I travel extensively and can spot an American tourist from these 7 behaviors alone

I spent three weeks in Vietnam last fall, photographing street scenes in Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City. One afternoon, sitting at a sidewalk cafe with my camera, I watched a group approach the entrance. Before they even spoke, I knew.

White sneakers. Baseball caps. College hoodies. Voices carrying across two city blocks.

They were American. And so was I.

Look, there's nothing inherently wrong with being spotted as an American abroad. But after years of traveling through Asia, Europe, and South America, I've developed a kind of radar for my fellow countrymen. It's not judgmental, just observable. We have patterns. Tells. Behavioral signatures that register even before the accent kicks in.

Some of these behaviors are endearing. Others make locals wince. Most are just cultural differences playing out in public spaces.

Here's what I've noticed.

1) The volume is set to maximum

We're loud. Like, really loud.

I've heard Americans across crowded train stations, through restaurant walls, over the sound of crashing waves. It's not that we're trying to be obnoxious. We genuinely don't realize we're doing it.

Part of this comes from how we're raised. American culture rewards assertiveness and visibility. We're taught that speaking up means being heard, that volume equals confidence. In many other countries, especially in Asia and Northern Europe, the opposite is true. Quiet signals respect. Restraint shows consideration.

I didn't fully grasp this until my partner, who grew up in a more reserved culture, pointed it out during a trip to Thailand. We were in a temple, and I was explaining something about the architecture. Not yelling, just talking at what I thought was a normal volume.

She gave me this look. You know the one.

"Everyone can hear you," she whispered.

She was right. My "normal" was everyone else's "too loud."

2) Friendliness that feels like an assault

Americans smile at strangers. We make eye contact. We strike up conversations with people in line, on trains, in elevators.

In the U.S., this reads as warm and open. Abroad, especially in places like Germany, Finland, or Japan, it can come across as intrusive or even suspicious.

I learned this the hard way in Stockholm. I was waiting for a bus and made a comment about the weather to the person next to me. They looked at me like I'd just asked for their credit card number. No smile. No response. Just a slight lean away.

Later, a Swedish friend explained that unsolicited conversation with strangers is considered odd, even aggressive. "We don't assume familiarity," she said. "You have to earn that."

Fair enough.

But here's the thing: I don't think American friendliness is wrong. It's just culturally specific. We come from a place where small talk is social currency, where being chatty signals goodwill. The problem isn't the behavior itself, but the assumption that it translates everywhere.

3) Waiting to be seated (when no one else is)

This one still trips me up.

In the U.S., you walk into a restaurant and wait for the host. You don't just grab a table. That would be rude.

In most of Europe, Asia, and Latin America, you absolutely do just grab a table. Waiting around makes you look confused, which makes you look like a tourist, which sometimes makes you a target for inflated prices or less attentive service.

I've watched groups of Americans cluster near the entrance of casual cafes, looking around expectantly, while locals breeze past them and sit wherever they want. The Americans aren't being difficult. They're just applying the rules they know.

The key is observation. If you see other people walking in and sitting down without interaction, do the same. If there's a host stand, wait. But don't assume the American system is universal.

4) The ice thing becomes a crusade

I'll admit it: I miss ice.

In most countries, iced drinks aren't the default. You get a small glass of room-temperature water, maybe with a single cube if you're lucky. For Americans used to drinks that are 50% ice by volume, this feels wrong on a fundamental level.

But here's where it gets weird: instead of just accepting this as a cultural difference, some Americans turn it into a mission. They ask for extra ice. Then more ice. They complain that their soda is "warm." They act personally offended by the lack of frozen water.

I've done this myself. In Rome, I asked a server for more ice three separate times during one meal. By the third request, she looked at me like I'd asked her to remodel the kitchen.

It's such a small thing, but it's one of those behaviors that marks you immediately. Europeans, in particular, find the American obsession with ice baffling. To them, we're diluting perfectly good beverages for no reason.

They're not wrong.

5) Questions about everything, delivered with zero context

Americans ask a lot of questions. This is generally fine. Curiosity is good.

The problem is how we ask them.

We tend to launch into inquiries without preamble, without establishing any social rapport first. "Where's the bathroom?" "How much does this cost?" "Is this gluten-free?" We treat strangers like information kiosks.

In many cultures, this directness is considered abrupt or even rude. There's an expectation of small pleasantries first. A greeting. An apology for the interruption. Some acknowledgment that you're asking another human for help, not pressing a button.

I started noticing this in France, where my blunt questions were often met with cool responses. When I began leading with "Bonjour" and "Excusez-moi," the interactions shifted. People warmed up. They offered more information, sometimes even smiling.

It wasn't that the French were unfriendly. It was that I'd been skipping the social script.

6) Athletic wear as default wardrobe

Yoga pants. Running shoes. College hoodies. Gym shorts.

These are the unofficial uniform of the American tourist.

We dress for comfort, which makes sense when you're walking ten miles a day. But in many countries, especially in Europe, athletic wear is reserved for actual athletic activities. Wearing sneakers and a hoodie to dinner signals that you either don't care about blending in or don't know better.

I'm not saying you need to dress like a local. That's often impossible anyway. But there's a middle ground between "ready for a hike" and "trying too hard."

When I'm traveling, I aim for what I call "intentionally unremarkable." Dark jeans or chinos. A plain shirt. Shoes that aren't glowing white. Nothing that screams "I just got off a plane and have no idea where I am."

Does it matter? Not really. But it does make you slightly less of a target for pickpockets and aggressive vendors who can spot tourists from a block away.

7) Enthusiastic praise for basic ingredients

"This tomato is the best tomato I've ever had in my entire life."

I've said this. Multiple times. In multiple countries.

And I meant it.

The thing is, Americans are used to food that's been bred for shelf life and uniformity, not flavor. So when we encounter a genuinely fresh tomato, or real bread, or olive oil that actually tastes like olives, we lose our minds.

Locals find this both charming and ridiculous.

On one hand, they appreciate that we're noticing the quality of their food. On the other hand, it's kind of depressing that we're so amazed by what they consider normal.

A chef in Portugal once laughed at me when I went on about how incredible the octopus was. "It's just octopus," he said. "This is what octopus tastes like."

Fair point.

But I think there's something beautiful about that American enthusiasm, even if it's over-the-top. We get excited. We express it. We're not jaded about good food, even when the locals are. That genuine appreciation, loud as it may be, often endears us to the people we meet.

Conclusion

So what does all this mean?

American tourists are easy to spot because we bring our cultural norms with us. We're loud because we come from a loud culture. We're friendly because friendliness is valued back home. We dress for comfort because comfort is one of our highest values.

None of this is inherently bad. But being aware of how we're perceived can make travel smoother, safer, and more enjoyable.

I'm not suggesting we all become chameleons, shedding our identities to blend in perfectly. That's not realistic, and honestly, it's not necessary. But a little cultural humility goes a long way.

Lower your voice in quiet spaces. Observe before assuming. Accept that ice is not a human right.

And maybe leave the college hoodie at home.