers, and marinated mushrooms to make a sort of picnic at the table. And in Cádiz, I stumbled across a tiny vegan bakery tucked behind a church, run by a former Madrid chef who had moved there for the sea air.

Key phrase:
“¿Lleva productos animales?” (“Does this contain animal products?”) goes further than asking “Is this vegan?” If you’re traveling through Andalusia or Galicia, look for mercados (local markets)—there’s usually at least one vendor selling produce, legumes, or artisan bread.

Germany: Sausage central (but Berlin is a dream)

Berlin deserves its own category—vegan heaven. Currywurst made with seitan, oat milk cappuccinos in every café, and enough vegan döner to fuel a lifetime.

But outside the capital? Different story.

In towns like Bamberg and Heidelberg, traditional food = meat + potatoes + maybe sauerkraut. And “vegetarian” options were usually cheese-based, not dairy-free.

What helped:
Trains! Germany’s Bahn system makes it easy to stay based in a vegan-friendly city like Berlin and take day trips. I’d pack snacks from Veganz (a local plant-based grocery store) before heading out. In Cologne, I found a vegan Thai restaurant that served green curry with homemade coconut milk—probably my favorite surprise meal of the trip.

Survival kit:
I carried tamari almonds, fruit leather, and a jar of tahini. It sounds weird, but a little tahini can turn plain bread and tomatoes into a real meal. If I found a salad bar, I’d drizzle that over everything.

Greece: Plant-based roots with modern roadblocks

You’d think a country with so many veggie-based dishes—dolmas, lentil soup, fava—would be vegan gold. And in many ways, it is.

But here’s the kicker: olive oil is sometimes swapped for butter in tavernas, and the concept of “no cheese” is almost a culinary crime. Even “vegetarian” dishes were often finished with yogurt or feta without mention.

What helped:
Ask for fasting food. During Orthodox fasting periods (like Lent), many Greeks abstain from meat, dairy, and eggs—so there’s a rich tradition of plant-based meals that are 100% vegan. Dishes like fasolada (bean soup), revithia (chickpea stew), and ladera (vegetables stewed in olive oil) are not only safe—they’re delicious.

Language bridge:
Use the phrase “Nistevo̱—katharí diatrofí” which roughly translates to “Lenten/clean diet” in Greek. It might earn you a knowing nod from an older server.

Lessons I learned (so you don’t have to)

After a month of scanning menus, butchering local phrases, and getting real cozy with gas station bananas, here’s what I’d recommend:

1. Pack high-protein snacks

Roasted chickpeas, trail mix, and vegan jerky saved me more than once. In some regions, you won’t find much more than fries and white bread—so bring your own backup fuel.

2. Download food translation apps

Use Google Translate offline or apps like HappyCow and abillion. But don’t trust them blindly—always double-check ingredient lists.

3. Learn basic phrases in local languages

Knowing how to say “no milk, no eggs, no meat” in the local language builds trust and avoids confusion. People are often more accommodating when they understand your request clearly.

4. Stay near big cities—but explore small ones

Big cities tend to have diverse dining scenes. Use them as hubs, and plan short trips outward. Just don’t expect the same level of accommodation in the countryside.

5. Shop local markets and cook

Rent a place with a kitchen or at least a mini fridge. Grab fresh produce, bread, and herbs from local markets. It’s cheaper, often tastier, and lets you control the ingredients.

6. Lower your expectations (and raise your creativity)

Not every meal will be Insta-worthy. Sometimes you’re eating plain pasta with olive oil—and that’s okay. Focus on the experience, not perfection.

The bigger “why” behind all this

Being vegan in Europe taught me something that dining out at home never could: food isn’t just fuel—it’s identity. Culture. Family. History.

And when you ask for something different, you’re not just requesting a different meal—you’re shifting a narrative. In some places, that’s still unfamiliar.

But I also saw how fast things are changing. Gen Z café owners in Lisbon proudly offering oat milk. A Swiss grandma at a hostel asking me what tofu tastes like. A Greek farmer offering me fresh figs after I declined cheese with a smile.

Veganism isn’t about perfection. It’s about intention. And when you travel with that spirit—curious, kind, flexible—you leave something behind: a new possibility in someone’s mind.

Even if they still add cheese to everything.