7 things tourists say everywhere that instantly make locals roll their eyes

Travel is a privilege, but let’s be honest, tourists (myself included) can be unintentionally cringe.

After a decade in hospitality, I’ve heard the same lines in every city and watched locals wince in unison.

It is rarely about malice, and it is usually about habits we bring from home without thinking.

If you want better conversations, better meals, and fewer eye rolls, start by retiring a few classics.

Here are seven phrases to swap out on your next trip:

1) "Where’s the most authentic place?"

I get this question in every city.

I used to hear it nightly when I worked in luxury F&B.

A guest would lean over the host stand, whisper like they were asking for a password, and say, “Where’s the most authentic place?”

Here is the problem: Authenticity is a relationship between people, place, season, and habit.

The stew your host’s grandmother makes on Sundays is authentic, so is the chef’s spin on it that only appears in June when the herbs are perfect.

When you ask for “the most authentic place,” locals hear, “Show me the museum display version of your culture.”

They roll their eyes because the city is not a theme park.

Try this instead: Ask, “Where do you like to eat on a weeknight?” or “What would you serve a friend who is visiting?” Then follow up with, “What is in season right now?” That is how you get to what is real.

It also shows you trust their taste, not a bucket list.

2) "Do you speak English?"

It is not the words; it is the tone.

Barked as an opener, this line makes people feel small.

If someone landed in your neighborhood and started with, “Do you speak my language,” you would not feel excited to help either.

A better move is to learn a greeting, a please, a thank you, and “I’m learning, can you help me.”

I am not fluent in every place I visit, but I always try.

Just leading with “Hi” in the local language softens the whole exchange.

People lean in rather than brace.

Hospitality runs on dignity.

In my restaurant days, I saw how a guest’s energy affected an entire room.

The most gracious ones made everyone else better at their jobs.

That starts with how you say hello; if you get stuck, smile and point to a menu item.

Use translation apps quietly, gesture, and keep it human.

The respect is the point, not the grammar.

3) "Back home we do it like this..."

Comparisons kill curiosity.

When you say, “Back home we do it like this,” you are telling locals that the reference standard lives somewhere else.

You can feel the breath go out of the conversation.

Food culture does not need to be familiar to be valid.

I remember a night in Osaka when a chef served me a bowl of udon that tasted like a soft bell.

It was lighter than the pasta I grew up with, yet just as comforting.

If I had said, “Where I’m from we salt the water more,” I would have missed the point.

Curiosity sounds like, “What makes your version special,” or “How did this evolve here.”

Erin Meyer writes about cultural mapping and how different norms can both be right, depending on context.

The same goes for the plate in front of you.

Let it be itself: If you are craving the flavors of home, that is valid.

Just do not dismiss what is in front of you to get there.

Find a fusion spot one night, then go fully local the next.

You will taste twice as much.

4) "That’s so cheap," or "Wow, that’s expensive!"

Announcing prices out loud is the travel equivalent of chewing with your mouth open.

I learned this behind a bar where a guest once shouted, “Only eight dollars for this cocktail?”

Half the room flinched.

Locals do not need a running commentary on the value of their city.

For you, a plate might be a bargain; for the people who live there, it might equal an hour of work.

When you exclaim about prices, even positive ones, it can sound like you are ranking someone’s life against your currency.

It is not a good look.

Do the math silently, and tip fairly by local standards.

If you are unsure, ask the server privately, “What does tipping look like here,” or check a reputable guide then move on.

Money talk is best kept quiet, like salt added near the end of a dish.

It needs to be there, just not center stage.

5) "What’s the secret spot no tourists know?"

Every local has been cornered by this one.

It sounds flattering, but it carries a tiny threat.

If a place gets posted everywhere, it stops being itself.

The baker cannot keep up, and the fisherman gets pushed off his own dock.

When I travel, I think in layers instead.

Start with places people are happy to share.

Neighborhood canteens, morning markets, late-night grills.

Build trust by showing up early, ordering what is on the board, and not rearranging the menu like you are head chef.

If a local shares a quieter place, treat it like a gift.

Do not geotag it to your 100,000 followers, and do not drag a crowd there tomorrow.

Go small, go respectfully, and leave it better than you found it.

The secret is learning how to be the kind of guest who gets invited back.

6) "Can you make it not spicy, gluten-free, vegan, and also add chicken?"

Dietary needs are real, and entitlement is optional.

As someone who writes for a food-forward audience, I know many of you eat plant-based or follow specific diets for health.

I am not vegan, but I have cooked for guests with allergies and beliefs, and I take both seriously.

The eye roll happens when the request arrives like a decree, or when it asks a small kitchen to reinvent a dish that defines a region.

Here is my rule: Lead with context, not demands.

“I do not eat dairy, what would you recommend,” respects the menu and the chef.

If the answer is, “We have three great options,” celebrate that; if it is, “We can remove butter but the dish will change,” believe them.

They are protecting the craft, not trying to be difficult.

Travel is a chance to discover how other cultures balance flavor with constraints.

In Vietnam I learned the magic of herbs and texture doing the heavy lifting; in Tel Aviv I discovered how tahini makes vegetables feel decadent.

Ask for guidance, then let the kitchen steer you.

You might leave with a new go-to at home.

7) "Can I get ketchup, or is it safe to eat here?"

Finally, the twin assassins of local pride: The universal sauce request and the blanket safety question.

There are places where ketchup belongs, such as fries and a diner burger at 2 a.m, but asking for it reflexively (and before you taste anything), reads like you do not trust the cook.

In parts of Europe, it is a loud way of saying the kitchen needs fixing.

Try the dish first: If it feels incomplete, ask what locals add.

Maybe it is a house chilli, a squeeze of calamansi, a spoon of fermented greens.

You will learn more, and the chef will feel seen.

Then there is, “Is it safe to eat here,” which is often code for, “Your standards must be lower than mine.”

Food safety matters everywhere.

Street vendors often run cleaner operations than you would guess, because repeat business keeps them alive.

I follow three simple checks:

• Is the line full of locals?
• Is the food moving quickly?
• Is the vendor cooking fresh or reheating?

This little checklist has served me better than any blog post.

If you have a sensitive stomach, plan for it: Pack enzymes or charcoal, ease in on day one, and choose clear broths, grilled fish, plain rice, local fruit you can peel.

You can be gentle with your system without insulting the people feeding you.

Final thoughts

A mentor in hospitality once told me, “Great guests make great service possible.”

The same is true outside the dining room: Great travelers make great cities possible.

We set the tone with our questions, our patience, and our appetite for difference.

So, the next time you feel an eye roll coming your way, pivot.

Ask a better question, order what the server is excited about, and learn a new word for thank you.

You will eat better, learn faster, and leave a smaller footprint on the places you love.