The fastest way to shrink a room is to say, “Back home, we do it better.”
Travel isn’t just a change of scenery, it is a workout for our assumptions. The first few times I went overseas, I didn’t realize how much of my daily script was on autopilot. Then I opened my mouth.
If you’ve ever watched a conversation go awkward in two seconds flat, you know what I mean. The words weren’t “wrong” exactly. They just carried a tone, a hint of entitlement, comparison, or cluelessness, that announced I was new at this.
If you want to be the kind of traveler people are genuinely happy to help, avoid these eight phrases and try the swaps I use now.
1. “Do you speak English?” said as the first line
It is not the question, it is the order of operations. Barking this without a hello or a tiny attempt in the local language signals that your comfort matters most.
A better approach starts with a greeting and a simple effort. Try, “Hi, hola, bonjour, merhaba. I’m sorry, I don’t speak [language]. Could we try English?” You are saying, “I see you,” before “Please accommodate me.”
One practical tip that pays off every time. Before I land, I learn five phrases. Hello, please, thank you, excuse me, and “I’m sorry, I don’t speak [language].” It earns smiles even if your accent could frighten a GPS.
2. “Back home, we do it better, cheaper, or faster.”
Comparison is the thief of joy, and the thief of rapport. The minute you measure a place against your own, you are not curious any more. You are scoring.
Try this instead. Ask how and why. “How do folks usually order here?” or “What is the usual timeline for getting documents?” You will learn the logic under the surface and avoid sounding like a walking review from somewhere else.
Travel works best when we trade certainty for context. If you can hold your opinions lightly and ask more questions, you will learn faster and connect more easily.
3. “Why don’t they just speak [my language]?”
Even if it is whispered, the subtext is loud. Language is identity, history, and community, not a service feature for visitors.
I once fumbled through a checkout line in rural France, mortified by my toddler-level French. The cashier slowed down, smiled, and we did a bilingual dance of gestures and numbers. I walked out with groceries and a little more humility. If I had led with “Why can’t they just…,” I would have missed that connection entirely.
Swap in something gentler. “I am learning. Could we go slowly?” Then use your phone’s offline phrasebook or a simple set of numbers and gestures. The goal is not perfection. The goal is respect.
4. “What’s the Wi-Fi password?” as your opening line
I love the internet as much as anyone. I write online and I run routes with Google Maps. But when your first sentence anywhere is about Wi-Fi, it can read as if the real world is elsewhere.
A quick fix is to meet the human first. Order, greet, or check in. Then ask, “When you have a second, could I get the Wi-Fi?” This small sequencing change says you see the person before the password.
If you are in a small cafe where bandwidth is rationed, consider buying something before asking. Hospitality runs on reciprocity. A coffee and a thank you go a long way.
5. “This is gross.” said about the food
Food is someone’s home on a plate. Declaring a local dish “gross” is the fastest way to shrink the room around you.
I am a gardener in my downtime, so I think about how much love goes into ingredients. Even if a flavor shocks your palate, and fermented foods can do that, there is a difference between honesty and insult.
Try softer language. “That is new to me,” or “Interesting, what is the usual way to eat it?” This leaves space for the dish to be itself and opens the door for guidance. You may discover that a squeeze of lemon, a spoonful of sauce, or a different bite order changes everything.
6. “Can you take dollars? Can you split the bill eight ways? Do you have tap to pay?”
These are practical questions, but the trio of currency, splitting, and payment methods often broadcasts culture blindness.
Some places run on cash. Others add service fees or include tax and tip in the listed price. In many regions, splitting the bill precisely is uncommon. The group rounds. One person pays and the rest settle later.
Here is what I do now:
- I check norms before I go. A quick look at tipping, tax, and payment methods saves confusion.
- I carry a small stash of local currency for markets, kiosks, taxis, and small museums.
- If we need to split, I ask the server what is easiest. If it is complicated, I volunteer to pay the full amount and use an app to settle with friends later.
This keeps the restaurant’s rhythm intact and keeps me from lecturing the point of sale terminal.
7. “Is there a Starbucks or McDonald’s nearby?”
There is nothing wrong with craving the familiar, especially when jet lag is kicking. But leading with a chain request can sound like this. I came all this way to have exactly what I have at home.
Instead, ask a local where they go. “Where do you get coffee?” or “What is your favorite quick lunch around here?” I have been routed to sidewalk espresso bars in Lisbon, tea stalls in Bangkok, and bakery counters in small-town Italy. Each stop is a tiny telescope into daily life.
If you truly need a predictable option because of dietary needs, kids, or a restroom emergency, frame it as a constraint and not a preference. “I am celiac. Any places you trust for safe options?” That invites help without dismissing local flavor.
8. “Water should be free.” or “Where is the ice?” or “Why no AC?”
Comfort standards travel poorly. Free water at restaurants, big cups of ice, and air conditioning set to goosebumps do not map worldwide. Announcing that they should be standard is like walking into someone’s house and rearranging the furniture.
If you need water, ask “Still or sparkling?” If you want ice, request it as a favor and not a right. If you are warm, sit by a fan, dress lighter, or choose indoor seating where airflow is better. The rule I use is simple. Adapt first. Ask second. Lecture never.
When something is genuinely unsafe, for example during a heat wave, state the need rather than the moral. “It is extremely hot. Could we sit by a fan?” will get you much further than “I cannot believe there is no AC.”
What to say instead, a quick-start script
When I am in a new place, these lines help me sound like a guest and not a critic:
- “Hello! I am visiting and learning. Could we try English slowly?”
- “What is the usual way to do this here?”
- “I am open to your recommendation. What do you love?”
- “No rush, thank you.”
- “Cash or card, what is best?”
- “I am allergic to X. What would you suggest?”
- “Thank you for your patience.”
- “This is new to me, and I appreciate you showing me.”
None of these are fancy. They simply center curiosity over convenience.
Why this matters, beyond not being “that tourist”
Every culture runs on invisible scripts. These are unspoken agreements about time, space, noise, queues, money, and manners. When we assume our script is universal, we make the world smaller. When we treat our script as one of many, we make it bigger.
Travel is the best continuing education I have found. It is also, occasionally, a humility gym. The good news is that humility and confidence are not opposites. Confidence says, “I can navigate this.” Humility says, “I can learn while I do.”
Language helps here. Even a few phrases widen the map for you and for the people kind enough to meet you halfway. If you pick up the basics and then try, most folks will mirror your effort with patience and kindness.
A final nudge
If any of the eight lines above sound like you, welcome to the club. I am a recovering “Do you speak English?” starter myself. What changed my travels was not mastering grammar or memorizing etiquette tomes. The change came from swapping judgment for questions, critique for curiosity, speed for patience, and “make it like home” for “show me yours.”
So the next time you are abroad and your old script tries to take the mic, pause. Ask a better question. See what opens.
The world is generous to students. Let’s choose that role every time we travel.
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